Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Asteroidian Dreams of Utopia - WEP Holidays 2016

Utopia? I wouldn't call it that. It's Someplace Else I dream about, A real planet. . .

Image 1, see credits 

Noises drifted into the corridor from one of the lab units. Loud voices. Aperture doors cycled open and closed with only a slight click.  Then, silence. A woman stepped into the corridor, paused for a moment as the door cycled close. She turned and headed for the marked surface exit. Two seconds later, a head popped out of the door which just cycled open again and a young man said, "Citizen Leta, excuse me Citizen Leta Buk!"

Leta tried to relax her shoulders and hands. Tension did that to her. Made her want to bite something hard. 

Keep walking. Ignore. Keep walking. Focus. That man can't tell me what I can do. My job is to study the surface, and I'm prepared this time in case the lurker I saw before is dangerous, human or something unknown. As prepared as a human can be. 

After a few minutes, the head belonging to the young man in an officer's uniform disappeared and the door cycled shut again. His name tag identified him as Citizen Dako Jon, Special Assignment Officer.


Image 2, see credits

Leta put on the custom surface suit she had bought for exploring the outer layer of the asteroid. One of the tailors in the colony made these for special request at a likewise special price. It was puncture resistant, had a longer airtime for its oxygen breathing tanks which were made with a lightweight composite, and included a built in deflector vest. No one asked the tailor how he managed to acquire the materials; they didn't want to know.

After cycling the airlock compartment closed, she left the re-purposed starship which served as the main administration centre. It was built into the highest level of the colony, stripped from the mother ship. Once she was out, where  no one could live without life support, away from the claustrophobic areas and recycled air, she felt more calm.  She checked the spot where the heat signature had appeared on her last outing. It was innocuous. There was nothing to indicate anything had been there.

She pulled out her constellation map copies to compare those to the multitudes of stars above and around her.  She wanted to map the constellations she could observe from this colony, and soon was absorbed in her study. With a special tool designed for her spacesuit -a little extra installed by the maker of the suit-she started to plot her own star chart. The flexible fingers and small manipulations she could do made the cost of the suit reasonable.

It's an investment. And it hides a very capable weapon capable of stunning or killing. I hope I can find out what was shadowing me last time.

Image 3, see Credits

The feeling of being watched suddenly came back and she turned quickly. There! She saw a flash of what looked to be a humanoid figure dart in the shadows in a different location than before. She activated the suit's weapon array and the transmitter inside her helmet. 

"Attention, intruder. This is Citizen Leta Buk. Show yourself. Identify your name and your purpose. My weapon is armed and ready."

"I acknowledge, Citizen Buk. I mean no harm. I have been shadowing you to see why you come up here, and I wanted to learn who you were. Not many ever come to the outside, not unless they have to. My name is Killian Max, I'm a historian."

He's no assassin. . .or I'd be dead. She disarmed her weapons. "Accepted. I don't remember seeing you before, did you transfer in from another part of the colony?"

"Yes, I'm from Level 8, transferred in a few weeks ago, but I'm a nobody really," he said. "But one day, that could change. I invent things, I create something new out of a bit of this and that. Like this suit I'm wearing."

"Your surface suit? You made it yourself? I couldn't get a heat signature from your suit the first time you stalked me."

"I don't know why I'm telling you that I make things, but it's my secret. I could get into more trouble if word gets out. And, I wasn't stalking. I was observing."

"It's illegal to create new technology? That doesn't make sense. But don't worry, I  can keep a secret."

"The council members fear that it was technology that derailed a lot of old civilizations, fear that it will subvert the human goals. Fear of the new. It's a way of controlling growth and it allows the council to monitor what it calls rogue citizens. . ."

"You don't seem like a crazy inventor. . ."

"I consider myself like those greats from Antiquity - Tesla, Edison, and others. I honour their memory from the age when inventions were heralded, not hidden. I like to dream about other places, planets rather than chunks of rock. Places where inventions are welcome. I want to see things. I don't want to stay here all my life."

"So, you're a dreamer like me."

"If that means dreaming of other places and better times, yes. In the meantime, I work on my inventions, test them covertly, and study our ancestors. Could I ask you something about your work?"

"Sure. I'm a mapper for the surface of this colony. I have begun to map the constellations in our system for my own interest."

