Showing posts with label romantic fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romantic fantasy. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Alone by Erika M Szabo

A thought-provoking, futuristic, romantic short story


Will people feel the emotions of loss in the future as deeply as we do today?
How far will they be willing to go in finding the happiness they lost?
Caleb lost his Valerie. Will he find her?

A short snippet from the book:

“How could I do this alone, Val?” Caleb reached out and gently traced the name, Valerie Taylor, carved into the white marble headstone, with his fingers. “We were meant to be together until we grew old.”

As he had done every week since she passed, he sat down in front of the gravestone. Leukemia had taken her from him, moving so much faster than either of them could ever have imagined possible. All the plans they’d had for what was going to come meant nothing. She was gone.

Caleb sighed to ease the heaviness in his chest and looked up at the tree covered with flowers, close to the grave. “We had studied here when we were young. But always loved this magnolia tree. That’s why your parents chose this secluded spot to… Oh, Val. I miss you so much!”

More than once, over the past four years, he’d been told he was young and there would be someone else in his life. He’d love someone, to fill the void, but nobody understood what it was like to find a true soulmate. “I miss you, every day, and I keep trying to push myself to keep going, but there have been so many times when I’ve thought about just ending it all. I know I shouldn’t. You would never forgive me if I’d throw my life away, but you were my life, and…” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know every time I come here it seems like I say the same thing. I want things to be different, but without you here, there’s no happiness in my heart.”


I write speculative alternate history fiction, romantic urban fantasy, historical suspense novels as well as fun, educational, and bilingual books for children ages 2-14 about acceptance, friendship, family, and moral values such as accepting people with disabilities, dealing with bullies, and not judging others before getting to know them. I also like to encourage children to use their imagination and daydream about fantasy worlds.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

On a Dare She Wrote: Erika M Szabo #OurAuthorGang

We invited authors, aspiring authors, and poets to be our guest on the Author Gang's blog.

Author Erika M Szabo submitted her story and chose this picture to match.

Erika's story will be featured in the Golden Box Books Publishing's Readers' Magazine.

TIME AND TIME AGAIN


Searing pain squeezed my chest as I struggled to breathe. Let it be over, I begged silently. I'm so tired. My wish was finally granted and I was floating over my withered, old body.

The pain was gone and I was finally free. My earthly feelings of jealousy, hate, pity, entitledness and vanity peeled off and left only acceptance, serenity and love behind.

The tranquil feeling enveloped me as if I was wrapped in a comforting blanket. Basking in the brilliant white light I floated up in the familiar, wide tunnel. My memories slowly surfaced and by the time I reached the end of the long tunnel and floated into the beautiful gathering place, I remembered every single lifetime I lived.

"Welcome home Tiana," the familiar, soft voice in my head greeted me with my real name that was given to me so long ago. A large group souls surrounded and greeted me with loving embrace. Their gentle touch gave me pure joy. I saw my parents from many lifetimes along with my children, relatives, and friends.

"Finally you’re home," came the thought of my soulmate from the crowd. The souls parted to make way for him. "I’ve been waiting for you for so long."

"I missed you so much, Joland," I projected my thoughts. "I couldn’t find you and I was so lonely without you."

"My last lifetime was too short, only fifteen earthly years," he sent me his loving thoughts and longing vibes. "I love you so much! Come, I have so many memories to share with you."

We floated toward our beautiful, comfortable home that we shared while we both waited to be reborn again.

Finally, after spending a long life without him, we had a chance again to embrace in the purest form of lovemaking. We held each other in silence for a long time, floating in the warm light and enjoying our reunion.

"How was your life, my love? Would you show me?" Joland asked.

"It was too long," I showed him a mental picture of my last life.

My short childhood years were uneventful, so I started with my wedding day that was a sad occasion because my parents married me off young. I didn't love my husband but I learned to respect him over the years. We struggled and he worked very hard to provide for our growing family. He died in the war and I was left alone to raise ten children. Sadly, after all that struggle and hard time, I outlived them all and I died alone in a nursing home.

"Sorry, love. My last, short life wasn't happy either," Joland replied sadly.

He showed me a mental picture of a young boy who was abused by his brother from the time he turned nine, until his fifteenth birthday when he gathered the courage and strength and stabbed his brother to death. His father was heartbroken over the death of his favorite first born and shot Joland in the head, killing him.

