Make time
to drift through the sky
where stars pave the way
to dreams abound,
just out of sight,
waiting to be found.
Not A Lore | Short Stories Collection | Published
As most of you would know, lately I had been working on my second short stories collection, Not a Lore: The Imperfect Tales. It is now published and available on Amazon as an eBook and a paperback (I recommend eBook since it is ecofriendly).
The cover page is designed by Manpreet Kaur who is a professional artist (@ammpryt on Instagram). Nishant Agrawal, Instructional Designer and short-stories aficionado like me, is the editor.
Not a Lore contains twelve quirky stories about curses that kill (or worse, make you to fall in love), monsters who aren’t all that bad and damsels that are better left alone with their distress. A mix of fresh tales and retelling, the compilation is all magic. Written from the point of view of one of the central characters, it is a celebration of my skewed perspective regarding all things magical and mundane.
Here is a short description of the stories in the collection.
- Not a Lore: A handsome prince sets upon a journey with his Squire to kiss a sleeping princess awake. But how will he get past the dragon? And would it be better to become dragon fodder instead?
- Ugly: A prince stuck as a toad forces a princess to help him lift the curse, but she would rather fry him alive. His only hope is a maid who doesn’t shriek at his sight.
- Captivated: A girl stuck on the top of the tower meets a handsome prince. He brings a fresh perspective while she persuades him that there is no need to run from the ‘witch’.
- The Doors: When a Fighter tooth fairy goes to explore the worlds behind the mysterious doors, her Spellman partner of 93 years decides to find her somehow.
- Barred: When the severed bull’s head guarding the door of a famous potion-bar stops a love‑struck wizard from entering and staring at the barmaid, they discuss the issue with surgical accuracy.
- Vivid: While restoring a cursed bracelet at a museum, the museum assistant shares the awe, love and agony of the first owner, as she finally realises why the bracelet was cursed.
- Muddled: A man wakes up in his bed groggy and confused and finds that someone else is now also living in his house. He is searching his memory as he walks down the steps.
- Late: On a full moon night, a young man stumbles upon a horrible secret in a dark alley and runs for his life. Unsure if it is a hallucination, he would rather not stop and confirm.
- Broken: A hunter recounts the tale of when he goes looking for a trophy head of a tiger and ends up falling in love completely beyond repair.
- The Far Door: A single woman moves into a new building to leave her past behind. Therein, she finds a door without a lock that she is forbidden to open. The story captures her fascination and fear wrapped around the unknown entity in the room behind the far door.
- A Matter of Chance: A new-age non-witch cooks a dumb cake on All-Hallows eve to see her future husband in the mirror. But now, she must wait for him to find her. If only he would acknowledge that she exists!
- The Scoop: When a famous news anchor decides to cover Cinderella’s ‘fairy connections’ with vengeance on mind, Cinderella didn’t stand a chance.
The e-book is now available on Amazon. To preview:
- Select this link: Not a Lore: The Imperfect Tales
- Select the Read Sample button.
- Scroll down to read the sample.
If you wish to buy the ebook, know that Amazon Kindle app can be installed on any device and not just Kindle Readers. (I had it on my Android phone. But my daughter forced me to delete it because it is addictive!)
Wish me luck. I will need loads of it. I have two requests.
- If you think it is worth it, please share the link with others as well.
- If you choose to buy, please leave reviews, good or bad. I am happy to learn from you.
- Let me know what you think of the sample in the comments and if it needs improvement.
Thanks a lot! Looking forward to hearing from you all.
Eternal
Billions
of stars
twisted in braids,
swirling in eternal dance,
Heavens!
Author’s note: Lantern is a Japanese form of poetry with 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 syllables set to share a single thought.
Simple | Lantern | Poetry
Dreams
sweet, simple;
No worries simmering;
Alas! I miss you,
Childhood!