"Is that what you doing with those sheets of film I saw you drawing on?"

"Yes. Mapping. This suit has been adapted for my work. It's what I do. Making star charts is like mapping the universe, or at least a part of it."

"I'll remember that if I run across any ancient maps in my work. There is so much of our history that has been suppressed here in the colony. For instance, have you ever heard of Christmas? It's an ancient Terran holiday that seems to have been lost from our collective memory."

"I've never heard anything about it. Why was it a holiday?"

"It celebrated peace, and was entangled with several religious traditions that seem like legends to us. People would sing, give gifts and try to help those less fortunate. There was a feast using some type of avian species which was unique to Terra."

"Interesting. So many things died or were lost when Old Sol, the Terran sun went nova. Will we ever find the remnants of the human race, scattered as it is? That would be a good reason to bring back some of the old ways. I'm ready."

"I've been ready for some time. I'm glad we have met. It gives me hope that there's more out there. . ."

"Yes, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Killian."

"That sounds like something I read somewhere before. Well met, Leta."

And so, another link in the chain is formed. A chain which will eventually pull these two scientists in training away from their birthplace and toward other colonies and planets. As the circle turns and twists, what was old becomes new again.




WEP, aka Write, Edit, and Publish

Thanks to Yolanda and Denise, co-hosts of Write, Edit, Publish for once again stirring our minds to create! We all have dreams, the fleeting kind that can end up being nightmares or the ones about what we would like to achieve, but for the Utopian Dreams Challenge, we want to know about that secret desire, the something you spend time daydreaming about, talking about and maybe even secretly planning for. It can be anything that will make your life seem perfect, or utopian. However, reality is rarely ideal. Let's talk about as we end the year 2016, and look forward to perhaps getting a little closer to that dream.

The challenge: Create an interpretation of your own choosing: a poem, a flash fiction piece, a non-fiction piece detailing an experience, or write a script, draw your dream, or find photographs to show us the essence of the dream and enhance the story. It's up to you. Have fun and don't forget to visit all the participants on the list who are sharing their ideas.

Can you imagine how it might be to live underground on an asteroid? Do you think traditions can fade away as centuries pass? 

Thanks for visiting, and please leave a comment to let me know you were here. I'll respond. I also want to thank everyone who has been a regular visitor here or just occasionally drops by. I will try to get back into my own posting routine after the holidays.



NOTE: this story continues as Part 2 of Asteroid Stories

Previous WEP story: If I Wish Upon a Constellation, Part I Write Edit Publish



1st Image via Hubble
Credit: NASA, ESA, and the Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)-ESA/Hubble Collaboration

2nd Image via Pixabay

3rd image via Hubble
Credit: NASA, ESA, CXC and the University of Potsdam, JPL-Caltech, and STScI


Wednesday, October 19, 2016

If I Wish Upon a Constellation - WEP October Challenge

If I Wish Upon a Constellation,  will more stars make the wish come true?

What was that old Terran saying? Star light, Star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. . . .

Omega Nebulae *

As I look up into the darkness above me, I see multitudes of glittering stars, and a few constellations I know. Some regions of the starry sky have order and others do not, they seem splattered on the darkness in chaos. The swirling clouds of nebuli glow with colours for which we have no names, as stars are born from the etherial dust. A flash of distant brightness as a star goes nova, and a comet streaks by, its tail streaming. This is a performance, a light show of the night sky.

Eagle Nebulae Pillars *

All around me I see the dust and little rocks which make up the surface of this asteroid which is our colony's home. This fine dust gets into everything. Likely it's in our bodies, too. The surface is barren and unwelcoming. But below the surface, we manage with what we have. It's not a bad life, but it is a hard life. 

Telescope Image*
On Terra, so the teachers tell us, the ancients studied the stars, gave them names and sent probes to explore them.. All this, which they told us was unfounded however, until a recent discovery.

While working my shift turn at the main library, I found a forgotten copy of an antiquated manuscript on constellations which detailed groupings of stars in the various quadrants as seen from old Terra. It had fallen between two storage shelves. Now, I had that manuscript, hidden in my satchel, loaned to me under strict secrecy by a sympathetic librarian in our colony.  I had to return it in a few days. All artifacts had to be submitted to the colony panel.

