Before I get started with posting a new drawing and story, I just have to get an apology out of the way….probably more to myself than you unless you also had expectations about how often I would post. Anyway if you did have expectations, I am sorry that I have been a tad absent lately (A TAD??) How about only posting a couple of times in around six months! I know! Really that’s so disgraceful. Even though I am apologizing, I wish you to know that I lay it entirely at the feet of my recalcitrant inner child, or maybe my rebellious lazy inner teenager. Anyway the job hasn’t been getting done. So as the stern disciplinarian that I am …no? …..No, I didn’t buy it either. You see the problem is exactly that. The inner young one says I don’t wanna sit at the computer ! I want to go play! And being a pushover, I give in. Well no more. Times are changing! …..at least I think they are.
A Witch of Another Kind
This is Aurelia. And as you can clearly see she isn’t what you would typically think of as a witch. Girl’s got style. No old haggy black threads for her. The only concession to witchly fashion that she makes is in her accessorization. She carries the typical broom, which I will remind you is also her ride. I’ve heard through the grapevine that she’s been talking to some decorative artisan about bedazzling her broom with rhinestones and maybe a few semi-precious gems. A bit of gold here and a bit of sterling there. It will be quite impressive, but I can’t help but wonder how comfortable it will be. It would not be the first time that fashion got in the way of comfort. I think you ladies know of what I am speaking.. er writing.
If you are used to seeing witches with ugly old black pointy hats you will notice the exquisite chapeau that Aurelia is sporting. It’s a lovely lavender hand felted model adorned with exotic bird feathers, silk flowers and black and white striped satin ribbons. Rumor has it that she has a different hat for every outfit.
Well I could go on and on about the rest of her ensemble but I want to get to the really exciting part which is the fact the other witches are starting to sit up and take notice. Appointments are being made for manicures and facials. And very fashionable boutiques that cater exclusively to the witchy set are starting to pop up here and there. And you know what that means?! When a person starts to feel good about how they look they start to feel and act less crabby. So for us that means maybe a few less instances of being turned into toads and worse. I for one, am very appreciative of Aurelia’s trendsetting style revolution.
Copyright 2014 Ann Gates Fiser All Rights Reserved
If in your wanderings you have come upon a satyr or two, you will probably be in agreement that they are a most arrogant lot. They have a very high opinion of themselves when it comes to wooing and winning the fairer sex. They don’t feel like they particularly have to try very hard to get the attentions of fair maidens. Quite bluntly they are the “bad boys” of the fae kingdom. Of course in their defense many girls and women (who should know better) have quite literally thrown themselves at the feet of a satyr hoping for a kiss or two…or more.
Keep in mind that Satyrs are not the marrying kind. They will love you for a night, maybe even a day or two, but they will leave. And please don’t fall into the trap of thinking that if you love them enough, and do all the right things that they will stick around because you are so wonderful that they couldn’t possibly be satisfied with another female’s attentions. You see it’s not about quality for them, it’s quantity. It’s conquest. The moment you give in, you’re fate is sealed.
Knowing that, you might mistakenly believe that it’s worth a little pain of parting to spend time with him. But let me make this perfectly clear. It is you who will never be satisfied with the attentions of another man, a human man, a good man. No. You are spoiled forever. Think about that, before you go sniffing around a satyr. You have been warned!
Tor Oatenleif was Fio Nogbottom’s best friend in the whole world. They had become friends as wee little sprouts and had mostly remained so, except for a few odd times when they had come to blows, competing for the attentions of a a beautiful lass. Luckily, for the friendship, they had finally fallen in love with two different women and now had children that played together as they had.
On this fine summer morning Tor , carrying water from the creek, has run into Fio, who is excited to announce that he and his lovely wife are expecting their third child. Tor laughs heartily and says that after he delivered the water he was coming to tell Fio the same thing. Both elvse are excited that their new arrivals will already have a friend to play with. Also to be honest it kept a tiny bit of resentment at bay because in all things, the friends were still rather competitive with each other, though in a good natured way.
I have often heard the pinnacle of modern men’s fashion, the tuxedo, called a monkey suit. It must truly be very uncomfortable judging by the speed with which the men in my life have retreated from them as soon as they possibly could. Not to mention the whining sound as soon as they are ensconced in one. Who hasn’t witnessed the fingers tugging at the collar hoping for a little breathing room? So I decided to draw a “true” monkey suit to show the guys that it could be worse, much, much worse. Not that I don’t have sympathy for what men have to go through. Because women have their torturous clothing equivalents as well. Girdles and spiked 5″ high heels for example. Which begs the question …why? Does fashion really have to hurt to be fashionable? Hmmm?