Where I have been, What I have been doing
Egg-tray daffodils and butterfly and the falling-stars-night background coloured by my 7-year-old “Artist-e-Azam” wonder girl. My role was limited to cutting the flowers and flower arrangement.
Lately, my inner child and actual child have taken over my life.
My daughter turned seven last week. She also worked very hard for her exams last month. Hence, I and my husband have been giving her loads of little treats to make her feel special.
So, we have bought her what she loves the most: toys and colours of different kinds. And then let her colour everything around her to her heart’s content. I have throwing random ideas at her, and she is more than happy to oblige.
This egg-tray daffodils and butterfly is just the tip of the iceberg.
There is a toy dragon cut out of an egg-tray and coloured, and ready to be tied together, while another egg tray shivers awaiting execution. 🙂
I also created a reusable frame for her constant flow of amazing paintings.
That is why I haven’t been posting as much. I have let life take over…and its fun!
Dreams vs Reality
Dress-up dreams
Dress-up reality
What all goes into a rainbow cake
Do you know what all goes into cooking a rainbow cake 🎂?
My daughter is turning seven this month. Also, for the first time, she was dealing with exhausting end-of-year exams (Children her age have been going to school since they were 3 but we homeschooled her due to COVID.) I wanted her to remember these days with fondness rather than dread. So, I built her a 4-inch oven the out of a cardboard box.
She was so excited upon seeing the gift that she decided she will begin using it immediately. That is when it all snow-balled.
It started with a small paper pizza 🍕, complete with mushrooms 🍄, onions 🌰, tomatoes 🍅 and capsicums.
The next day, a 3D cake 🎂 the diameter of my smallest finger and the half the height appeared. It was cute with rainbow colours and seven candles on the top, ready for the big doll party–apparently, my daughter’s doll is ready to celebrate her seventh birthday too.
But of course, it wasn’t enough because it didn’t really have any ingredients, just paper. So, my daughter took it upon herself to create them. You see, the quickest way to get a toy is to build it. So, on the next day, a paper flour bag 🌾appeared, along with a paper milk jug 🥛, a couple of eggs 🥚🥚and a bowl of sugar. Not sure where she found the recipe–I don’t bake. I don’t even have an oven. The items are a little rough around the edges since she is not allowed to use scissors yet. But that never managed to curb her enthusiasm.
The next day, paper icing cones started appearing. Soon, we had strawberry 🍓, orange 🍊, mango 🥭, kiwi 🥝, blue berry, black berry and black grapes 🍇 flavours. I thought it should be enough for the cake, so after a lot of ministrations from our little chef, the cake went inside the oven.
And then she realised that it is a party, and she can’t offer just a piece of the rainbow cake to the guests. So, over the next few days, paper cupcakes 🧁, burger 🍔, four varieties of shakes 🥤, a whole lot of other food stuff of unidentifiable variety 🥗🧆🍥 started appearing. It was, of course, done using the milk-jug 🥛, eggs 🥚🥚, icing and flour 🌾 prepared previously.
And then came a whole set of paper fruits 🍓🍒🍎🍑🍊🥭🍍🍋🍌🍇 and serving trays. I reminded her that she had plastic fruits and trays as well, but the suggestion was declined on the premise that everything has to look similar.
Yesterday, after her exams ended, my daughter had the big doll birthday party 🥳 with her friend. Four guest dolls along with four soft toys–a deer, a monkey, a dog and a penguine–were in attendance. The party was a huge hit and everyone nose-dived into the rainbow cake 🎂 since they didn’t have the patience to cut it neatly into pieces (which would have destroyed a real piece of art).
I am glad my daughter’s knowledge of baked items is limited, or else the party would have to be delayed until my daughter had the complete range of baked goods. I hope now the party is over, the bake frenzy would end, or else slow down to one piece a day.
Well, one can hope!
The Subway
I stand at the subway gates. Her train is late. That has me worried. She is a creature of habit, always visiting the subway at the same time every day. What if she decides not to come at all because of the delay? Could I live through the eighty-six thousand seconds that pass between today and tomorrow?