We recalled happier lives for a while and then a group of souls we've connected with through so many lifetimes and resting periods, came over to visit us.

"How was your life since I’ve seen you?" I asked Kira, who was a cook in King Tut's court when I was a dressmaker.  

Kira replied, "I haven’t been sent back for a long time, but I didn’t tell you about the last one. Although I was born to a rich family and had a chance to travel a lot and study, I kept bumping into brick walls in the men's world. I found out a lot about how the human body works and learned herbal medicine from healers but I was not allowed to enter medical school because I was a woman."

She showed us a mental picture of her travels in many European countries when she visited healers, shamans, and medicine women.

Then she continued with a bitter tone of her voice, "I became a midwife but when the doctors who believed in bloodletting as the only form of medicine found out that I've been using herbs to heal people, they declared me incompetent and locked me up in a mental asylum where I died years later."
"So sorry, Kira," I tried to console my friend.

“It’s okay but under different circumstances, I could have earned my permanent stay. Well, maybe next time. Oh, I hope you don’t mind me inviting Sandor,” she pointed toward soul floating alone by the window.

“Of course I don’t mind. Who’s he?”

“He’s been a permanent for a long time but he’s kind of a loner and doesn’t make friends easily. You see, all his lifetimes, that happened to be war-times every time, he was destined to be the underdog, sickly and weak. He couldn’t fight but in his last lifetime he wrote a poem that moved an entire nation which led them to victory.”

“Wow! I never knew writing a poem would be enough to earn someone a permanent stay,” I mused and then spotted my dear friend in the crowd. “Have you met Gertrude?” I asked Kira.

“No, but I see she’s a permanent. How did she earn it?”

“She invented the first antiretroviral drug to treat AIDS. I wish I could achieve something similar in my next life.”

“Yes, me too,” Kira projected her words.

We mingled, socialized, enjoyed each other’s company and learned from each other’s earthly experiences. Later we played our favorite games, listened to music and went to see a play.

Although we don't measure time in our resting periods, this time Joland and I had a longer than usual time together. We spent the time enjoying the pure happiness that only soulmates have a chance to experience.

"I hope in our next earthly lives we could be together in body and soul." he wished.

"I hope we will be born at least on the same continent so we could have a chance to meet,” I replied. “But, let's not waste time worrying. Let's enjoy what we have."

We did for a long time but then the voice came, "Tiana, Joland, it's time for both of you to go."
"Can we stay for just a little bit longer?" I begged.

"No, you know the rule," the stern voice replied. "Both of you must keep going back until you achieve something in one of your lifetimes that helps to move humanity forward. You must do something that people find worthy to remember your name for. Then you can reunite and stay together for eternity."

I embraced Joland and he sent me his thoughts and his feelings of pure love, "Until we meet again."

We floated away from each other dragged by a force we couldn't fight. Suddenly, I found myself struggling to push my way through a dark, narrow, and very tight tunnel. I pleaded silently, please, let us both find our purpose in life this time.

As I wiggled my small body free and struggled to take my first breath, I tried to hold onto my memories but everything faded away. Cell memories surfaced and I remembered only sounds and the comfortable feeling of floating in warm liquid. I heard familiar, loving voices and the calming, rhythmical lub-dub sound as I was laid on a warm and soft surface and felt the reassuring vibes of love radiating toward me. I'm not alone. Everything will be alright.



I became an avid reader at a very early age, thanks to my dad who introduced me to many great books. I write alternate history, romantic fantasy, magical realism novels as well as fun, educational, and bilingual books for children ages 4-12 about acceptance, friendship, family, and moral values such as accepting people with disabilities, dealing with bullies, and not judging others before getting to know them. I also like to encourage children to use their imagination and daydream about fantasy worlds.

Read about Erika in her author magazine


Tuesday, June 6, 2017

The Beauty and Usefulness of the Ancient Flower Language


Author Erika M Szabo

In my magical realism fantasy series, The Ancestors' Secrets, nearly every chapter starts with a flower and its meaning in the Ancient Flower Language that I learned from my grandmother.




My Grandmother, Rozalia, was born in 1892 in a small town of Hungary. She often told me stories about the times when she was a young girl and a young woman. They didn't have the freedom to date openly and most weren't even allowed to express who they wanted to marry.

