I was putting the finishing touches on the book, getting it ready for publishing when I was informed by an AI that there were “7 misspellings that needed to be addressed.” Well, okay, I’m human, glad you caught that, O Noble AI spellcheck. So I went to look.
There was not a single spelling error. The problems were language and usage. Six of the seven errors were words in Gaelic. The seventh was usage. I had the word “befores” marked. No such thing, right? Well, if you’re referring to different potential past timelines, there might be. In context, it made sense. The funny part was that even Co-Pilot would have known better. Someone needs to upgrade their spelling checker.
Anyway, above is what will likely be the final cover. I’ll post a link when the book is ready.
It has occurred to me that there’s a side-effect to discontinuing the email list. Pictured above is the cover to the bonus book that went to anyone signing up. Now that the list is no more, the book is no longer exclusive to it. Also, since I put this collection together I’ve written four or five ( I lost track) new stories in the series. So I will be adding those and putting out a new edition.
With a new cover, I hasten to add. Never was happy with this one.
This is a new story set in the Black Dog Pub. It’s not in the collection for temporal reasons. Namely it wasn’t written when I released the book.
My name’s Casey. I’m the bartender here at the Black Dog pub…well, one of them. Neegan’s the other. I’m a banshee. Neegan…actually, I’m not sure what Neegan is. Tall, good-looking guy. Maybe I’ll ask him one of these days, but I digress.
The subject came up when I was talking to Tim the Clurachaun. You might notice him if you stumble into the Black Dog. Short guy, even for a fae. Wears a red vest. Like their drink, clurachauns, so he’s often here. Oh, and a word of advice—never make a bar bet with a clurachaun. Trust me on this.
Anyway, one evening Tim was on his usual stool muttering into his beer. Or maybe he was scrying, you never know. Finally he puts his chin on the bar and stares into the golden brew.
“’All that is gold does not glitter,’” he says, and I couldn’t help myself.
“’Not all those who wander are lost.’ You read Tolkien?”
“Not a bad storyteller, for a human,” Tim says, “though he had elves all wrong. They’re about as ethereal and wise as a kick in the arse.”
“What about the Seelie Court?”
Tim grunted. “I was referring to the Seelie Court. The Unseelie Court is worse, if more fun.”
Most fae are at least casually associated with one Court or the other. As a banshee I’m usually lumped in with the Unseelie bunch. Not sure why. Foretelling death is a useful service, and it’s not as if I actually kill anybody. Now, if you were talking about my Scottish cousins the baobhan-sith, you’d have a case. Those girls have a taste for blood. Good dancers, though.
Tim drained his beer, ordered another. “Speaking of Tolkien, I don’t envy humans at all…and I very much envy them.”
“At the same time?” I said, wiping a glass. “Not possible.”
Tim nodded, looking morose. “I know. Probably why it keeps happening.”
“How do you not envy them?”
“They have the lifespans of mayflies, by comparison. Most of them go through that short life in a fog, seldom with any sort of a clue what’s really happening around them.”
“And how do you very much envy them?”
He sighed. “They make stuff up.”
I frowned. “Really? That’s it?”
“Casey, darlin’, when we tell a story, it’s something that actually happened, if exaggerated. When they tell a story, they take a kernel of truth and blow it up into an entire myth! Nothing bends reality like a good myth, and they are myth machines! Like Yeats and the Leannan Sidhe, or that Tolkien fellow. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of his high and mighty elves that don’t exist shows up here one day. The fact that you and I are having this conversation right now might be due to one of them making stuff up.”
“Scary thought.”
Tim does get into the foolishness when he’s into his cups. Still, next chance I get I will ask Neegan what the heck he is.
Just in case.
©2021 Richard Parks
I was able to complete a side project I’ve been wanting to do for a while. Tales From the Black Dog was the first, though only the lovely folk on my email list can see that one. Regardless, as I’ve written more flash fiction over the last few years I’ve noticed certain themes emerge. Not too surprising that many of them were twisted takes on traditional fairy tales…not to mention new ones, the kind of things I often did for the late and still lamented Realms of Fantasy magazine, Shawna McCarthy editing. The flash writing group has given me an outlet for that sort of thing which otherwise doesn’t exist at the moment. Maybe one day. But until then, I have to take care of business myself.
All of which is a roundabout way of saying I’ve put together another collection of my flash fiction, Fairy Tale Flash: Fractured Fables Old and New. It’s available on Amazon at the moment. The Apple Books and Kobo and Nook editions take longer to get through the system. I’ll make those links available as soon as I have them.
There are 21 stories total, 500 words each…oh heck, I’ll do the math: just under 11000 words total. And I used to think telling a story in 1500 words or fewer was hard.
Well, okay. It is. Writing anything well is hard. But I will say it does teach one to cut to the chase…even more than I thought I already knew.
Richard Parks 