The Frog and the Hen: Another Fractured Fable

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Once again, I am adding another fable to my collection. I will probably add this one to an anthology I’m working on about stories, fables, and fairytales from the Watchmage Chronicles’ world. Now that The Watchmage of Old New York and Cold Iron are both out, I can work on both these and the third book, The Fiddler’s Bow.

Oh, and if you’d like to jump in on The Watchmage Chronicles, the first book, The Watchmage of Old New York, is only 99 cents. Both books are free if you have Kindle Unlimited.

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The Frog and the Hen

by C.A. Sanders

Once upon a time, though it happens every day, there lived a frog named Bud. He lived in a swampy pond, not far from a chicken coop. He slept all day and spent all night drinking fly-flavored beer (Coors Flight: “the Buzzy Bullet”) and croaking as loud as he could with his frog buddies, Err and Weis. The croaking was so loud that it kept the chickens awake, and sometimes Weis would play his banjo, making the party even louder.

One day, Henrietta the Hen made a racket, clucking away as loud as she could. Annoyed, (because how dare someone keep him awake) Bud hopped over to the chicken coop.

“Damn, Henrietta, will you please shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Henrietta clucked. “I just layed an egg and it’s hard work, harder than you’ve ever done. What have you accomplished in your life? You sleep all day and croak all night while drinking fly-flavored beer. Next time you want to complain, bring some proof that you’ve accomplished something in your pathetic, ambivalent, amphibious life.”

Bud hopped away, embarrassed by Henrietta’s tongue-lashing, especially since Bud’s tongue was so much longer. She’s right, he thought. I’ve done nothing in my life except croak and drink Coors Flight. I’m gonna prove her wrong. There’s nothing a chicken can do that I can’t do better.

Bud first mentioned his plan to Err, who laughed so hard that he fell off of his log. “Bud,” Err said. “You’re an idiot.”

“Why? My mom said can do anything I want if my put my mind to it.”

“First of all, frog-bro, you’re a frog, bro. You can’t scratch, you can’t peck, you can’t fly. How the hell do you not know this? Has the Coors Flight softened your head?”

“Screw you, Err,” croaked Bud. “I don’t need your help. I’m gonna chicken so hard that Henrietta will molt in shame.”

“You’re a dumbass, but do what you want.” Err opened a can of Coors Flight, popping the top with his tongue. “It’s your right as a Swamperican.” Err downed his beer and leaped away.

Bud decided that he needed to observe first He went to the chicken coop. First he talked to the hens, but they all clucked in his face and said “bless your heart.” Then he found Earl the Rooster, all decked out in red and white, with long, sharp spurs in case a chicken with other-colored feathers showed up.

“Hey, Earl,” Bud croaked.

“Hey, Bud,” Earl clucked as he strutted around the coop, full of Big Cock Energy, as most roosters are.

Bud hopped after Earl. “I need some advice.”

“Well, maybe I can give it to ya. I’m the smartest rooster in these here parts.”

Bud held in his comment that he was the only rooster. “I want to do what chickens do, and I want to be the best.”

“Ba-gawk! What!?” Clucked Earl. It took a while for Earl to stop laughing, but when he finally did, he showed Bud how to scratch, how to peck, and how to fly.

But Bud’s froggy body had no claws, beak, or wings, and Earl laughed him right back into the swamp.

Bud had one last friend to go to for advice: Weis, the wisest frog in the swamp. Weis liked to hang out during the day on a lily pad in the center of the pond, picking his banjo and singing about rainbows and connections. Bud sat down next to him.

“I want to be like a chicken,” Bud said.

Weis plucked a string, then turned a tuning peg. “Why do you want that?”

Bud stumbled over his response. Why do I want to do that? Bud thought. While Bud mused on the simple question, Weis played his banjo.

“I think I know,” Bud said. “I want to show Henrietta up, and do what she does better than her.”

Weis said, “Instead, why don’t you do what you already do better than her. Don’t try to be the best her. Be the best you.” With that, Weis broke into a song about being green and how it wasn’t easy. Bud had heard it a thousand times, so he hopped away.

