About The Story Queen

The first good story I ever wrote was done during an airplane trip to a forgotten destination. It's a ballad about a Medieval bum shanghaied to fight a dragon. The vagrant manages to escape and find the love of his life, but just as he kisses her, everthing scatters in the fading remnants of a dream. The story ends on an uncertain note when a dragon flies above the waking man, suggesting that his adventure may have been real. I called that poem The Vagrant.

Sometime later, I wrote The Story Queen to develop a side character. And after that, I wrote the Dream Shadow, to present the first two stories from a different angle and further explore the fine line between dreams and reality.

I was on a poetry writing binge at the time, in the late nineties, and not much of it was very good. However, I held out hope for these three poems, wanting to weave them into a picture book for children, perhaps adding others as well.

I never did.

Many years later, in late 2008 to be precise, I conceived the shadowy idea for a story about a teenage boy who is enchanted by a mysterious Irish girl. In the opening chapter of that novel, Rebecca pulls a book from a shelf and tells Michael that she'd like to read one of her poems to him.

I didn't know what Rebecca was going to read until I peeked over her shoulder and saw The Vagrant. From that inspiration came a novel called The Story Queen. I just completed the third draft of this book and feel that it's something special, whether it gets published or not. At the moment, it's in the hands of some test readers. I've also entered the opening in three different RWA chapter contests. Presuming the judges score favorably and don't suggest major revisions, I'll start querying agents and publishers.

Here are the first three stanzas that Rebecca read to Michael.

Sunlight bathes his face from blue skies overhead.
He blinks,
and sleep fades from his eyes.
Rising now from mounds of leaves which formed his bed,
he stands as morning dew drops dry.

Kneeling by a brook, he washes shaves and drinks.
Light beard,
blue eyes stare back at him.
Combing long blond hair, "adventure" he now thinks.
"A day
of magic is my whim."

As he walks through town a voice from shadows cries,
"Go in,
your fortune she will tell."
"No." The vagrant laughs. "The future care not I!"
"Go in!"
The voice a magic spell.