As I leaned back on the rock, I caught a movement out of the side of my eye. All my sensors went on high alert. What was that? And, why is it hiding?

Something doesn't feel quite right. Maybe I'm sensing something. Prickly hair on my neck, and a twitchy eye.  A bad sign. No one could know about the manuscript pages I brought up to compare to our stars. . .could they?

I look around but see nothing. Only one person knows I'm on the surface and that person is out at one of the camps.  
I have to do something. . .

I reached for the laser pistol clamped on the side of the suit. I turned. Nothing. All seemed as it should. I did a quick 360 degrees turn, using my visual infrared feature of the helmet to scan for heat signatures. There, something giving off a very small heat signature  behind that outcropping. 

Then it was gone. No heat signature reading. No movement. I looked away, for just a moment. When I looked back, they were gone. I wasted no time in getting up, keeping the pistol in my gloved hand and securing the exterior door after leaving the airlock.

Another incident. 


Please leave a comment to let me know you were here and tell me how you feel about the unexplored frontier in space? 

Thanks for dropping by and taking the time to read my post. Please remember to visit the others on the participation list found on Denise's blog.


Write, Edit, Publish

FLASH FICTION, POETRY, NON-FICTION, PLAYSCRIPTS, ARTWORK OR PHOTOGRAPHY.  It's your choice of medium, and genre, but the word count should be about 1000 maximum. Check out more details at the WEP site, and there you will find the entrants participating in this challenge!  

Join us in these challenges, and practice your short fiction!WEP Hosts: Denise and Yolanda



* = From various telescope images. images of constellations Galactic quadrant Orion constellation


a group of stars forming a recognizable pattern that is traditionally named after its apparent form or identified with a mythological figure. Modern astronomers divide the sky into eighty-eight constellations with defined boundaries. OR a group or cluster of related things.


Tuesday, October 18, 2016


“Paris was an old city, the very moonbeams seeming but ghosts of sad lovers wandering the night in search of their lost soulmate.”
Mark Twain

Welcome to my DON’T BUY MY BOOK! Blog Tour.  This stop graciously provided by the ever kind D.G. Hudson.

Pixabay Image of the Louvre Museum

D.G. loves the Louvre … and since part of my Steampunk occurs in that fabled museum, I thought to speak of it.

But before approaching its awe-inspiring galleries, let me tell you why I named my tour: DON’T BUY MY BOOK!

R. Yeomans, for The Not-So-Innocents at Large

Like life in Paris, the craft of writing is never simple, for it embraces not just the “How” but the “Why” and the “What” as well.

I don’t wish for you to buy my book; I wish for you to WANT my book.

Most people have given up the hope of ever finding a book that so completely draws them in that they totally forget about their own lives and actually live the exploits of characters who have become more real than many of the people with whom they work.

How do you write a book like that?

Understand that there are no heroes … only ordinary folks who must step up to the challenges facing them and do more than what they feel they are capable of.

Cora Pearl’s Image above Paris

Tap into the primal fears we all have, the inner needs that comprise the human heart, and pull your reader into the turbulent lives of your characters by making him or her care if they win or lose.

How to do that?

You craft your characters so that the reader sees herself in them and her enemies in the antagonists your characters face.

When I wrote of visiting the Louvre, your mind filled with the magnificent items that the famous museum contains. I did that as a magician distracts the audience with a false flourish. You see, Paris of 1867 was an all too real city, filled with heartbreak and despair.  Those with seeing eyes found the rot beneath the gilded façade disturbing.

View the early morning streets of Paris through the eyes of Texican, Samuel McCord, and his Apache blood-brother, Elu:

Considering its many gardens, you might think Paris fragrant.  You would be right … and wrong.  Story of the human race I guess.  The streets of Paris reeked of decay both literally and figuratively.  Its idea of sanitation was to throw everything unwanted out into the street: dish water, feces … people. 

The stench of Paris made me long for the clear, clean mountain air of home.  It wasn’t the soot that layered every building I passed, but the soot that stained this city’s soul.  Six thousand children a year were delivered like so much refuse to the orphanage run by the Catholic Sisters of Charity.

In various parts of the city, there were places with small boxes in which tiny babies could be “deposited” like unwanted clothes.  I sighed.  In winter one child in three of those children died of exposure.

Elu flicked hard eyes to me as we walked the awakening streets of Paris.  “Have I told you lately how much I hate the White Man’s cities?”