Termonius L. Woodburrow is an elf that had lived with his mother his whole life. There’s nothing extraordinary about that except for the fact that he was 795 years old. Elves live a long time by human standards, and stay with their parents longer than humans, but even for elves this was quite a bit over the usual time. To use a human coined phrase, there was definitely “a failure to launch”.
Every time Termonius would even think about or hint to his mom that it might be time for him to move out, she would bake his favorite pie, fairy berry, bring him his slippers, fluff his pillows and just generally spoil him rotten. Even if he had gotten the gumption to leave his cozy home and find a wife there were not many elf maidens who could meet the standards that his mother so capably set. So Termonius stayed put year after year. And it would perhaps have gone on that way for perhaps another 500 years or so, except that mom met her untimely end at the hand of a very angry dragonfly who burned her to a crisp with it fiery breath and a haughty twitch of its tale.
Termonius had no idea how to take care of himself. So he realized rather quickly that he needed a mo… no make that a wife to replace his mom.
Though he didn’t expect that anyone could live up to his mom, he still held great expectations and standards in his mind for his future bride. When he courteously explained these standards to the maidens he was very quickly and unceremoniously shown the door. After this had happened with the first fifty or so maidens, Termonius began to assess and understand the situation he was really in. Not only would he not find someone like mom, but he would be lucky to find anyone at all. What had once been an arrogant judgmental smirk on his face when courting now turned to the “snail caught in the headlights”. He was extremely nervous now when coming to call. It did not help his prospects to have sweat rolling down his face. He made no further demands and was practically begging someone to please marry him
It is quite possible that what Termonius should be doing with his time is enrolling in classes on how to take care of one’s self.
Maybe you never thought about it, but even ogres and trolls have mothers.
One thing we all have in common- parents. And today we honor the yin, softer side of parenting. I know that an unlucky few would say their moms are ogres. But I’m fortunate to have a different kind of mom. What I love about her is that she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. She has always tried her best to do the right thing, to be loving, kind and supportive of not only her family but others as well. She’s a brilliant artist and she is the glue of my family. I love you Mom!
Coming upon a mermaid is a most wondrous sight, but one is advised to to be very cautious when approaching her, or him! There appears to be two varieties of merpeople. I say two because the mermaid or merman is a very elusive creature and it is merely conjecture at this point as to the number of types. And why wouldn’t they be elusive!? They seem to be well aware of mankind’s penchant to shoot, stuff, and subsequently proudly hang over their fireplaces their so called “trophies”. Or perhaps even worse is forcing them to perform in some Sea World type place, or caging them in a tiny aquarium in some zoo for all the world to gawk at open mouthed and perhaps drooling.
The two known supposed varieties of merpeople are the common or ordinary mermaid/man (though there is nothing common or ordinary about them) and the second known as a siren. The common merperson is known to assume the form of a dolphin to guide sailors who are lost, lead ships trying to navigate treacherous rock filled waters, rescue drowning sailors , etc.
Ah, but the sirens are a whole nother matter. Their intent towards mankind is not so benevolent. They enjoy immensely, sitting on the rocks sweetly singing with their bewitchingly beautiful voices luring unwary and unsuspecting sailors to certain death. Their ships, then are steered by maddened men whom neither can see, know or care that the rocks are mere yards away waiting to smash their ships into thousands of little pieces that will end up as as flotsam and jetsam on a beach next morning. The sailor who is lucky enough to have survived the sinking of his ship only to come to the notice of the sirens is likewise lured below the waves where the sirens continue to sing their hauntingly beautiful songs, the sailor responding by following them ever lower to the icy depths, only to realize when it too late that he is drowning and soon to be dead.
The learned and well known authority on the children of the fae, Hans Christian Andersen, purports to believe that merpeople live to be around 300 years old, have no souls, turn to seafoam when they die, and must earn their souls by good deeds. (kind of keeps out the Sirens, doesn’t it…?) I however think that is utter rubbish and nonsense and is a patent expression of the arrogance of some who think that just because they are capable of writing things down that it makes it true. I do not believe for one second that any merperson would disclose such a personal detail about themselves to any human. Frankly no human lives long enough to prove or disprove how long a mermaid lives or knows with absolute certainty that they themselves even have a soul. Personally, I believe that all creatures do have them though like everyone else I can’t prove it. I would be a lot happier if I could.
