Two of Wands, Reversed

 

Welcome again to the October Frights Blog Hop! Here is a short story I wrote for open mic a year ago. It was inspired by a couple friends if mine and things they'd said about writing the things that hurt and doing the scary things...

TWO OF WANDS, REVERSED

“Why am I dead inside?”

“I’m a fortune teller, not a shrink,” she says, smiling with all four of her golden teeth.

“I feel like you should know better than any shrink—about souls,” I say, interlacing and unlacing my fingers. I can smell my own cologne over the heavy incense in the gypsy’s tent. I have over-applied it again. I lick my lips. The old witch it squinting at me thoughtfully.

“I’m a performer,” she says at last.

“An artist!” I interject. “Artists have souls.”

“More so than other people?” she asks with a chortle.

“They are more aware of them,” I say, tracing patterns on the ornate tablecloth, “or they display them. Especially performers.”

“No, we hide them and put on a display of falsehood,” the gypsy corrects me. “We are pretenders. Perhaps we lack souls and thus overcompensate. We are trying to make everyone believe we have souls, just like them.”

She smiles and sits back, crossing her arms, as if she’s won. I scowl and dig my nails into the tablecloth before me.

“Do you want my money?” I ask.

“In verity,” she replies. “The question is this: do you want lies?”

“Then you do admit to knowledge,” I say, sitting up and pointing at her triumphantly.

“I know how to play you, like a fine instrument,” she says with a shrug. “I am a performer. The best.” I slump back in the old chair with a huff.

“You do not wish to rephrase your question?” she asks, taking out an ivory snuff box.

I scowl as she takes a pinch and inhales it. I bite my lip and interlace my fingers once more. What does she mean? Rephrase? What do I want to know? The gypsy sneezes violently all over the table between us. She chuckles with her golden teeth flashing. I almost get up and leave. She can’t help me anyway. God, my cologne is so strong. Why did I use so much?

“What happened to my soul?” I ask at last.

“Ah…” she says. “So you don’t have one. Are you an artist?”

“Yes. I’m a writer,” I sniff, wringing my hands in my lap. “But I had a soul.”

“Before you became a writer?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve been a writer for a long time, and I’ve always had a soul.”

“How do you know?” she says, cocking her head.

“I’m sure I don’t know!” I snap. “I only know the absence of it. Not quite a cavity…not really a hollowness. Just that I…I feel like some integral part is missing. You never know what you have till it’s gone, they say.”

“Who are they?” asks the gypsy.

“Are you going to answer me?” I ask, sitting up straight again. “Or keep asking me questions?”

“I need information to inform my fabricated response,” she says, winking.

“I’m wasting my time,” I growl, standing.

“Or maybe you’re wasting mine,” she says with a smile. “Sit down and I will answer one question. Just one.”

I work my jaw silently, gripping my left wrist in my right. The gypsy continues to smile with all three golden teeth. Three? She waves a hand and a candle appears in the center of the table, burning with a sputtering red light and giving off a sticky scent of apricot. I blink and she laughs.

“People only believe their eyes,” she says, “but the eyes can be fooled.”

“And hearts?” I ask.

“Is that your question?”

I shake my head.

“You didn’t really come here for a laugh, did you?” she asks. “My favorite customer. One question. Though I cannot promise you that you will like the answer.”

“I don’t expect to,” I grumble, sitting reluctantly back in the creaky old chair. Incense and the candle-scent swirl around me and I fancy that a haze glitters around the table and the little ball of red candle-light. The tent beyond grows dark.

“You wear a lot of cologne,” she says. “And you are insecure when you talk.” She points to my hands, lying before me on the table.

“What’s that got to—” I break off because my hands are interlacing their fingers again. I force them still and look the gypsy in the eye. They are not one color. They seem to cycle drunkenly through all the colors of the rainbow. I can’t hold her gaze.

“Where’s my soul?”

“Is that your question?”

I take a deep breath and choke on my own cologne.

“I haven’t paid you yet,” I say.

“Haven’t you?” she cocks an eyebrow. “Quit stalling. I don’t have all day. There are more customers.”

“I didn’t see any outside,” I say, wrangling my hands again. I clutch my knees to stop them from moving.

“I should get paid by the hour, then,” she says, setting a deck of cards on the table and splaying them out to one side, then the other in a fluid motion. Back and forth, back and forth, like the tide. “Just look inside yourself and ask yourself: what is it that you want to know? Why did you come here?”