My steps picked up as I thought I spotted one of those accursed boxes.  Elu growled low under his breath and walked at my side like an angry panther.  I got to the damn box and bent down, dreading what I would find.

It was empty.

Still standing tall, Elu grunted, “What would you have done, Dyami, if you had found an infant there?”

I looked up at him puzzled, “Why take care of the child, of course.”

“Of course,” he laughed without a trace of humor.  “Dyami, even you cannot take care of the whole world.”

I nodded.  “Don’t mean to.  I just take care of those lost souls whose trails cross mine.”

Elu’s face became flint as he kneeled beside me, looking with disgust at the tiny box.  I had the terrible notion that his mystic nature was having him feel all the deaths that had happened to small crying babies who died of exposure or thirst in this wooden coffin.  He flicked harder eyes to me. 

Have I told you how much I hate the White Man’s cities?


See how I put in juxtaposition your expectations of beauty with the confrontation of stark reality?  That is how you draw your reader in. Do not worry: a mysterious tour of the Louvre does take place at the end of my Steampunk novel …

Along with an aerial battle atop the Thunderbird against attacking dragons above the Eiffel Tower. And, there is much more:

The Sidhe kidnapping Princess Victoria; a deadly “Red Wedding” in the catacombs beneath the ancient Rouen Cathedral; the passengers of the first Air/Steamship, Xanadu, being attacked by the Fae Spell of St. Vitus Dance; Samuel McCord being cornered by the Rougarou, the werewolves of France. 

What are you waiting for?  

Disregard the title of my tour.  BUY MY BOOK! 


Any comments about the covers and images? Have you been to the Louvre Museum? If not, would you like to? 

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here AND to welcome Roland to the Rainforest Writing Blog. Each comment will receive a reply. . .Thanks for dropping by! Please check out Roland's blog when you have time at Writing in the Crosshairs.

References:  Roland Yeomans Blog Reference to this post


Tuesday, August 16, 2016

A Garden of Darkness - WEP GARDENS Challenge

Darkness hides in the bright colours. . .tread lightly. This is my Garden.

Taken at Monet's Garden in Giverny, Fr., by DG Hudson

All around me, the scents of wisteria, and honeysuckle weave into my dreams. The smells of summer nights settle heavily in my mind.  It's my favourite time, the resting time of flowers when the stamens release their pollen, as the air cools. My flowers fill the air with the smells of perfume, of rare tea and fragrant herbal sachets.

Rose Portrait, by DG Hudson, Rainforest Writing

It's the dark hues, the sultry warmth, and earthy smells that lure me back again and again. The Temptress grows here, a deep, blood-red old-fashioned rose that smelled of the fields of flowers in France. Just watch for the sharp, sickle-shaped thorns. Next to it is Chicago Peace, with its petals painted warm orange with ivory and pink shading. Clematis, the charmer vine, climbs the old arbour in the corner, showy with its large purple blooms.

Wikipedia Creative Commons - by Michael Palmer*

Come into my little sheltered garden and if you look closely, you will see roses with thick large thorns, and thorny brambles forming a natural barrier on the edges of my hideaway. Many para-gardeners, or hedge witches don't know about thorn horticulture, or understand the properties of the thorn itself. I do. I know the uses of the Black tulips, their petals closed in the evening air, and the blue flower of periwinkle nestled against the dark green leaves, but the best, the Grand Black Rose, I do not yet know. It was a gift and I have yet to study it.

Clomp, clomp, clomp! A small stop. Then, the sound started up again. The noise came from heavy footsteps on the flat stones of the garden path, a meandering line paving the way to my secluded spot. Someone was coming, as if on a matter of importance. . .who would dare interrupt my retreat?

Then, I saw the creature coming towards me,  He looked like the hunchback who terrorized Paris, a fictitious man. Yet, here he was. And here I was, alone.

"Begging your pardon, m'lady," he said, "but I have been told to bring you out of this doomed garden."

"Doomed? Why do you say that?"

"I'm forbidden to speak for the master, but I bring a message: Himself would like to see you. . ."

"Oh, would he? And where would Himself be that I should come to him?"

"He is waiting below in a carriage." A Carriage? What is Himself thinking?

"I will do this thing you request, but I must grab a shawl."

