Posts Tagged ‘Aunt Ursula’s Atlas’

As I work through refocusing my outreach, one puzzle is how to describe my books when people ask about genre. I try to push myself beyond easy categories and stereotypes, but here’s where it bites me in the butt.

Starting with the broadest definition, I write fantasy. That’s a no-brainer. My books are full of magic and magical creatures. From there is where it gets foggy.

There’s High Fantasy, which involves the great and powerful with their big wars and political intrigues. But there’s also Low Fantasy, which involves the small and powerless, and is often humorous in nature. In Swords and Sorcery, individual warriors struggle against malign magic and corrupt empires, while they themselves are no angels.

Then there’s Urban Fantasy, where mythical creatures/monsters interact with people in the modern world. There’s often a strong element of romantic tension. Last but not least, there are Fairy Tales. People are always re-imagining beloved fairy tales.

So where do my books fit in? I’ve written somethings in almost all of these sub-genres. Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, for example, is contains several stories in the fairy-tale style. The Gellboar is a form of Urban Fantasy. The Weight of Their Souls is Swords and Sorcery. But most of my books are much harder to pin down.

Take The Seven Exalted Orders, for example. It’s High Fantasy because it ponders political and philosophical questions like who decides how mages use their power. It’s not High Fantasy because the protagonists aren’t among the ruling elite. This would make The Seven Exalted Orders a Low Fantasy, except that it lacks broad humor. Calling my books Medium Fantasy just sounds boring.

For those of you out there who have read my books, I’d love your perspective on this question. What should I call my genre in order to attract readers who are likely to enjoy my work? High Fantasy, Low Fantasy, something else… And I’d love to hear your reasoning.

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A snippet from “The Dragon Stone”

Here is my latest snippet, which happens to include one of my all-time favorite lines: “Keep screaming. These people just love the screaming.” (This line must be read with heavy sarcasm.)

The line is from my short story, “The Dragon Stone,” which is included in my collection, Aunt Ursula’s Atlas. (It’s my featured book, over there on the right.)

In this story, I was playing with the idea of a maiden tied to a rock. The villagers had accused her of witchcraft. But instead of attacking her, the dragon came to rescue her. I was also playing with the idea of an alliance between dragons and witches. (I really need to follow up on that some day.)

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Here is part two of my short story, “The Winter Wish.” Those who have read my collection, Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, will recognize this as an indirect sequel to my lyrical fantasy, “Dandelion.” Think of it as my holiday gift to you. Enjoy!

by Lucy D. Ford

“How I wish I could see the winter’s snow,” sighed the grimchild.

He gazed up, between the dismal towers. Stinging ashpall made eyes dull and hopeless. Only when he looked down… What was that?

On the ledge beneath the window, just at the corner, a stubborn plant clung to a miserly crack. Soot grimed its saw-tooth leaves, yet still it held a single stem aloft. A soft ball balanced atop this stem, pale as true dawn under a layer of smudge. The grimchild held back a cry of joy, for he feared what Nanny would do to such a delicate thing.

Drawn by instinct, he pushed the window open and cautiously leaned out. Fingertips stretched toward the ledge. Almost he could touch it. Almost… Then his feet lifted from the floor and his weight tipped forward. Common sense made him jerk back, though not without a low cry of sorrow.

With the merest brush of his breath, the dandelion loosed its seed. Each tiny pilgrim hung by its own gossamer sail. The harsh wind snatched them and they spun high and low. Each was a dream escaping the gloomy prison of the Withertines.

The grimchild watched until he saw no more. His feet were back under him, sensible and safe, but the cold, hard floor held a dragging weight. He wondered if he would ever escape the Withertines.

As for the dandelion seeds, the dirty breeze sailed them over the Shearwire Fence and out across the Chokedust Plain. Spirits flagged above the Crackstone Wash, and they might have fallen there, except a little Windkin flitted by. It played a while, swirling and dancing and spreading them wide.

At last a gossamer seed was left, just one. Within that one trembled the whisper of a wish. The windkin heard that cry. It spun about and sent the tiny messenger floating toward pine-clad mountains. The silken puff drifted higher and ever higher. It whisked above the pines and up the cliffs until it came to rest on the very tip of the Cloudtorn Peak.

There it found another crack, no larger than its cranny on the window ledge. The seed nestled into the dark with its precious dream.

Soon tiny roots began to spread. They reached into the crevice, digging steadily, and those roots made the crack grow. Bits of rock flaked loose, clearing patches of raw, bright stone. An arc formed, and with a trembling snap a great eye flicked open. More cracks spread, faster and faster. A second eye took shape. A pair of sharp ears twitched free of the rock. Nostrils flared. A longer slit took on the shape of a jagged mouth.

Change was racing now, sketching shapes that had always been hidden in the stony spire. The Cloudtorn Peak shook and crumbled. A great horny head slowly lifted toward the sky. Mighty shoulders heaved free, unfurling crystal wings. Then a scaly back, hips, long tail edged with icicle daggers.

The snow dragon gazed out, seeking the root of its wish. A far, dull glow caught its eye. Below the lofty peak, beyond the Chokedust plain, the Withertines glowered its light through the noisome ashpall. The dragon snorted jets of frost. The great maw opened and a roar turned the air to icy fog. Beneath its wings, bits of freezing fluff drifted down upon the stately pines.

