As many parents will attest, excessively creative children tend to be quite stubborn. Willow was no exception, refusing to learn so much as the alphabet until they wanted to read on their own. It comes as no surprise, then, that by the age of ten, they insisted on learning how to write grand tales of adventure, magic, and truth. As they matured, so did their literary pallet. They pushed themselves to master various types of editing, rhetorical analysis, writing professional and peer-reviewed articles and reviews, the psychology of language, and much more, all while holding on to the original motivation of giving great novels to the world. Such a wide range of exploration spawned the very song that gave them their Artist’s Name - Willow. While entire novels and manuscripts cannot be placed in a portfolio, snippets of Willow’s literary accomplishments and contributions can still be shared. With that in mind, we welcome you.
To the Archives.
“The smell of death and nectar permeated the air.”
A body lay still and silent under a heavy shroud of leather and chainmail. Sunlight glinted off the polished iron helm that rested upon the lifeless head, casting rays at odd angles across the crumbling walls around it. Blood oozed darkly through the gashes of the armored tunic. It pooled and seeped into fragrant, ravaged harebell roots, spilling into the lush green grass that had long since overtaken the decaying ruins of the old throne room.
Patches of the turf and flora were gouged, exposing the earth’s umber flesh and the steel grey stone underneath, telling a tale of large weapons and scrambling survival. Or rather, a failure to survive.
MANUSCRIPT EDITING
Other authors have not given permission to share their work, but two have given consent to share their quotes of how they perceive my editing and assistance.
Amber Stuehser: [Historical Fantasy manuscript; Sci-Fi Romance manuscript]
“Their understanding and mastery of plot, scene, and character consistency goes so far beyond ‘grasping a concept.’ I have told them before that, in all honesty, it sometimes scares me how they can ‘weave’ a solution or point out a snag instantaneously in a story I’ve worked on for years. Doubting their knowledge of any topic in your work is pointless, too; they will research the tiniest detail for hours, overall concepts for sci-fi technology or magic systems for fantasy for weeks, all without so much as a prompt to do so. They see something that needs to lie on founded concepts, and suddenly you’re getting a long e-mail with links and summaries at 2 a.m. on a random Sunday that fixes all of your plot holes and world building discrepancies.”
Erik Cullen: [Cultural-Historical Fantasy manuscript]
“No matter how far ahead they seem to be compared to the rest of us, they always take editing suggestions in stride and express gratitude for the input, even asking to know what literary tool led us to suggest it in the first place so that they can re-visit it and better implement it. I cannot begin to place a set value on how clinically insistent they are about proper cultural representation and permissions. My novel involves a Native American immortal, and the hours they spent interrogating me about which tribal folk lore the kind of immortality was based on, if a Native Elder from that tribe taught me about it and gave me consent to represent such things, etc., put passion back into my work. I started writing it for representation and understanding, to give this country a fantasy novel based in its own history. How could I do that if I wasn’t sure of my sources, if I wasn’t ensuring respectful handling of such sacred cultural things? What’s more, just when I thought they couldn’t possibly contribute anything greater than that to my work, they sent editing notes, changing just a few sentences, that took ordinary objects and throw-away descriptions and turned them into a complex web of symbolism and foreshadowing that supports the entire plot. Suffice it to say, they are an expert in every interpretation of the word when it comes to the written word.”
A Letter Saved for You
My dear, you were an angel.
God made you like he made us all,
picking energy like wildflowers,
Out among the stars.
He made you special,
and showed you how to grow.
You learned so much so fast
and made so many friends
You’re older than the Earth itself
and yet so tiny in my hands
Father thought that I was ready.
I hope that I am, too.
He knew you learned all that you could,
So our Father sent me you.
There are things here you can learn
That you could not learn back there
Sometimes these lessons will be good,
Sometimes they will be sad.
Hard and happy times will come,
but I just want you to know
You came to me because you knew
I’d be here through it all.
My dear, you are an angel.
I’ll do my best to be one, too.
The Willow
Under the Willow
Through the Breeze
With shining Frost
Laid ‘neath the Trees
With flowing hair
In sunlight fair
That filtered through the leaves
A Witch, a Witch
Amidst the mist
Did wander freely.
She ran, she ran
Like Wisps from thee,
She ran from enemies!
She ran, she ran,
And wouldn’t you know,
The Fae ‘peared in the Grove!
With open arms
they beckoned her close,
She ran to flee your woes.
She ran, she ran
To the Fae’s sweet hold,
To their Kingdoms far below.
Once driven from thy Hearths the Fae did claim
The core of the Earth as their forge flame!
Such strength and malice did They unleash
’Pon the fear-warped Wraiths that the Witch did flee!
Ne’er again, ne’er again
Did the surface know such flame-forged grief!
Ne’er again, ne’er again
Did the fear-warped Wraiths dare to tread where they please!
As one of them, as one of them
The witch did return to the curs-ed Earth
As one of them, as one of them
She did purge the land of the war-scorched plains!
Where Willow once lay,
Now heads did hang
As warning to those who dare face the Fae;
Devil and Demon were said to abide,
But lo, such evil could no longer hide.
The Frost, the Frost,
Along with the breeze
Returned with the Goddess
Her power now claimed!