Bud thought all day about what he was best at. It wasn’t hopping. It wasn’t catching flies. It wasn’t drinking Coors Flight. He thought and thought and thought until he had a frog-piphany, which is like an epiphany, but for frogs.

“I’m the best croaker in the swamp! And that’s what I’m going to do.”

That night instead of croaking and drinking fly-flavored beer with his friends, Bud went by the chicken coop “Hey Henrietta! This is what I can do! Listen to this!” And Bud croaked as loud as he could. He croaked and croaked and croaked and croaked and croaked and croaked and croaked the whole night through.

Weis and Err found Bud in the morning, covered with chicken scratches. He had croaked.

The morals of the story: Don’t complain about other people doing stuff if you do nothing all day long.

Or: Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you should be an asshole about it.

doge in space card redux

 

 

Maribell of the Needles: A Watchmage Story

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I’m working on a bunch of fairy tales and short stories that take place in the world of The Watchmage Chronicles. I’ll release them in an anthology after the 3rd Watchmage novel comes out (since some of the stories take place after that book). Here’s a variation of the White Lady myth called “Maribell of the Needles.”

I decided to have two endings: A sad one and a happy one. Let me know which one you like better in the comments section.

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Maribell of the Needles

By C.A. Sanders

Once upon a time, though it happens every day, there lived a young seamstress named Maribell. Still apprenticed, she was at that tender age between the pins and the needles, where love takes hold and never lets go. It was a dangerous age indeed.

On a bright Spring morning, a knight and his squire came to her village and visited her mistress’s workshop. But these shining warriors had a secret. They were not men, but the mysterious Sidhe, faerie nobles from across the Veil, where time is not the straight stitch of a hem or seam. Time is the loops, swoops, and twists of embroidery.

They entered the workshop and the knight, with slender sliver sword at his side, requested a new tabard be sewn. The squire, Lutrin, locked eyes with young Maribell, and swore that no woman would ever take the place of the sweet, cherub, brown-eyed, girl before him. And Maribell felt the same, for she looked into his eyes, a soulful shade of blue. No longer was she of the pins, but solely of the needles.

The knight laughed at Lutrin’s stammers and hitches, and the seamstress pricked Maribell on the palm and snickered at the blood. The youngsters shuffled away, stealing glances at one another, their souls sewn together.

That evening, Lutrin rapped on Maribell’s window. It would not be the last.

Continue reading →

Cold Iron, Feverish Writer

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Sooo, now that the chaos of Cold Iron’s book release is over, my body decided “hey, wouldn’t this be a super awesome happy jolly fun time to get sick?” Of course, it didn’t tell me this until I was mid-date with Katie, so she’s probably sick too.

At least my summer position in the job coaching program is over. I have 2 weeks of summer before school starts once again.

I hope that the cold doesn’t last that long. Despite being the size of a small bear, I am in poor health and many of my colds turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. Just something to be concerned with.

Yay

Oh, i should make a graphics ad for Cold Iron. This book is really freakin good, and I usually hate the things that I write 😛

guinea pig card

Trainwreck Day

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Yesterday was a heckin trainwreck at work. This summer I am working as a job coach and mentor for special-needs high school students. I’m at several job sites in the local mall.

Yesterday the mall was closed, but they didn’t tell us. I found out when I got there at 7:45. The students get there at 8:00.

I had to run around, find all of the students before they panicked, and arrange rides for them to get home. Okay, that was aggravating. But what really pissed me off is that no one told my boss. I called her to let her know, and she was shocked.

Then I went to the doctor and discovered that I gained 5 pounds since starting the job. Unacceptable.

Also, I pulled a muscle in my back. Unacceptable.

Oh, and today I woke up at 3:30. Unacceptable.

That whole day and this morning were unacceptable. I’m not happy.