Stretching, the snow dragon shook loose the last shard of stone that imprisoned its talons. Vast wings beat and chill air whistled through frozen feathers as it soared aloft. Downy puffs fell thick behind. High over the barren gravel of the Chokedust Plain it glided, across the Shearwire Fence, until it circled the metal spires and smoke stacks of the Withertines.

All night the snow dragon circled. Snow mingled with the ashpall, gathering soot as it fell between concrete towers. Snow settled on the filthy rooftops and the bitter asphalt. It washed at least the outermost layer of grime from smeary windows.

Inside their factories, grimkin shivered and dared not look up. They feared this was the end of all Industry, and they were determined to wring every last bit of wealth from it.

The grimchild knew nothing of this, for Nanny had drawn the drapes again and their rooms were always chilly. Only, in the morning, her shriek tore the grimchild from sleep.

Racing to the window, he gasped at the vista of gentle white flakes settling endlessly upon the town. Screeches echoed up from below as motorcars skidded. There was crashing and cursing, too.

“What is this?” cried Nanny.

The grimchild knew the answer, but he did not say it for fear she would shut the drapes again. Shivering with delight, he watched as winter visited the Withertines for the first time beyond memory. Just once he caught a glimpse of the gleaming white dragon who soared above the ashpall.

“Of all the things,” Nanny complained, trembling. “And shut that window! You’re letting the heat out.”

Obediently, the grimchild slid the glass down. He looked around their barren chamber, the plain slat furniture and the hard bed where he slept.

“Of all the things,” he murmured.

Nanny said the Withertines was all the world and there was nowhere else to live. Now he knew she was wrong. There was a world outside the Withertines, where lovely things could still be found. One day, he wanted to see them all.

So while Nanny tutted and fussed at the falling show, the little grimchild picked up his book and began to make a plan.

The End…?

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From the dawn of time, the dragon has been the ultimate monster. Always lurking, looking for a virgin maiden to devour. I decided to play with this trope when I wrote my short story, “The Dragon Stone.”

You know the setup, right? A young woman, accused of witchcraft, is dragged to the stake. She must die for her evil ways! In the village of Terncliff, they have a Dragon Stone where witches are offered to the sea dragon, as payment for their crimes. Although young Aldrina is a witch, she has never hurt anyone. And when the sea dragon comes — let’s just say, the outcome isn’t what the villagers were expecting.

You can read the full story, “The Dragon Stone,” in my collection, Aunt Ursula’s Atlas, at fine e-booksellers everywhere.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Aunt-Ursulas-Atlas-Fairy-Tales-ebook/dp/B01N0RIQSS

Other formats: https://www.books2read.com/u/bxg6qP

Or in paperback: https://www.createspace.com/6939815

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And cymbals crash as the door flies open. Ta-da! Aunt Ursula’s Atlas is here.

So I’m super-excited, in my stoic way. After years of searching out markets for my retro fantasy short stories, I’ve taken the leap to self-publish a collection. It’s a little bit scary, but mostly fun, to bring out a book on my own initiative.



Cover illustration by Margaret Organ-Kean.

On a high shelf, in a hidden library,
There is a book of unknown wonders.

Open its pages. Explore mysterious lands.
See for yourself what lies within
Aunt Ursula’s Atlas.

So what’s inside?

Dragons, of course! And a unicorn. Some witches. A dryad. A dwarf. Thrilling adventures and hard lessons to learn. All this for $3.99.

Eleven short stories for middle grades — that is, grades 4 to 6. Half are in the fairy tale style you might remember from my podcast, The Dragon King. The others are an assortment of fantasy styles.

Where can you get this wondrous-ness?

Right now, it’s available only as an e-book. Trade paperback is in the works. It’s in Apple, Kindle and Epub formats, through a variety of outlets. I hope you’ll follow your favorite link and give it a try.

General purchase hub (links to Apple, Nook, Kobo, 24 Symbols, Inktera). Others soon to be available include Page Foundry, Scribd and Tolino.

And, of course, Amazon.

Not exactly a purchase link, but here’s Goodreads as well.

One last thing

Reviews! If you do buy the book, I sure could use some reviews. I’ll be contacting a few friends about specific publicity, but any one of you could add it to wish lists, mark it to-be-read, and otherwise help spread the joy.

Thanks for being so awesome!

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Jack Frost is annoyed.
Naughty dragon making noise,
Scaring off his friends.

Never knew Haiku could be a storytelling form, did you?

Now for that news. I’m excited to tell you that I’ve got the cover art for my middle-grade book, Aunt Ursula’s Atlas. I’m working through Draft to Digital to get it done in e-book and print. There are the usual formatting issues, but I hope to get through them quickly and be able to announce a release date. Crossing my fingers, it will be before Christmas!

Aunt Ursula’s Atlas is a collection of short stories by my alter-ego, Lucy D. Ford. Some are from the fairy tale series that I podcast as The Dragon King in 2012. Others are more contemporary in style. If you recall a few weeks ago, I shared a story called The Dragon’s Ghost on this very blog. That will be part of this book.

So wish me luck as I set out on my self-publishing adventure, and come back Saturday for the next of my haiku sequence.

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