"This one?" The hunched over creature held up my red shawl, the colour of fresh blood.

Damn him. How did he do that? "That one will do."

She twirled the shawl over her shoulders as she rose from the bench. Himself had better have a good reason for this. I'm vulnerable outside of this place of sanctity.

They walked down the stairs toward a dark black chaufferred carriage. A curtain pulled aside. . .

"Herself is lovely this night. I have a errand for you, my dark one."

"What if I don't agree?"

"Oh, but you will. You are under my protection, and under my spell. Herself has no choice."


"Agree and you will be released from the dark garden. You will have the light."

In answer, she turned, slipping the knife made from a giant thorn that absorbs moonlight into her hand and stabbing Himself right in his eye, then using it to slit his throat.

"I happen to like the dark garden. Himself does not know me well. . ."

The little hunchback had disappeared in smoke as Himself melted into a puddle. They had not known about the giant thorn's magic.  She quickly stepped down from the carriage as it too disappeared and made her way back down the stone path to her refuge, humming to herself.

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here and tell me how you feel about gardens or gardening. Do you like to grow flowers or veggies or both? Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read a short fantasy. . .!


WEP - A GARDENS short fiction post

The Gardens prompt is all about creativity. What picture comes to mind when you hear the word 'garden'? It may depend on whether you like to garden or just like to observe the artistry and style of other gardens. Denise and Yolanda, or literary hosts for WEP would like you to tell how the prompt inspires you. . .enthrall us, please.

FLASH FICTION, POETRY, NON-FICTION, PLAYSCRIPTS, ARTWORK OR PHOTOGRAPHY.  It's your choice of medium, and genre, but the word count should be about 1000 maximum. Check out more details at the WEP site, and there you will find the entrants participating in this challenge! Be sure to enjoy the variety of garden delights by visiting the links and commenting. 


Dark Purple Clematis Image
by Michael Palmer:
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.


Saturday, July 23, 2016

Diana Gabaldon's 'Drums of Autumn' - A Review

Knowing what the future holds can be a curse. . .

From erstwhile travellers passing through with no fixed address, or evidence of killings and the burning of property, the warning signs are clear. Roving bands of looters and opportunists are combing the ridge areas trying to find out who is on the side of the Crown and who is with the rebellious colonists. The drums are starting to beat a refrain: war is coming. Even when you know what is on the horizon, as Claire does, you know that the juggernaut of war can't be stopped.


The story of Jamie and Claire Fraser, the two main characters, is primarily about the Highlanders. This specific novel is one of a few set in the years leading up to the American Revolution, when the 'colonies' decided to make a stand for their independence.


The story begins in Charleston 1767, where Jamie and Claire have come to see their nephew off as he goes back to Scotland. Only, it doesn't happen that way, much to the nephew's delight. On their arrival, Jamie is surprised to learn that Jocasta Campbell, his aunt, wants him to assume control (with her as advisor) of River Run - her plantation estate. Jamie balks, not sure he wants to accept. His aunt is a formidable woman who likes to run things her way and he knows that. 

Jamie has also been offered land in the highlands of North Carolina, with the proviso that he becomes the leader of those he settles on the large property he will get from the Crown's representative. This suits Jamie better, having been laird of his own property in his past. Of course, Fraser's Ridge becomes a gathering point for many of the Scottish who arrive after the Battle at Culloden. Claire becomes the 'doctor-healer' of the area, even though some still view her as part healer, part witch.

This is a well-woven tale of early America. I enjoyed it as I have all of Gabaldon's books. This novel, Drums of Autumn comes after Voyager and before The Fiery Cross. All focus on the coming American War for Independence, but at a personal level.

This book will be of interest to those who reside in the southeastern USA, as most of the action takes place on that coast and further inland in the eastern coastal mountains.  It will also appeal to those who enjoy reading about the clans of Scotland in the 1800s and their lives as colonists in the 'New World'. The historical details enrich the story and reveal a life before electricity and formal medicine. Recommended, of course.

I'm currently reading  the next Gabaldon book, A Breath of Snow and Ashes, and a steampunk story, a Roland Yeomans book, The Not so Innocents Abroad. 


Does this book sound like something you might be interested in reading? Are your ancestral roots in the southeastern USA? If you're a Gabaldon fan, have you read this one?

