My fairytale Noelaini’s Tether was published today in Enchanted Conversations: Fairytales, Folktales and Myths. It’s a water issue and has some great stories as well as a graphic comic section. Perfect for a hot summer day (or rainy day, which it is here). Give it a read, if you like. PS – it has artwork!
https://enchantedconversationmag.blogspot.com/2019/06/noelanis-tether-by-janna-miller.html
Just found out that my fairy tale “Noelani’s Tether” was accepted by the magazine Enchanted Conversations and comes out next week. It will have artwork and everything! I’ll link the post here when it is live.
It’s a water issue, perfect for cooling thoughts in hot places!
There are several precise minutes in the day when things are possible, though not absolutely, For example, at 7:05 in the morning, dew can reflect your true love or cure a wart. Most people know that at noon, of course, you can get a sunburn in the shape of a dagger and at midnight you can get a crick in your neck looking for witches against the moon. People know this and take steps against it, even if it is improbable. Others are more vague and unknown. At 10:51 you can see steam rising from a hidden cave. At 3:50 you can hear the sound of bells from an old church long since gone. At 13:22 a rabbit can speak your true name. And at 2:59, just before the real witching hour begins, shadows can freeze and fall gently to earth. Sometimes they fall as leaves and flowers, but more often they fall as the wings of birds, to mimic the great raven flocks that black out the sky for just that minute, as they travel from the real to the unreal.
They usually melt the first day of Spring, at 9:03.
Growing up, Settie basted together her days in light running stitches, so she could go back to them when she wanted. Sometimes it just pierced a smile on a dark day, while others it highlighted hours in the sun, done with a full scalloped border in Nordic Blue. The years when her needle dulled, she added a new thread in surgeon’s knots to move through thickened fabric to a better canvas. And later, when she could not see in the dimmer light, she gently pulled her life together, in a gathering of days, one memorable piece next to the other.
Michael stepped into the small pocket of stagnant air in the crossroads, carefully placing his feet dead center. Waiting for the sun to rise, and a demon to visit.
A voice came from the diagonal corner, where a scarecrow casually perched.
“You sure about this?”
The sound of screeching birds started low, in ominous vibrations.
“I know what I’m doing.”
The scarecrow nodded. “You seem to be a decisive fellow.”
They watched as the horizon took on a bruised, purple boil, coursing in their direction.
Sweat trickled down Michael’s neck.
“What happens next isn’t pretty.”
Michael bolted just as the first dark feathers were meters away, clutching at straw arms.
As the sky turned to talons and claws, the scarecrow whispered, “boo.”
Instantly, the mass of roiling feathers dissolved into morning light and silence.
Shakily, Michael opened his eyes. “I thought you just did crows.”
“Demons are easier.”
Miller's Minuscule Mystories 