[Off topic of Who] Vote for a members story!

MythicDocWho's picture

MythicDocWho - Posted on 24 October 2010

Greetings GE members!

I would like to pass along to you all a chance to help your fellow Whovian and GE Member, my wife Jessica Burke. She is my co-editor on our book The Mythological Dimensions of Doctor Who, and who will be with me on Nov 16th when we get a chance to celebrate GE 25th and meet some of you.

She has entered her story into a contest and would like to ask you all to help out and vote for her story, I shall paste here what she has said of her story, the links and particulars.

I thank you ahead of time, please help her achieve #1 before Oct 31st--please pass this around to all of your friends and family.



"The Storm"-- An Original Story by Jessica Burke

So-- I entered a story contest. I think it's the first one I've entered in over a decade....and the first story I actually FINISHED in just about as long.  It's a Gaelsong contest-- asking folks to  write a 500 word story based on the cover for their Halloween 2010 catalogue. Hey, it's something. I had fun with it. Go to http://www.gaelsong.com/samhain_contest to see the catalogue cover. Facebook is freaking out & I can't upload the image here.

 And if you like my story-- hell, if even if you don't & you're a friend, you'll vote for me anyway (mama needs a new tarot deck & they've got pretty ones precious at Gaelsong...ringses too). Go to http://wildfireapp.com/website/6/contests/63385/voteable_entries/9280096 to  cast  your vote. The entry with the most votes by Halloween wins a $500 gift certificate to Gaelsong. We likes that precious.


 And here's my story....





“The storm comes. I see it in the spheres, my Lady. The clouds part, revealing a single white flower set against the dawn sky. Hope will ever follow the tempest.”

 “But, what about these signs? Naked trees? The blizzard?” She clutched her cloak, obscuring her face.  Her voice changed from the light tones of a maid, to the harsher crackle of an old crone.

 “I see my Lady has the gifts.  But see the turning leaves?” I pointed to the swirl of autumn in the largest crystal. “The trees aren’t as bare as old bones. And see the hearthfire there?”  My fingers caressed the smallest of the three spheres. “It’s tiny, but present despite the winter snows. Spring always follows, my Lady.”



 The woman sat back, seemingly satisfied, her flickering eyes fixed on me. A chill wind blew through the camp, heralding longer nights. Autumn had been my favorite—but when there was a door to shut and a hearth to blaze against the deepening night. A caravan plying wares and fortunes isn’t the way an old crone needs spend her final winters. Pulling my threadbare shawl about me, I breathed life into my cold hands.  Shrill raven-calls shuddered through the tent and the woman stiffened in her chair, muttering strange words, wyrding herself against the night.



 “You have read the spheres, old woman. Test your mettle now with these.” Tapping a deck of cards on the table, cutting them deftly with her left hand, she spoke in a full, rich, motherly tone which caught the breath in my throat.



 “You falter, old woman. Are the cards beyond your skill?”



 “No, my Lady.  Your voice takes me back—have we not met before?”



 She laughed deep. Again, the ravens-call.  Tapping the cards again, “The storm comes and my children call me home.”



 I drew three cards and turned them one-by-one.



 “The Moon, my Lady. Our Mother guides us with Her light and helps us master fear. The beasts howl and the blood stirs, but Our Mother will always lead home.



 The Wheel as the Lady’s Circle. You are at a cross-roads.  Despite our plans, Fate may choose a different path. But, the Lady will always protect us in her Circle and help us to the best road.



 The Princess of Wands. Trust thyself. The mind is the most powerful gift.”



 “Your skill is comforting, old woman. Keep the cards, they were my mother’s before me and I have no daughters to claim as my own.” Tossing a purse on the table, she stood up. “Let this brace you against the storm.”  Again the ravens-call.



 “Will I have the pleasure of reading for you again, my Lady?”



 “You read not for me, old woman.” Opening her cloak, she revealed a face shimmering with light—young but matronly with silver hair. Laughing, her voice became a ravens-call. Spreading her arms, she splintered into three great, black birds. The first flakes of the storm began to fall as they flew into the night.



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