| The Vlogging Will Continue... | date 10/17/2007 / issue #6 | ||
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The Vlogging Will Continue Until Morale Improves
(Link)"Britney vs. Storytime 2.0" on YouTube wherein Christine flies on a magic broom to the Redwood Forest and tells the story of Rowan of the Wood
We're still working on getting the book on audio through podcasts. Keep checking our website at www.bluemoosepress.com, the first chapter podcast should be up by the end of this week.
Keep those submissions coming! We love to read your stories and poems. Please don't forget to forward this to your friends and family inviting them to join and submit their stories, poems, jokes, photos, etc. This is our sixth Newsletter; if you've missed the first five, you can view them at Archived Newsletters. In this edition, we start with a news article entitled The Vlogging Will Continue Until Morale Improves. Ellie Potts penned this week's short story The Crying Stranger, we have another poem by CSCHWEIZER entitled Blocked by Blindness, and Laurent Four of Paris, France shares his photographs. Remember to link to our blogs/vlog and bookmark them on sites such as Digg, StumbleUpon, De.licio.us, and Techorati. Subscription links at our website.
See you in cyberspace... Allison Willows |
In this issue: "My Cool Underexposed Channel" a silly video promoting Storytime 2.0
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The Vlogging Will Continue... With over 500 new books printed every day, it is becoming increasingly difficult to reach one’s niche audience. Even with the internet, most people are suffering from information overload and just shut out new content or unrecognizable names. There is just too much information to process on top of dealing with bills, work, and family. More and more people are turning to sites like YouTube to get a daily dose of humor, news, or information in little three to seven minute snippets. It’s perfect for a coffee break at work, or just when one’s manager is on the neighboring row of cubicles. A quick escape from Corporate America, YouTube is a breath of fresh air. Christine Rose, co-author of Rowan of the Wood, is helping to relieve the tedium of corporate boredom by producing a video blog (vlog) entitled Storytime 2.0. Once a week she covers a chapter in Rowan of the Wood in a very silly, magical way on her vlog. Throughout the rest of the week she rambles about whatever is on her mind from Columbus Day to costuming. She has increased her subscription base by ten-fold just in the last two weeks. Interested parties can view her vlogs and subscribe at www.youtube.com/kalitara
A luminous glow radiated around the silent figure. Her white skin untainted by the sun’s harsh touch, as her eyes twinkled like fiery green emeralds. Her straight calf length auburn hair flowed around her like a red veil. Her natural crimson lips moved as she sang to herself. The song seemed so right on this dark dreary night.
She walked through the darkness unafraid of anything around her. She had no worries. The millions of stars burned brightly above her small head. Her feet bare amongst the new spring grass made her feel almost alive. She stopped. Bending her head slightly to the left, she listened. The small night sounds were so crisped to her elfin ears. She listened through the sounds until she heard it. The call.
Turning, she let her feet guide her to the town of Naveret. It had been weeks since she had visited the small town, but knew the way in the pitch darkness that surrounded her. She quickened her pace. The foul smell hit her almost immediately after entering the town. Her small pointy nose wrinkled as she drew closer to the smell of death.
She stopped in front of a small rickety cottage and looked inside the window. The thin pale curtains were open enough so she could peer inside. She saw the sick man dying in bed. His time had finally come, and the urge to cry made her vibrate where she stood.
A small hand touched her back. She turned. Her tattered earth brown dress swirled around her. A small brown haired child looked up at her with curious hazel eyes
“You have come for papa?” she asked with a small touch of sadness in her voice.
The stranger had forgotten children could see her. They still believed in fairy magic. “I have,” she said her voice sounded as any other human woman, yet she wasn’t.
“Will papa feel better?”
“Soon he will.” She didn’t lie, because she always told the truth.
The child nodded. “I hate to see papa so sick. Can I talk to him before you cry?”
The stranger felt a twinge of regret. Why had she been placed in this job? She was not as cruel as the folklores implied. She nodded, watching the child run inside. The stranger peered back into the dusty window. The child sat talking to her father, as her mother silently wept by the bedside. The feeling to cry came. She struggled to push it back down into the pit of her stomach.
The child had stopped talking and looked at her through the window. She gave the stranger a small smile, but held her father’s hand. Forgive me, the stranger thought. Her mouth opened. A hum so quiet at first started, and then grew and grew. Until it became a shrill crying shriek that filled the night air. Large tears ran down her pale cheeks as she watched the child kiss her father’s lifeless hand. The cry, loud and piercing, continued on.
Finally, when she was sure his spirit had flown, she closed her mouth. The night became quiet again. She turned. Away from the window, away from the child. She walked silently but swiftly from the town. Another death needed to be announced. She hoped it would be of old age. Those were easy to deal with, because their time was up. They knew it too, and were ready to leave this world. It had always been the deaths of the sick or young, which affected her the most.
The stranger disappeared into the forest. Her bare feet guiding her to the next town. She needed no map or light. Even the light her own body gave off was not needed. The dying called. The long night weighed heavily on her, as her melancholy cry sounded.
(The following is an excerpt from the Loftlore Trilogy's third work, Loftlore Mission. To find our more about this work and the author, please visit the author's website. http://www.loftlore.com)
We hide in our corners and hope we are not seen.
There are forces so small, so inconsequential that we ignore them.
We think ourselves safe and well. We boldly walk past minutiae that can ruin us or kill us.
The very great powers have not missed us. They are coming. We have not escaped the very small powers either. They are here already.
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Thanks to everyone who preordered the book Rowan of the Wood. We look forward to your comments and reviews. There are still a few copies left for internet orders.
The authors Christine & Ethan Rose will be attending "Wizard World Texas" in Arlinton Nov. 16-18 and signing books in the Artist Alley.
OUR LINKS
OUR BLOGS
FREE DOWNLOADS Blocked by blindness
by CSCHWEIZER
Blocked by blindness ©2006CSCHWEIZER by Laurent Four
 Une Nuit
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