“How do I get my soul back?” I ask, leaning forward and searching for her rainbow eyes behind her grey fringe. She does not look up. Her hands move the cards like a magician, they flow and ebb. They stop, she flicks a card over.

“The answer to that,” she says, “lies in the previous question: what happened to it? Which lies in the first question: why are you dead inside?”

“But I only get one question,” I growl, gripping the edge of the table.

She slides the card across the table and leaves it in the pool of bloody light from the candle. It’s upside down. It’s got a picture of six golden coins on it. Each coin has a different laughing face on it, and they all look strangely familiar, but I can’t say from where.

“You’ve let your art stagnate in greed and worries. You’re worried about that book signing and your reception. There’s another author who’s doing better than you. Your art is your soul. It’s dead, riding on trends, riding on popularity.”

She flips another card and scoots it across to me. This one is right side up, with a picture of an infantile creature in hose and puffed sleeves and bearing a gigantic golden chalice.

“I don’t know what the heck that means,” she says, shaking her head. “Doesn’t really answer where your soul went. Ah. But it does describe your soul. Your art is good. It’s deep and passionate. You mean it—or you used to. It’s gone. But not utterly lost, I think.” She grins at me again. With two teeth this time.

I blink, losing my train of thought for a second. “Your teeth—”

“Don’t you want to know how to get it back?” she doesn’t wait, but flips a third card.

She slams it down in front of me. Another upside down card with a crying man on it, holding a long staff that is broken in twain.

“That doesn’t look good,” I say, swallowing.

“Ha!” she says. “It never is. There’s darkness in you. There’s a little bit in all of us. Pain and things. All that jazz.”

“What do you mean?” I snap, looking up at her with a scowl.

“You know what I mean. You need to be honest. Forget the accolades and the reviews. And for God’s sake, stop wearing so much cologne!”

My hands twist each other in anger.

“Your soul is dead because you let the world crush it down when it wants to rise. You let it go, pushed it out, because you were afraid of it.”

She has only one tooth now.

I swallow. “I am not afraid of it, or I wouldn’t want it back, would I?’

“Bah!” she says, picking up the card with the broken staff and throwing at me. “Then why is your art restricted? Dig that soul out,” she picks up the cup-bearer card, “it never left! It’s still there!” she throws the card at me. “Stop caring what the public, or even your mother thinks! Let your soul back out, let it draw up the life from within, even the ugly stuff, especially the ugly stuff. Pain is how you know you’re alive. Find it and write that shit!”

She has no teeth.

She throws the last card at me. The six of coins. It cuts through the flame of the candle and extinguishes it in a puff of smoke.

“It’s up to you to turn that card around,” her voice says from the dark.

And see the rest of the blog hop below!

Are You Afraid of the Dark?

Night to Dawn Magazine & Books LLC

Hawk's Happenings

Heidi Angell

Curiosities

James McDonald

Always Another Chapter

Spreading the Writer's Word

Yours in Storytelling

Carmilla Voiez

Hello Romance

GirlZombieAuthors

Frighten Me

M'habla's!

Angela Yuriko Smith

Brain Matter

NLCARTERWRITES.COM

Plague Doctors! And Grimbound: Downloadable Coloring Books

Now available on my Etsy:

Plague Doctors Coloring Book

And Grimbound, the illustrations from Brooke Elden's dark retelling of Red Riding Hood

https://www.etsy.com/shop/mccallumsart

The Plague Doctor Coloring book contains nine images and is five dollars.

Xenomorph Midwife from the Plague Doctor Coloring Book

Perfume Monk from the plague doctor coloring book

Lady Doctor from the plague doctor coloring book

The Grimbound coloring book contains all thirteen of the illustrations for the book. Find out more about it and Brooke Elden on her site!

Grandmother's cottage from the Grimbound coloring book

Grim Reaper from the Grimbound coloring book

Sweets from the Grimbound Coloring book

And if you use the code CROWN before May 4th, you get 25 % off everything in my Etsy shop.

A New Mythology--Oramon--The First City

   The race of Denu grew larger and soon the palaces that they had built for Neron on the top of Amalteron were not enough to contain them. Neron’s ire was once again raised by the these upstart children, these bright eyed usurpers who thronged in his halls and made raucous noise in his once quiet gardens.

   At last he went to Ner. But cunning Ner had anticipated him, so before Neron could express his displeasure, Ner hailed him.