In conclusion I strongly admonish that if you are so incredibly fortunate as to come upon a merperson that you take note and keep to a safe distance. Admire, but do not under any circumstance attempt to touch or make contact in any way.
Copyright 2013 All rights reserved Ann Gates Fiser
In the Age of steam, man discovered how to harness the energy of heated water and began to invent many marvelous and some not so marvelous contraptions that allowed them to do things only dreamed of in the past. The elves, ever watchful of the goings on of mankind, took notice. Some of them who had long been envious of the fairy race’s ability to fly, saw an opportunity to finally join their cousins in the air. They began a mad dash to see who would be the first to build workable wings. And really, “workable” was the key word because many elves perished dreadfully, failing and falling after leaping from the highest trees only to have their flimsy, fluttering wings tear and finally collapse.
After a short time they realized they needed a stronger, more durable material to use in the construction of the wings that would grant them the freedom of flight. And that is where they began to follow the folly of mankind, beginning the slaughter of field mice and other small creatures to obtain their skins for making durable leather wings. In doing so, they were finally able to achieve their eons old dream of soaring through the skies, but at what cost to their souls? The elves had always been the guardians of nature. What now? What else would they be willing to destroy next in their selfish pursuit of unnatural desires?
Copyright 2013 Ann Gates Fiser All rights reserved
“Who is that?”, you might be asking. Allow me to introduce you to Fird the Turd Bird, a portrait of the personification of my inner critic, the nemesis and arch enemy of my muse, Musetta. Through the ruse of expectation (of how my painting should look) and comparison (how it actually turned out) Fird got loose last evening and ran amok, so that when it finally came time for me to do my end of the day sketching he was in full on attack mode, pecking, biting and scratching at me. “You’re lousy at painting! You’ll never be really good at it! Blahwdy blah blah and on and on it went. Musetta was in full retreat, weeping and hiding in the deep dark sad shadows of my psyche.
So I did the only thing I could do in order to keep the discipline of drawing every night. I started sketching Fird (although I didn’t know that was his name at the time). As I drew he became quieter and then finally completely silent, because being the stupid vain creature he is, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t criticize his own portrait. And that’s when I knew had him! At last I drew a spiked dog collar around his scrawny neck, attached a heavy chain, which in turn was added to a spike in the cold hard ground. He was my bitch now.
But knowing him to be the sneaky elusive creature that he is, I knew that I needed to take further precautions, so I have given his likeness to the CPI (That’s Bureau of Creativity Investigation) and they have issued a wanted dead or alive poster which now hangs on the cork board in my studio, to remind me to be on the lookout and at the first vague hint of the stench of him that tells me he is once again on the loose and lurking about, I can take the proper steps to catch and put him back in his place, chained up and and powerless to wreak misery on me and Musetta.
I sincerely invite you to name and describe your inner critic and share it in my comment section. And if you draw it put a link to it. That way I and others can spot your inner critic and report it before it has a chance to work it’s nastiness on you and anyone else who happens to get in the way. Thank you.
Copyright 2013 Ann Gates Fiser All rights reserved
My friend Erin Hogan responded by drawing this guy
Con ayuda de Alejandra Moglia estoy armando este blog por intermedio de WORDPRESS. Es en reemplazo del que tuve en Blogger desde noviembre del 2011 y que en enero del 2014 el mismo Blogger eliminó sin aviso previo y sin darme ninguna explicación. En este nuevo blog iré incluyendo mis textos de LIJATE que había publicado en aquel otro. Son textos de los que pienso no volverán a editarse en libro, pero lo hago para que lleguen a la mayor cantidad posible de lectores sin discriminar a nadie ni por la edad, ni por el sexo, ni por asexuado y ni siquiera por analfabeto; al contrario. _ (HACIENDO CLIC CON EL MOUSE EN CUALQUIERA DE LOS NÚMEROS O TÍTULOS QUE ESTÁN A CONTINUACIÓN DE "INICIO", PUEDE ACCEDERSE A LOS DISTINTOS TEXTOS QUE FUI PUBLICANDO HASTA AHORA.)