When I first met her, it was in the same spot when I was called to duty by a church minister to get rid of the riffraff that riddled the enclosed space. I was one of the best guardian angels, killing all the specters at the breath of my sword. But, then, she stepped down from the midnight train, her melancholy eyes drawing me in. She walked towards the subway gate…towards me…and the world around me melted into an array of colours and nothingness.
I think the minister shouted to get rid of her but how could I?!
He called her as the most dangerous one but I couldn’t see why.
I think he sighed, “Not this one too,” but couldn’t care less.
Since then, for Almighty-knows-how-many years, I stand rooted in the same spot waiting for her to step down from the midnight train and walk towards the subway gates–towards me–like the hundreds of other specters before and after me.
(Author’s note: I saw this picture on Unsplash by Andrew Ling and it spoke to me. All I wrote is what the picture breathed into my ears.)
Repost for a Dear Dog
Republishing this story to reminiscence Ollie, beloved dog who turned into an angel yesterday. He was the muse for this story. Full of life and antics, he was much admired and loved across the blogging community. I hope he continues chasing squirrels where he has gone.
Perseverance, eh?
I am currently reading a novel “Sealed Divine Throne” by Tang Jia San Shao, which is a translation of a Chinese web novel. It is a journey of a light-element hero, Long Haochen, from age 8 onwards. After 600+ episodes, I have reached age 25 and am still a long way from the end. Out of the original 72 demon gods, he still needs to kill 67. So, at least 600 episodes more.
Hats off to the writer who has built an entire world based on calculated spiritual energy and tool-based magic. The thing that has kept me wondering the most is the perseverance of the writer (and the character too, of course). To stick to a set of characters for so long and let them grow bit by bit…
It is something I wish to achieve one day. Right now, it is a struggle to stick to a story for a week. Even in school, I was one to write the shortest answers. During exams, other people used to fill two or more sheets and ask for more until the examiners ran out of paper. But I was bent on conserving natural resources and hold the record for saving half the pages of examination answer sheets.
So, when I started out as a short story writer, I kept it really short–I mean really tiny-winy three-four lines. Since my sole audience was my two-year old daughter, she never complained. It is difficult to explain the aesthetic side of a stork’s journey down the crocodile’s stomach. She would certainly ask intelligent questions, like how come the stork’s beak managed to get inside and how on earth did the crocodile digest it, but I never had to write it in The Lord of Rings detail.
And then I attended one-hour workshop on tiny story writing at work. Bingo! I could write three-line stories for adults! As an instructional designer, the “conciseness” suited my temperament–my motto had always been that if it can be written in a half-a-word, why use a full word–sheer wastage of energy! (This rule only applies to writing. Otherwise, I am certified chatterbox.)
So, naturally I never felt the need to expand when I published my book, The Forest Bed and Other Short Stories. It had 30 stories with a word count of 100-200 each–most of the pages were filled with illustrations instead. The stories were still longer than I normally would write. But I realised that I had to to reach a minimum count of words to call it a story book.
After that I strived to write longer stories. But they take too long to finish. For me, anything that I can’t finish in a single sitting is a lost cause. I will most certainly forget about it the next time I open my computer.
So, I was wondering how people manage to write long novels/serials.
Do you have any suggestions regrading how to stick to a story for a long time?
Yesterday
She stands in middle of the raucous party.
–
Do I dare?
No, I don’t.
Of course, I choose to live in the past.
It is the safest place to be.
There are no risks, no uncertainties–
just plain solid facts.
There are are a few regrets
but I can always shrug them off as past.
–
Do I dare?
No, I can’t.
Future is steeped in risk.
Can’t get there
without weathering some storms
or facing my demons!
Can’t strive, plan, fail…face fresh hurt–
Too full of blows from the past.
At least they didn’t manage to kill me…yet.