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here and I'll respond.  Thanks for dropping by! 

I apologize for he infrequency of posts, but until I get the family issues stabilized, I'm going to be posting as I can. Hope your summer is going well!


Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Voyager by Diana Gabaldon, a Review

If ever you think to go to sea. . .

Perhaps you should think again. . .

"In retrospect, we can see the warning signs of impending trouble, but in reality, the momentum has begun by the time we notice a change in the air." (from narrative in Voyager)

At the beginning of this novel, after the Battle of Culloden, Jamie is discovered on the field, his injuries severe. With assistance he recovers, but must hide from the English patrols combing the Highlands, intent on killing all Highland Clan men and some families who fought against the Crown. Jamie, thinking Claire dead to him and safe in the future, becomes a groom for a sympathetic noble as the only way to get him out of the prison and safe from those who attempt to harm him. This situation isn't as benign as it seems. There will be consequences. . .

Meanwhile, 200 years in the future, Claire is trying to discover if her husband in the past, the beloved James Fraser, lives after the horrific slaughter at Culloden. She has travelled to the UK and searches various churchyard cemeteries to find an answer. She is still getting help from Roger and her daughter Brianna, the only two people who have heard her story and believe that she did travel back in time.

At last after much research, Claire realizes that she must go back through the 'Stones'. She wants to know if Jamie survived, but doesn't know if her luck with the Stones will hold. Only one way to find out. . .and on her re-appearance back in the 1700s, James Fraser is shocked, worried and glad to see her, but he's changed. Claire feels something is being hidden. . .In Jamie's world she has been gone twenty years. Then the action begins, with assassins after Jamie, who has been preparing inflammatory and seditious notice sheets (broadsheets). After the furor dies down, they must leave Scotland to find a kidnapped nephew in the West Indies area of the Caribbean. The action is constant on the ship and in the New World. 

In the years preceding the American War for Independence, the small embers of the words freedom and no English taxes began to stir the populace. I recommend this book. I read it quicker than my normal speed, as I kept wanting to know. . .and then?


Have you read Outlander or Voyager, or one of the other titles?  
Do you like your historicals to have a bit of the fantasy/scifi (as in time travel)? 

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here and I'll respond.  Thanks for dropping by!

Why keep reviewing Gabaldon books that have been out for a while. . .?

Note: I met Diana Gabaldon at a writing conference. I had scheduled 15 mins crit time with her.  She is a warm, friendly person who gave me a few great suggestions on my manuscript. I never felt rushed as we talked for 15 minutes. . . I discovered her writing when I first picked up Outlander, about three years ago.


Saturday, April 30, 2016

Z = ZELDA Fitzgerald, Author, A-Z Blog Challenge 2016

 Zelda was accustomed to a glamorous lifestyle and liked being the centre of attention.  Her husband F. Scott Fitzgerald tried to give her that illusion for a while. 

Zelda Fitzgerald, age 17 - PD*

Z = ZELDA Fitzgerald, Author
Theme = Authors, AtoZ

Zelda Fitzgerald (née Sayre; July 24, 1900 – March 10, 1948) was an American socialite and novelist, and the wife of American author F. Scott Fitzgerald. Born in Montgomery, Alabama, Zelda was noted for her beauty and high spirits.

She and Scott became the emblem of the Jazz Age, for which they are still celebrated. The immediate success of Scott's first novel This Side of Paradise (1920) brought them into contact with high society, but their marriage was plagued by wild drinking, infidelity and bitter recriminations. Ernest Hemingway, whom Zelda disliked, blamed her for Scott's declining literary output, though she has also been portrayed as the victim of an overbearing husband. 

Zelda first met the future novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald in July 1918, when he had volunteered for the army, and was stationed at Camp Sheridan, outside Montgomery. After showing Scott her personal diary, she found out later, that he used verbatim excerpts from it in his novel.  At the conclusion of This Side of Paradise, the soliloquy of the protagonist Amory Blaine in the cemetery, for example, is taken directly from her journal.

Scott and Zelda quickly became celebrities of New York, as much for their wild behaviour, as for the success of This Side of ParadiseTo their delight, in the pages of the New York newspapers Zelda and Scott had become icons of youth and success—enfants terribles of the Jazz Age.