   “Oh great Neron, benefactor and holy guardian,” he said. “I have seen that your halls are overrun with the silver-eyed children. Though it breaks my heart, I have decided to part from you. I will take my people to live in the valleys below. We will build a new habitation there. A home big enough for all of us. We will still bring unto you gifts in annual visitation, but we must have room to spread out. You will understand, I hope, oh, Grandfather?”

   Neron could scarce contain his joy. “I understand,” he said. “My blessings go with you.”

   As he watched the Children of Denu gather and depart down the luscious green slopes of his chief mountain, a niggling question came to him: where would they settle? And what would the crafty race create there? Now he could not watch them as closely.

   But now his beautiful palaces would be home to only him, Onera, Nez, Eanez and Arathez. Eanez and Arathez had grown to maturity and now Onera asked Neron to make for them companions as for the Children of Denu. He did as she asked, and when Onera saw that her children were happy, she left, for she had not forgiven Nez, and did not wish to remain in his company. So she departed for the Island that was named for her.

   Onera had cursed Nez that none should ever love him, but she had been too late: Ariaj had loved him from the start and she loved him still. Nez watched the horizon whence Onera had departed and would not accept Ariaj’s advances. Neron saw that he pined and wished for him to be happy, but he had already sent Ner, the brewer of potions, away…

   Ner led his siblings and their many children on through the forests towards Neronimahnon, the flaming mountain.

   “Where will we settle?” complained his sister, Ee, “There is naught out here but wilderness and the wild animals. We grew up in Amalteron’s orchard: to leave is grievous!”

   “We will make a new home, a brighter, grander place than any other,” Ner said. “We are a born of Denu and Onera and the power of creation is in our eyes. We will create such wonders as Neron could never imagine. We will become greater than he or any other. Upon Neronimahnon we will build and use its fire for our craft.”

   Nemrus watched the multitude pass through his quiet glens and peaceful forests with concerned eyes. He saw them approaching his favorite mountain, Neronimahnon, and he waited anxiously for them to pass it by. To his dismay, they instead came to a halt upon the mountains grassy slopes. It was a rich and verdant land about the mountain, and the children of Denu began to make themselves comfortable, planting seeds they had brought from the orchards of Amalteron and erecting shelters.

Nemrus watched as they made his mountain their abode, but he was shy and did not confront them. Instead he went to Neron.

   Neron frowned. He had finally gotten the burdensome children away from his own dwelling and was reluctant to chase them from their new chosen place, lest they return…but he also loved Neronimahnon.

   “Perhaps they will leave if the mountain is unstable,” Neron suggested. “But let them not know why it shaketh.”

   Nemrus silently withdrew, disappointed that Neron was not willing to help. But he went to the volcano and inspired it to shiver and tremble and belch ash into the sky. The shelters that the  Children of Denu had constructed fell down and Ee was distraught.

   “This is not a place that is good!” she said to Ner. But Ner was not deterred. He ordered their settlement to move down the mountain to the valley at its foot. There, the soil was still rich, and a stream meandered through; it was a much better place for a palace.

   Ner began to build his palace beside the stream, while Nu continued to plant orchards higher up the mountain where the soil made them to grow lustily. One day she was alone, tending to the tender shoots. Nemrus appeared there, his antlers outlined by the rising sun. The Children of Denu had rarely, if ever, seen the solitary god of the woods. Nu was surprised and bowed before him.

   “Uncle!” she said. “It is an honor to see you here at our new settlement. Our bustling disturbed Neron upon his sacred mountain and it is good that we come here. We welcome you warmly!”

   “This mountain is sacred unto me,” said Nemrus. “I would that your family goeth elsewhere.”

Nu returned to the valley and told Ner and Deru this, but Ner scoffed.

   “This place is perfect for a dwelling of so many!” he said. “Where else could we go? Here we have soil, stone, water, fire, everything is bounteous for our sustenance!”

   “But great Nemrus is displeased,” Nu said.

   “And he is not Neron,” Ner said.

   “He has the power of earth, of animals,” Nu said.

   “Then we shall give him gifts,” said Ner. “We will adulate and worship him as we did to appease Neron.”

   “I do not think he will be pleased,” said Nu.

   “You must please him,” Ner said.

   Nu was not happy, but she knew that her brothers and sisters would not listen, so she went to negotiate with Nemrus.