But, young women and men were very inventive and they found the way to communicate their fondness and thoughts with each other under the watchful eyes of their parents and chaperones.

When a young man spotted a young lady with a chaperone that he liked, he followed them home, and from then on, he communicated his feelings to her with hidden notes and flowers. When fresh flowers weren't available, they used drawings and paintings, or dry-pressed flowers.

When the young man left snowdrops and lotus flowers for his lady, she new that her suitor is hoping that she's at the age when he could start courting her openly. With this combination of flowers he asked her permission to approach her parents.

Photo credit Pixabay.com

The young lady replied with marigold and pansy, which meant that she's dealing with some inner conflict but thinking about it. Although at this point in the relationship she most likely wanted to say yes or even shout her happiness from the rooftop, but out of modesty, first she let him know that she's seriously considering his offer.

Photo credit Pixabay.com

I added some of the flower language meanings to the chapter heading in my romantic fantasy, alternate history, magical realism novel series that is suitable for young adults as well. Some readers love this added special touch, others don't like it. Judge it for yourself.

Read Chapter 24
Pansy - Thoughts


Elza's Diary

The flower of the simple pansy represents thoughts. Thoughts can be deep, fleeting, disturbing, happy and sad, or life-altering and so on. As we sometimes say, “A penny for your thoughts” when trying to figure out what others think. My thoughts at that point were lightning fast, and they were ready to strike like an angry cobra.

Dear diary,
Today was a disaster. I was waiting up for Ilona, desperate to talk to her. There were so many things that were confusing and unexpected; it was way over my head. Ilona wasn’t opening up so I couldn’t tell her things that she needed to know. I knew I had to tell her the most important information, despite the pain I was facing and had to find out if she had accepted her ability, or if she was still struggling with it. It hurt too much to bring the subject up, but I couldn’t wait any longer. She showed all the signs of knowing who she was, and what she was capable of doing, but I expected it must have been very hard for her, and I wished I could help. She received her little ones when I gave her a pendant, which caused the ravaging fever in her body. As far as I knew, the “little ones” helped to awaken certain abilities in our bodies, but I can’t find out for sure until I turn sixty and will be allowed more access to the inside knowledge.

I remember when I came of age. First, I had the unexpected fever, and then I started having these dreams that came true, one by one. It scared me enough to tell my mother about them. She was relieved that she could tell me everything because I opened up to her. She told me I was a Seer, and I was just happy to know I wasn’t losing my mind. She explained what she knew and how to control and interpret my dreams. She guided me in the use of herbs to see into the future, and alternate futures, as well. She told me that my birthright was to be a Seer, and my destiny to become a Shaman of our tribe when I reach the age to become an Elder.

My poor Ilona, she has no one to turn to or guide her.
Ema gave me a lot to think about, as well. I still didn’t know how to keep her in the protective circle. She wanted to leave, and I knew I couldn’t let her. The Elders were not to discover - ever - that she existed. When we got back from the hospital, I was surprised by her reaction. I’d talked her into going to the ER where they were supposed to meet. It was a simple plan, and to make sure it would happen, I told Rua to send the dreams. He was very reluctant at first, saying the dreams had a higher purpose and we shouldn’t use them for solving petty and personal problems. It took some pushing and convincing on my part before he agreed, and I was so anxious to see them after the dreams were sent. I had a gut feeling that something was wrong when I saw no hint of recognition on Ema’s face while there was disbelief and shock on Zoltan’s when he saw Ema. I tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Ema wasn’t interested at all, yet Ilona and Zoltan had shown the signs of inner connection as they gazed at each other - it was very puzzling. I thought it over when we got back from the hospital, and Ema retreated into her studio.

The dreams are very powerful, why didn’t they respond to them? For everything that is sweet and holy, please… NO! I felt as if a bomb had dropped on me. I rushed out of the house and found Rua the Dream Weaver in the back, pruning the apple trees. “Rua, you’re an idiot and an incompetent fool.” I watched his mortified face as I called him names.

“What, what did I do?” he stammered in humiliation. He placed his weight on his good leg and stood up tall.