Zelda received offers to write from other magazines. In June, a piece by Zelda Fitzgerald, "Eulogy on the Flapper," was published in Metropolitan Magazine. The article was intended to be information on the decline of the flapper lifestyle. 

In April 1925,in Paris, Scott met Ernest Hemingway, whose career he did much to promote. Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald became firm friends, but Zelda and Hemingway disliked each other from their very first meeting. It was through Hemingway, however, that the Fitzgeralds were introduced to much of the Lost Generation expatriate community: Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, Robert McAlmon and others.

In April 1930, Zelda was admitted to a sanatorium in France where, after months of observation and treatment and a consultation with one of Europe's leading psychiatrists, Doctor Eugen Bleuler, she was diagnosed as a schizophrenicAfter being diagnosed, Zelda was increasingly confined to specialist clinics, and the couple were living apart when Scott died suddenly in 1940. Zelda died later in a fire at the hospital in which she was a resident.

In 1932, while being treated at the Phipps Clinic at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Zelda had a swell of creativity. Over the course of her first six weeks at the clinic, she wrote an entire novel and sent it to Scott's publisher, Maxwell Perkins.

When Scott finally read Zelda's book, a week after she'd sent it to Perkins, he was furious. The book was a semi-autobiographical account of the Fitzgeralds' marriage. In letters, Scott berated her and fumed that the novel had drawn upon the autobiographical material that he planned to use in Tender Is the Night, and which would finally see publication in 1934

In its time, however, Zelda's book was not well received by critics. To Zelda's dismay it sold only 1,392 copies, for which she earned $120.73. The failure of Save Me the Waltz, and Scott's scathing criticism of her having written it—he called her "plagiaristic" and a "third-rate writer"—crushed her spirits. It was the only novel she ever published.

On the night of March 10, 1948, a fire broke out in the hospital kitchen. Zelda was locked into a room, awaiting electroshock therapy. The fire moved through the dumbwaiter shaft, spreading onto every floor. The fire escapes were wooden, and caught fire as well. Nine women, including Zelda, died in the fire. 


Save me the Waltz
Zelda Fitzgerald, Author

Save Me the Waltz is the only novel by Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald. Published in 1932, it is a semi-autobiographical account of her life and marriage to F. Scott Fitzgerald.


Did you know Zelda Fitzgerald had written a novel? Have you read This Side of Paradise? Zelda's book was written partly as a response to questions which had arisen from F.Scott's book. Were F. Scott's accusations correct? He had used her material without her permission. . .

Please leave a comment to let me know you were here and I'll respond. Thanks for dropping by! Thanks also for visiting my blog during the A to Z. I appreciate it!

Cover depticting F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald
'The Beautiful and Damned'**


A to Z Challenge - 2016

It's April again and time for the 2016 Blogging from A to Z challenge  This is my 4th year participating in the challenge! (Previous A to Z  posts at the top of my blog page tabs are: Art A-Z, French Faves, Paris, Etc. 

Thanks to originator Lee (Arlee Bird at Tossing It Out), and the co-hosts and co-host teams who make the challenge run smoothly. See the list of participants, and other important information at the A to Z Blog site.  The basic idea is to blog every day in April except Sundays (26 days). On April 1st, you begin with the letter A, April 2 is the letter B, and so on. Posts can be random or use a theme.

Blogging from A to Z Challenge 2016 - Badge



Zelda Fitzgerald Wiki

Save Me the Waltz - Wiki

Cover image of  Zelda's book - Public Domain

**The Beautiful and Damned (book cover) See REVIEW here.

This media file is in the public domain in the United States. This applies to U.S. works where the copyright has expired, often because its first publication occurred prior to January 1, 1923.
This image might not be in the public domain outside of the United States; this especially applies in the countries and areas that do not apply the rule of the shorter term for US works, such as Canada, Mainland China (not Hong Kong or Macao), Germany, Mexico, and Switzerland

IMAGE: Portrait of Zelda, 1919, (PD* = Public Domain)

This media file is in the public domain in the United States. This applies to U.S. works where the copyright has expired, often because its first publication occurred prior to January 1, 1923. 
This image might not be in the public domain outside of the United States; this especially applies in the countries and areas that do not apply the rule of the shorter term for US works, such as Canada, Mainland China (not Hong Kong or Macao), Germany, Mexico, and Switzerland