Can’t move on.
–
Do I dare?
No, I won’t.
I sneak a peek at her across the hall
while trying to ignore her.
She smiles in my direction.
I frown at the pain in my chest
in the hole filled with resignation.
Ah! I forgot to breath!
–
Do I dare?
Don’t I stand on the mountain of hurt
collected in years past?
Will I be able to get past?
She is looking here expectantly–
a smile playing on her mischievous lips.
–
Do I dare?
May be…
I smile back and step forward…
The past still hurts.
Well, one baby step at a time.
Leaf Sheep Sea Slug
I am a Sheep Leaf Sea Slug.
Residing within deep ocean of myriad thoughts;
Eating chloroplast made by others;
Absorbing plots, phrases, ideas;
Using them for my own photosynthesis;
Shaping the onslaught of stories;
Giving birth to something original;
As I turn into a plant myself.
I am Sheep Leaf Sea Slug–
I cannot exist until you do…
Author’s note: Sheep Leaf Sea slug is around one centimetre long mystery found in Japanese ocean waters. It is the only known animal able to do do photosynthesis using chloroplast made by other plants. It looks like a cute sheep that developed leaves! I saw the pic today and it was love at first sight! 🥰
Image from https://www.facebook.com/story.php/?id=100064630361709&story_fbid=6229719240399925
Lost and Found
Weird it is that you’re seemingly lost
yet you find ways to find me;
I see through eyes that aged long back
the dreams that once defined me;
Whatever would I do if I go looking
for whoever I left behind me.
No where close to who I was
I stand to be someone I can’t stand,
My calm hides raging storm within–
lightening and thunders without rain;
Yet unyeilding shell of fake smiles,
hides rawness in the refined me.
Mirrors I hate for mocking the old me
that sold me…
Ghost
I keep waiting for you to leave,
Watching the corner where you stand
Shaking your perfect head at me;
Finding fault
picking at me.
Surely you can’t still be here.
You left without a backward glance
Reducing me to tears.
Begone the ghost
of lost years.
A Fresh Start? Ha!
Nothing changes in the new year–
Same resolutions broken on day one;
Shivering under covers in the morn;
Punctuation mistakes on files;
Playing dolls (because when do I get a choice?);
Snotty kisses that make me smile;
Bird watching under the sky;
Same good old life.
An year gone, another arrives.
I’m keeping the happy memories;
N’ letting the sad one’s slide.
Author’s note: What was you favourite part of the old year?
Cover art: By my 6-year-old daughter, taken without consent, hoping to be forgiven. At least it will get me a few likes 😄
Blue Painting – Pink Painting
She tries avoid looking in that general direction
Where, in her room, hangs the pink painting–
A gift from someone who loves but doesn’t understand.
Her eyes roam everywhere except that wall.
You could mount a stag’s head there and she wouldn’t notice.
She doesn’t want to notice
the typecast.
….
In his room, hangs a blue painting,
Something he bought along colourless clothes
To erase all doubt per chance;
Something he hated at the first glance;
A reminder of the bondage that sets him in the mould
And throws him in the inferno
Hoping he would fit the cast.
…
Wish they could switch…
Wish they do switch…
Nothing worse than a painting
That speaks against your heart.
Kash asman surkh aur zameen neeli hoti,
Sabko apna jahan khud rangne ki ijazat mili hoti.
Translation
If only the Sky was red;
If only the Land was blue;
If only everyone had the right
To colour their own view.
Author’s note: A lot is often lost in translation. Please read the last bit again with the following in mind:
Asman or Sky is considred male in Urdu while Zameen or Land is considered female.
What do think about typecasting people in gender roles?
Memories
Yu toh mukurane ki zindagi me wajah na thi,
Me tujhko yaad karta raha aur muskurata raha.
Translation:
Though life offered no reason ever to smile,
I kept thinking of you and beamed at the skies.
