THE PASSION STROLL...
a blog by author Ashavan Doyon
Sheltering for the night in the wood, a worried prince of Zaharoth weighs on the mind of Thommas. He has a quest, and he has made an oath in haste that he cannot break. Perhaps he does not even want to break it. Now he must begin to face the feelings that skitter below the surface in Chapter 9 of the The One That Feels.
If you haven't yet discovered the serial, it's posted mid-month and at the end of month, usually on a Monday. You can find the original blurb or start at chapter one if you haven't yet made the leap to follow the story. In addition to the blog, you can also follow my activities on ARDOR, my newsletter--subscribe and get a chance to win Becoming Rory! (click on the Read More link to view full post)
The night in the primeval wood of the realm was oppressive even with the small fire on which we’d roasted the rabbits that the young prince of Zaharoth had presented me. He’d come to me rather gruffly with a demand that since he had caught the creatures, surely it was my duty to clean them. It only took a glance for me to know that he had no idea how.
I watched as Nem delicately nibbled at his dinner, clearly appalled at the demand that he eat the spitted creature with his hands. He was compensating by trying to take delicate bites, and failing badly. I kept back the urge to laugh. The look on his face, combined bewilderment, disgust and a little thrill at the experience of something new, made him look… I covered a sigh with a quick bite of my own, chewing fiercely with none of Nem’s delicacy.
He was quiet throughout dinner, his fascination and frustration breaking down finally into feverish biting and chewing of his own. He didn’t speak, and his gaze was frequently on the shadows outside the light of the fire.
My pup is Dulcy. She's cute and lovable and she snuggles close at night making sure I know that I'm part of her pack—her family. I don't need the reminder, but I love it. My parents were workaholics, so growing up I had my brother and my puppy. The pup I had then was named Mitzi. She was tiny dog, a mix of dachshund and something else. She was the runt of her litter and I remember her being so tiny she fit in the palm of my mom's hand. She had an impossible spirit and was fearless. When she was a year old she was run over by a car. Impossibly the local vet hospital put Mitzi back together. Forever after we had shocked vets as they took x-rays of the real life bionic dog—held together by bits of wire, screws, and metal plates. Among her worst injuries were three broken legs, a separated pelvis, and severe road burn across her back that left her with scarred patching where the hair never grew back.
We had Mitzi for twelve years before cancer took her from us. She was my little sister, my companion, and more often than not my confessor who listened to my rage and hurt as I struggled with being a rape survivor in a world that didn't recognize that such thing was possible for a young man. With listening to my angst when I came out. With loving me—just that.
We got Dulcy from a breeder when she was only 11 weeks old. An AKC pug, her breeder clearly allowed the kids to name the puppies that he kept, and they all had names like Charmander Bulbusaur. We named her the Lady Dulcinea. For over fourteen years, she has done what pugs do: sniff, snuffle, lick things, bark at things, and, of course, piddle at the most inopportune times—that last has gotten particularly pronounced in the last year. Worried that she might not survive being boarded at her advanced age, we cancelled vacation plans this year. Instead we've kept Dulcy company, stayed at home.
I spend a lot of time worrying about my puppy girl. So today is mostly about her. Love you Dulcy.
Anyone have any great dog stories? Let me know in the comments, and don't forget to subscribe to the newsletter!
It's August—a time of frustration and craziness. A time when I admit I am stretched well beyond my limits. This week I have a final galley proof and 2nd edits on two novellas. This has affected my schedule in terms of posting, for which I am sorry, but it won't be permitted to delay the posts of the serial. Today we have Chapter 8. Nem has wrested a promise from Thommas, a promise spoken in the Realm that binds them together on the quest to rescue Jordan's mind and return it to his body in the Real.
If you haven't yet discovered the serial, it's posted mid-month and at the end of month, usually on a Monday. You can find the original blurb or start at chapter one if you haven't yet made the leap to follow the story. In addition to the blog, you can also follow my activities on ARDOR, my newsletter--subscribe and get a chance to win Becoming Rory!
The grumbling started quickly. Not that this surprised me.
“Why can’t we just take the road?” asked Nem, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
He’d started before we’d even exited the hospital. I couldn’t really blame him. He was a prince, of sorts, and the road offered comforts and familiarity that trudging through the great wood of his realm did not.
I turned and looked at him. “You can go,” I said. “I am content to travel alone.”
His eyes were mercurial, gray that burned with a silver fire when he was irritated, as he was now. “Trying to get out of our bargain?” he spat.
I shook my head and glanced around, choosing a rather large stone as a seat. As I pulled myself up onto it and let my legs dangle, I looked at the young prince of Zaharoth. “I honor my bargains, Nem,” I said, meeting the gray, swirling gaze. “But the bargain was to accompany me. That does not mean dictating the route. Jordan will be difficult enough to find without wasting time by going around the wood.”
Work on the super secret work in progress continues. That had impacted the rest of my posting pretty much everywhere, but I refuse to get behind in posting my serial for readers.
So today we have Chapter 7. When I first started writing this story, I didn't know it was going to be fantasy. I had imagined some tangled web of emotional struggle between Brian and Thommas and Jordan. When Thommas stepped into Jordan's mind in Chapter 4, I thought for sure, that was the story, Thommas searching Jordan's mind.
Then Janice demanded something, and I learned of Om, and of the Realm and the story took a rather different turn than I expected. But still, I thought this was Brian's story as well as that of Thommas.
I was wrong. Soon I would learn the story belonged to the Prince of Zaharoth.
Feeling lost? Need to start at the beginning? Check The One That Feels out from Chapter 1!
By the time we returned to the hospital room, Mrs. Blackmun had grown more than a little pale. There was no easy route through the realm of Zaharoth back to the real, and she had come to understand how dangerous a little knowledge could be, and also how much she appreciated the real.
Her husband grunted when we returned, but Brian looked at her face for a few moments, examining the shock that was plainly written there. “You showed her, then,” he said.
I met his gaze. “I had little choice.”
Brian sighed and nodded, then glanced back at the half-dead sleeping form of his lover. His voice was pained and soft, and it came out as though he had to push to get the words out. “He isn’t any better,” he choked out.
“I didn’t expect he would be,” I said, setting a hand on Brian’s shoulder, “but there was always the hope he might find his way back to you on his own.”
Writer of the mysterious, fantastic, and the romantic. Sometimes sappy. Often angsty. Always searching for the sexy. Stories about men who love men.