But at least I started revising The Third Watchmage Novel…”Watch Hard With a Vengeance…” not really the name…or is it?

cosmic-cat tripping balls redux

The Shepherd Boy Dovid

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This developed from a chat with a friend, and I decided to finish it for her. It’s very silly, but so am I…

Come gather round dear children, and heed the words I say
A tale of bravery and woe to make you cry “oy vey!”
For when the sky grew dark, and so many ran and hid,
There stood one boy against the wolves, a shepherd boy Dovid.

Dovid he was out one day, a-minding all the sheep,
He listened to them “baa” and he listened to them bleat.
He put his horn up to his mouth and played a tune he did,
For no one blew his horn quite like the shepherd boy Dovid

The sheep oh they did dance around, The chickens and cattle too
Goats swung each other by the beards, a 23 Skiddoo!
The dogs! The Cats! The bunnies! The Bats! They frolicked and they slid.
They loved to hear the music of the shepherd boy Dovid.

The villagers–boo– they did not like young Dovid and his tune.
He should be far more serious, not horning to the moon
Until one fateful day, when the troubles flipped its lid.
They learned their one true hero was the shepherd boy Dovid.

10 packs of wolves came from the west, all nasty fangs and fur,
they gnashed their teeth and how they howled, they “grrred” a fearsome “grrr”
The people they all ran away from both ends to the mid,
All except that horney boy, the shepherd boy Dovid.

The wolves prepared to feast upon the animals a-dancin’
They circled round the sheep, oh, no escape a-chancin’
The sheep all bleated: mistreated, left feeted, and scared from tail to nib
But the wolves were in for a surprise: the shepherd boy Dovid.

Dovid put the horn back to his lips and he began to blow
A tune no wolf had heard before nor one they’d ever know
For wolves are smart and wolves are fierce but wolves know no music,
especially not the tunes of the shepherd boy Dovid

The wolves big paws, they came with claws, and now began to dance
They wagged their tails and booped their snoots, a prelude to romance.
They twirled around the sheep and goats but did not bite or nip,
For they were too entranced by the shepherd boy Dovid

And all those wolves, they danced all night to the music of the horn,
and they were all a-fast asleep by the coming of the morn.
And Dovid led his sheepies home to where the sheepies lived
And not a sheep was lost because of the shepherd boy Dovid

The next day all the people returned and oh to their surprise
Their sheep, their chickens, their goats, their cows all staring with big eyes
The animals they had judged them all, they knew what they had did,
And not one of them was half as brave as the shepherd boy Dovid

Now no one ever complained again when Dovid played his horn,
And secretly they smiled, and they never were forlorn,
They learned that music is special, and worth a hefty bid,
And especially the music of the shepherd boy Dovid

doge in space card redux

 

 

Cold Iron is Here!!

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It’s finally here! Well, the pre-order is…

Cold Iron the sequel to The Watchmage of Old New York and Book 2 of The Watchmage Chronicles, is currently available for preorder for only 99 Cents!!! There’s more of everything that you loved in the original. More Nathaniel! More Jonas! More Hendricks! More painstakingly detailed historical accuracy. More Dwellers! Sadly, less flying dogs…maybe in the next book 😉 Buy Cold Iron here!

Cold Iron Cover

To go along with this, The Watchmage of Old New York is also 99 Cents!! That means you can buy two! Count em! Two books for just two bucks!!! It’s the perfect time to jump into The Watchmage Chronicles.

Hopefully next year I’ll have the third out, tentatively titled The Fiddler’s Bow, and then who knows? I have tons of ideas for novels, short stories, even a roleplaying game (Who wouldn’t want to play a Dweller in 19th century New York?).  But before all that happens, people need to read the books. If a book drops on a website and nobody is there to read it, does it make a story?

So Read! Share! Gush about the things you love! The things you hate! The lack of Flerriers! Why all the carriage drivers in 19th century New York are as crazy as the ones in 21st century New York (historical note, much of the police activity back then was dealing with cart crashes. Not much has changed).

Anyway, you get the idea. 🙂

I love you all,

Craiggers

cosmic-cat tripping balls redux