Darkness
Andhera tere dar pe nahi mere dil me tha;
Me dastak se darta raha; tu intezar karta raha.
Translation:
Standing in the darkness outside your door;
Willing it to open; fearing it would;
Craving the light escaping from the sides,
Steeling to face it; fearing I would;
Hoping to accept me; fearing I’m ruined;
Knowing you stand right beside the door,
Just waiting for me
to knock…
Rainbows
Quas-e-qaza roz ho ye mumkin nahi,
Bulbule hi kafi hain muskurane ke liye.
Translation:
Rainbows won’t show up everyday.
Meanwhile,
Bubbles are enough to smile.
Ding Dong Bell, Knell in the Dell
The sound of the church bells at an unusual hour had the entire village whispering. The confusion was mixed with excitement as everybody closed their business to rush to the church. A place where entertainment were few and far between, anything was better than nothing.
The two middle-aged women walked at a brisk pace, so that they didn’t miss the ‘main event’. Out of breath, Mrs Pols grumbled, “I don’t think anybody was that sick in the village…”
“I hope it’s Elyn…” Mrs Stout said in a wishful tone, but seeing the older lady’s shocked expression, she backtracked, “I mean that she has finally eloped with that Johney Flynn,”
“Oh that! I agree. The two had been mooning over each other for too long. Did you see them kiss at the Harvest ball?”
“The entire village did. Shameless! My Tommy has never been the same since that day. He has had a soft spot for Elyn ever since he joined the village choir. They used to practice together every Sunday. But now, she only has eyes for that worthless Johney…”
“Well, I don’t understand what all the men in the village see in that girl beside her golden hair. A woman’s got to have some meat on her but that one looks like a matchstick. I’m not sure how she kneads dough and milks cows with those tiny hands. And she doesn’t even know how to brew ale,” Mrs Pols added in an indignant tone.
Mrs Stout was clearly shocked, “Oh my! How do you know?”
“Well, the other day, she asked me if I would teach her how to brew ale since her mother died long back. As if I would let a woman like her around my Michael…” Mrs Pols huffed.
“No wonder her father looks so pale…the poor man must be living on water. What a worthless woman! I really hope she has eloped so that my Tommy will get over her!”
“Well, there are other ways to distract young men. My Rosie would be happy to help,” Mrs Pols offered suggestively.
Mrs Stout took the hint, “Why don’t you bring her over for dinner tomorrow and we’ll let the chips fall where they may?”
So, the women kept refining their conspiracy the rest of the way until they reached the church, which was more crowded than on a Sunday. People were whispering amongst themselves but no one was speaking openly. So, they pushed through the bodies to reach the front. Elyn stood there, crying, while her father looked stricken. And ‘little’ Tommy was leaning over something furry…
The mother within Mrs. Stout roared, “Thomas Stout! What do you think you are doing? You are allergic to cats!”
“Mother, I am paying last respects. Poor Tabitha is dead…”
“Dead?” Elyn’s father was now shaking with rage, “Johney Flynn murdered her; threw her in the well! If wasn’t for Tommy dear here, we would never have found out.”
Johney looked aghast, “But why would I ever do that? “
“Because I wouldn’t let Elyn marry you. So, you took it out on our cat.”
“Rubbish!”
Tommy piped in, “I saw you, Johney. I was standing on the hilltop when you picked her up from outside the farm and threw her in the well.”
“But that’s not true!”
Tears trickled from Elyn’s eyes as she fumed, “I saw you kick her the other day!”
“I told you earlier, I wasn’t kicking her. She was using my leg for a scratch post. I was just trying to shrug her off.”
“Liar! I don’t want to see you again,” Elyn shouted, crying in the earnest leaning on Tommy’s shoulder as he put a protective hand around her.
“Fine! Have it your way!” Johney stomped away.
At the coroner’s cue, little “Tommy Stout” picked up the little dead cat and walked to the tiny grave with Elyn by his side, a smile tugging at his lips.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 