   “Great Nemrus,” she said. “This place is perfect for a host this large. We will only grow and few places would sustain us. Would it not be better that we anchor here than to flood your quiet glens and bounteous sacred places? If we remain here, we will not need to go elsewhere. We will name our palaces after you and bring you gifts. We will pay tribute unto you, in goods and in song.”

   Although Nemrus could see that she was right, he was bitter.

   “A child must be thrown into the fire of Neronimahnon each year,” he said. “Or it will erupt and destroy your city.” He thought perhaps they would yet be dissuaded from staying there. Nu was horrified but went and told Ner.

   “We cannot tarry here,” she said. “Let us find another valley! There must be some other place where we can live.”

   But Ner was decided. And he sent Nu to tell Nemrus that they would agree to the terms.

Nemrus told her to bring the sacrifice on the following morning, then he waited and watched to see what would happen. Nu would have nothing to do with the act, and so Ner chose one of his own grand-children and along with a procession of singers and bearers of jewels, brought his grandson, Etas, to the lip of the volcano at dawn.

   Nemrus watched in horror, realizing that Ner meant truly to do this thing. Etas was about to be hurled into the flaming crater. But as Ner reached for his own progeny, Nemrus commanded the earth to swallow him, and Etas vanished into the rocks and soil before he could be slain.

   “Thou merciless people,” roared Nemrus, emerging from the vapors of the mountain. “You would slay your own kin? You deserve not the life that has been granted you!”

   “Our Grandmother, and your Mother, Nomra, did likewise in olden days,” Ner said.

   “And she paid dearly for such an unnatural act!” Nemrus hissed. “As shall you! May the cycles of the animals evermore affect you, O heartless ones, may you not continue to live and multiply and overrun this earth with your wickedness. But I shall spare Nu, for she is merciful.”

   Nemrus left Neronihmanon and vanished into the forests. And after, age came upon the Children of Denu and they grew old and died as the animals did. All save for Nu.

   Nu lived on as the city grew and filled the valley with magnificence. Eventually, Ner grew old and when he died, he passed the leadership of the city to his son, Teris. Generations now came and went, but Nu remained, young and beautiful in the city called Nemraltus, after the god of the forests.

   What had befallen Etas? He had been swallowed by the earth, but Nemrus brought him out of the moss and raised him in the woods and gave him power over the earth and they watched the forests together and minded the animals of Oramon. Etas was fleet and could run around the world in a day, bringing news to Nemrus from far and wide. He was also a child of Denu and had the power of creation in his eyes. He learned to transform into any shape he desired, just as his great grandfather, Denu. Untouched by Nemrus’ curse, he lived on, eternally youthful like his grand-aunt, Nu. 

A Hole in the Sea Release Day Anniversary!

   A year ago today!
   The winners of the giveaway are listed on the rafflecopter widget in the last post. Congratulations!!! I'll be emailing you later today. If you still haven't read A Hole in the Ice, you can get it here! And if you didn't win, you can get A Hole in the Sea here.
   Here is the blurb I wrote for it:
   Parsifal and Balder are trapped on the arctic ice after Lady Vasille and Lord Keazund vanish into the Sea. The magical Compass shows Parsifal dire warnings of storm and mermaid. Unable to resist the hole in the ice, the two friends find themselves cast adrift on an otherworldly Sea. A Sea filled with myth and dangerous monsters. Guided by Dioktes, a strange old man of doubtful motives, they come to the Port, a floating city of wreckage ruled by a desperate rabble. Lady Vasille has designs upon the Port and upon all of the Sea. If Parsifal isn’t careful, he and his friends will be caught up in her schemes once more. But it’s hard to be careful when you’re trying to survive.

   I wanted to share some special material here, but all I found was the full lyrics for Fou's Lullaby, which you can download for free! The song as recorded only uses two of the three verses I wrote (although the original, as it appears in the book, only has one verse). Here they are:

“My dreams, my dreams die, oh,

Their glory, bright, dies slow,

As the winter winds blow,

They are covered o’er with snow.

I miss them, miss them so,

Chasing them, I will row,

My boat down river’s flow,

I’ll never see them again, I know.

Oh, my love’s gone, I’ll never taste wine.

Yes, my love’s gone, I’ll never hear song.

Oh, my dream’s gone, to love now is wrong.

My dream’s gone, where art thou, love of mine?

For dreams, for dreams, I sigh,

To take me now, to fly,

Where sorrows draw not nigh,

Sadness cannot climb so high.

