Fantastical Worlds Blog

      The following is part of my fairytale series. For most of these I wanted to go for blatant humor or ironic humor. Enjoy. Troll Bridge               “I really don’t understand dad; we sit under here in the dark and just wait for someone to try and cross this bridge and…”             “Our bridge,” dad interrupts.             “This is another point that has me confused. How is this our bridge?”             Dad shakes his head. “My father collected tolls and his father collected tolls back for generations.”             “Still confused here, why do we collect tolls?”             Dad’s already green complexion darkens. “Cause we...

 The following is a scene from a novel in second revision titled "The Promise." Enjoy, and if you are wishing to beta read for me and help make my work better, please leave a comment on this post.              The bard strums a chord which is surprisingly in tune. Then he addresses the room in a similar  musical voice. No matter how pretty instrument or the man sounds the stranger would prefer to choke off the voice with the instrument’s strings.             “Well met fine travelers and village folk. This fine inn keeper has been kind enough to allow me to buy a fine meal and fine ale with a story.” He raises a mug and takes a swig double what most would consider safe and hides any expression well that would give truth to the lie of its quality.             “This story you may know; if you do not you may want to move from under th...

      The following is the prologue for a novel I am working on. It is very early in the process, and I have only a handful of chapters. The prologue takes place a very long time ago, but the bulk of the story will take place in modern time. The main character is a single mom professor in archeology but will be pulled back into the field when a discovery places hunting traps centuries too early in the past. Think a Dan Brown style thriller based in science.     If anyone is interested in being a beta reader on any of my projects, please email me at jwoolardstories@gmail.com UNTITLED Prologue The sky was grey, and the birds were silent. Talneer was crouched, checking a snare that was set off but held no dinner. An itch at the back of his thoughts warned him that something felt off , but he ignored it. He has hunted and tracked through these mountain passes since he was a boy and was now so old he could not even remember his own age. The snare had no fur or bloo...

       If words didn’t matter, there would not be so many of them. As a writer you have free use of all of them. You can even make them up like Shakespear and Lewis Carroll loved to do. By picking the proper word you can say so much more and place the images in readers’ minds as you desire. I say proper instead of the right word because you want the word to naturally belong where it is used. With this in mind, I must first give warning against finding a word you love and making it fit. A famous writer who will remain unknown fell in love with the word miasma and he used it the right way, but how proper is this word in most cases? Does every narrator character use the word miasma? Remember the words you use out of the mouth of characters say a lot about that character, even the narrator. This is what it means by proper word.        Things: Things have names. They have their simple name like boat and boat is the right word. The proper word ne...

 This is a short story that I wrote to enter a themed short story contest where the theme was "cats." I finished with honors in fifth place. I tried to explain why cats knock things off of ledges. Cats Beth Tubador swears she spends half her day picking up things that her cats knock off tables or shelves. Why do the cursed things have to be such a pain , she thinks to herself before apologizing to the ones lazing around her sitting room. Such is the misery of being the cat lady.   The tabby— Bluebell to the old lady, Grryowwhissk to other cats— pretending to sleep on Beth’s easy chair, snickers to itself as the old lady places a figurine back on the mantal across the room. The tabby mentally adds one more life to the three she has saved up already. Tonight, she hopes to sneak out to report to the hobo that sleeps in an alley behind the bowling alley. The stinky fellow is not really a hobo but the personification of Chaos. If these tiny-brained humans saw Chaos in his true...

  I am working on a series of fairytales; this is one that I have done already. It has not been edited so any feedback would be welcomed. The Swan and the Tinkerer               Once there was a tinkerer, and though his shop was small, he was known the kingdom over for his beautifully delicate metal work and magical workings of his devices. He had even created a dancing music box for the princess; it did not just spin in a circle to the tune but moved as if alive. His gears were smaller than any other tinkerer of master skill, and his metal work was so thin its weight did not match its materials. The tinkerer had a daughter who was his entire world outside his work, but the poor dear was born with so many melodies of bad health she could neither walk nor did she have hopes to become a woman. He called her his Swan.             Swan’s only world was her small bedr...