“Seriously. Are you the one asking me? You were supposed to send the dream to Ema, but it appears that Ilona got it instead. Ema was supposed to fall in love with Zoltan the Traveler in her dream, and then meet him at the hospital. I suspect Ema never had the dream, but Ilona did, and she’s the one falling for him. Zoltan looked at Ema - whom he was supposed to fall in love with - as if she was his little sister. But he looked at Ilona as if he had found his life mate. That’s what happened, and that’s what you did wrong, you dumb idiot,” I shouted.

“I don’t know what happened,” Rua stammered confused. “I’ve created a beautiful dream with a sunrise, the sound of soothing water and mountains. I gave Ema a traditional Hun outfit; hair flowing in the breeze, the whole romantic scenery, and I even threw in a horse and the scent of Jasmine for a better effect and sent the dream to Ema’s room. From then on, I had no control over what happened, and I have no idea what went wrong.”

Suddenly, I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over me. Holy crap, then it was entirely my fault. It dawned on me. “Rua, I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you that Ema and Ilona had switched rooms. You couldn’t have known. You did it right; the dream ended up with the wrong person. Ema was supposed to get it, and it reached Ilona instead. I’m so sorry I yelled at you,” I apologized.

“I can understand that you’re angry, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know what to do, I’m stunned. Have you any ideas?”

Throwing up his hands, Rua muttered,” It is way over my head. I’m just a Dream Weaver, for the love of the Father, how should I know what to do?”

“You’re right. It is over our heads.”

I - Elza, the Seer of the Huns - was completely and utterly confused. I sat down and tried to gather my thoughts in order to make sense of what had happened. I’d been examining the future and saw very clearly that it was time. Ema wanted to go to art school, but of course, I couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to stay in the protective circle, close to me. That’s why this future was convenient. She would fall in love with Zoltan. He would be happy working in the hospital, and they would settle down in the house I bought for her a long time ago. I would move in with them, and she would continue to be under my protection, ensuring that nobody finds out she exists.

Dear diary, even you couldn’t understand this. It was a very simple future and a very simple solution. I saw it so clearly. Oh, Majestic Ancestors, what a mess. There is not much I could do, except wait. I know if I tried to interfere, I would just mess things up more. I have to lay low, wait and keep my mouth shut until I could see the future again. I could just kick myself; I’d had one purpose in life, and I’d messed up badly.

I decided to gather herbs and go into a trance at the first opportunity, to see how the future would be affected by this mistake. Ilona must have come home late, and I must have fallen asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night in the living room, covered with a quilt.

Next Tuesday I will post about my Award Winner, bilingual children's book,

Pico, the Pesky Parrot



I hope you enjoyed my post.

Read about the Ancestor's Secrets: https://joom.ag/p6fW

And take a look at my page on this blog HERE

COMMENTS
 
nice article about the languages of flowers
 
Great post, Ericka. Flowers were always used for many different purposes throughout history, including the communication. Flower power all the way.
 
Thank you Zrinka :)
 
Lovely post, and I love the way you incorporated the ancient practice of using flowers to convey messages in your book.
 
Thank you Tima Maria! As with any story, some readers love this special touch, other might think it's lame. I added the flower language as my way of remembering my grandma and her great stories :)
 
Fantastic post, Erika!
 
Thank you Mary Anne!

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Our Author Gang

Today is the launch day of our brand new blog

A Small Gang of Authors 

We are a group of authors and we write various genre books.


We will take turns and post something new, interesting an fun every day.
Follow us, and share our blog with your friends.
Thank you!

What brought us together on this blog:
First and foremost, our shared love for writing.
We like to "hang out" together, helping each another other
by promoting each other's books, blogs, events,
and doing whatever we can to support one another.

We take turns posting about our books,
the rewards as well as the difficulties of publishing and book promotion,
and about things we enjoy in everyday life.

We need your support, please visit our blog often,
comment on our posts and share our posts.
Thank you!


Every hug is greatly appreciated, and thank you for your support!


The Authors in this group



Joe Bonadonna

Read about Joe's books on his PAGE

Hello out there in cyberspace! I write Heroic Fantasy, Space Opera, Sword & Planet Sci-Fi, Sword and Sorcery Fantasy, Children's Books, and I also dabble a bit in Horror stories.

Why do I write?
My Dad gave me not only a love for old movies, but also my love of reading by bringing home children's books and teaching me to read before I was in kindergarten. I've been writing off and on over the years since 5th grade. In my 30s and 40s I settled down and got serious about writing. I retired in 2010, and have not stopped writing since. I can't. Storytelling for me is an addiction.




Erika M Szabo

Read about Erika's books on her PAGE

I became an avid reader at a very early age, thanks to my dad who introduced me to many great books. I write alternate history, romantic fantasy, magical realism novels as well as fun, educational, and bilingual books for children ages 4-12 about acceptance, friendship, family, and moral values such as accepting people with disabilities, dealing with bullies, and not judging others before getting to know them. I also like to encourage children to use their imagination and daydream about fantasy worlds.

Why do I write?
Writing is my passion and my hobby because I'm not a big talker but because I have a lot to say, I write. I do have as much anxiety about my writing as any author:
Are they going to like what I write?
Am I going to get a lot of criticism?
Will my books become popular?
When I'm in doubt, I always recall the day when we had to do a book report on one of the assigned books back in school. It was the War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. Half of our class absolutely loved the book, and half the kids hated it. One girl asked the teacher why he assigned such a boring, stupid book, the other one hushed her saying, “You’re stupid and boring. This book is brilliantly written.”
The teacher smiled and replied, “Now kids, today you’ve learned a valuable lesson. Every reader's likes and preferences are different, but every writer who has the courage to put their thoughts and feelings on paper has something to say. And, eventually, every book finds its reader. If you have something to say, say it. Even if only a few friends and family members will read it, you will leave a mark with your book, 'I was here'.”




Mary Anne Yarde

Read about Mary Anne's books on her PAGE

Mary Anne Yarde is an award winning author of the International Best  Selling Series — The Du Lac Chronicles. Set a generation after the fall of King Arthur, The Du Lac Chronicles takes you on a journey through Dark Age Briton and Brittany, where you will meet new friends and terrifying foes. Based on legends and historical fact, the Du Lac Chronicles is a series not to be missed.
Born in Bath, England, Mary Anne Yarde grew up in the southwest of England, surrounded and influenced by centuries of history and mythology. Glastonbury--the fabled Isle of Avalon--was a mere fifteen-minute drive from her home, and tales of King Arthur and his knights were part of her childhood.

Why do I write?
I think, for me, writing is like breathing. It is something that I have to do. It is an addiction that I have no intention of trying to quit!




Tima Maria Lacoba

Read about Tima Maria's books on her PAGE

I'm Tima Maria Lacoba, a former ancient historian and archaeologist who accidentally smashed a 3,000 Egyptian vase while on my first dig! My supervisor made me glue it back together again. It took a week. From there I went on to specialise in late Roman-British archaeology, and the military forts along Hadrian’s Wall, because buildings don’t smash as easily. Now I’ve combined my love of history with another passion – story-telling – to create a gothic romance series laced with action, mystery and suspense.




Zrinka Jelic

Read about Zrinka's books on her PAGE

Zrinka Jelic lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two children. A PAN member of the Romance Writers of America and Savvy Authors, she writes contemporary fiction—which sometimes leans toward the paranormal—and adds a pinch of history. Her characters come from all walks of life, and although she prefers red, romance comes in many colors. Given Jelic’s love for her native Croatia and the Adriatic Sea, her characters usually find themselves dealing with a fair amount of sunshine, but that’s about the only break they get.




Mackenzie Flohr

Read about Mackenzie's books on her PAGE

Mackenzie Flohr grew up in the heartland of America, chasing leprechauns and rainbows and dreaming of angels. Her parents nurtured a love of fantasy and make-believe by introducing her at a very young age to the artistic and cultural opportunities that the city of Cleveland had to offer.
From the time she could hold a pencil, Mackenzie was already creating pictorial interpretations of classic stories, and by the age of nine, she and a childhood friend were authors and reviewers of their own picture books.
While following her love of adventure, Mackenzie found a second home, the Beck Center for the Arts Children's and Teen Theater School. It was there that a world of wonder was only a script and a performance away.
Yet it wasn't until she was on a trip to Indiana, viewing a Lord of the Rings exhibit, that the innermost desire of her heart became clear to her. She wanted to write a fantasy of her own, one that could inspire imagination in others and lead them into a magical world of their own making. She hopes The Rite Of Wands will do just that.
Wherever we live and wherever we come from is our individual heartland. Anything is possible and everything can happen. Pure imagination is in all of us—we only need to discover it, and sometimes story telling helps.

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