I whisper, whisper ‘why?’

So fleet, they flicker by,

No matter how I try,

They slip away and won’t say, goodbye.

Oh, my love’s gone, I’ll never taste wine.

Yes, my love’s gone, I’ll never hear song.

Oh, my dream’s gone, to love now is wrong.

My dream’s gone, where art thou, love of mine?

Flowers newly blossom,

When Spring time sweetly comes,

A new dream softly hums,

And in my breast, heartstrings strum.

Whatever they may say,

I know that they won’t stay,

When autumn has its sway,

They will fade away, away, away.”

   The song available for download was written (with my lyrics) and produced by Matthew McLin and performed by Skye Palmer.

Weather Casters Compass Rose--Watercolor and acrylic

Davy Jones--Oil

Tan Noz--Oil

   And some other additional items of interest:
   A guest post from last year, shortly before A Hole in the Sea was released: On Clara Gillow Clark's Blog!
   And a guest post from two years ago: A post about myth on Page Burner!
   I figure it's related material that my newer followers probably aren't acquainted with.

   And thank you everyone who entered for humoring me with you great answers of why you like fiction. I was going to to an additional prize for my favorite, but I couldn't pick one.
   So instead, just comment on this post to win a signed copy of A Hole in the Ice! (I'll put your names in my top hat and pull one out). Open until Monday (Jan 30th) (US only, please).

A Hole in the Sea Book Birthday Celebration

   To celebrate the first book birthday of A Hole in the Sea, I am going to give away three signed paperbacks of A Hole in the Sea. I'm also going to slip a small original painting into each copy! I created these three (wildly contradictory) depictions of the monstress, Wilma Jones, using watercolor and pen. She's one of my favorite (somewhat minor, but important) characters.

   I used rafflecopter to do this because it's so handy and picks a winner for me, but I don't really care for the entry options. So I tried to get around that by making the main way to enter into a simple question: Why do you like fiction? You can be as brief as you like in answering the question: even just type one letter. It's the option that gives you the most entries and you can follow me on facebook and twitter, if you like, for a couple extra entries ;)  Hopefully it works.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

   The winners will be selected and announced next Saturday, the 28th, the day A Hole in the Sea was officially released!
   It was my second book, sequel to my debut A Hole in the Ice, and I feel like my writing grew a lot in the process of writing and editing it. I also feel like Parsifal's journey was much more defined, it's the next step in his development and it was exciting to watch him grow (these characters are very real to me and writing each new book is like relaxing into them and letting them tell the story).
   I also got to explore my mythical Sea and create some of my favorite characters: the mad woman, Fou, the mysterious power hungry old mariner, Dioktes, and the monstress Wilma Jones, as well as Davy Jones and Captain Caspar.

Captain Caspar

Davy Jones

 











We also get another look at the mermaids and we meet the Weather Casters!

Weather Caster

Mermaid

 

















Here is  the official blurb for the book:
   As the chase continues into the extraordinary seascape of a mysterious ocean, where sea monsters reign, deadly mermaids hunt, and pirates skulk, Parsifal learns that staying alive on the high seas is no easy task; especially when being hunted down by the vengeful and determined Lady Vasille. 
   As beautiful, deadly, and driven as ever, Lady Vasille will stop at nothing to retrieve the compass and the power it contains. 
   In this fantastically wrought, nautical fantasy adventure, McCallum J. Morgan transports the reader into a truly magical realm. 
And here is my Amazon Author Page where you can find all of my books! And book one is still ¢99 on Kindle if you haven't taken the first leg of the journey.
   Thank you all and good luck!

My oil painting of the Scylla

Book cover by Little Bird

A New Mythology--Oramon--The Creation

   In the beginning, there was a flickering light in the dark. The light awakened whom it revealed sleeping in the darkness. Nomra opened her eyes to a shapelessness. All was dark but the Light.  

   Nomra reached out and touched the light and droplets fell from her fingers, smaller lights were born. The small lights followed her as she roamed the dark. The Light revealed the shapeless matter of the Dark and Nomra delighted in trailing her hands through it, forming the darkness as the Light solidified it into concrete matter. She made mountains and valleys and many strange formations. But she grew bored with taking small lights from the Light and with forming the darkness into landscapes.

   At last the Light fell upon Neron, asleep, but the Light could not wake him. Nomra gazed upon him and was lonely. She spoke the first word and he awakened at her voice. Nomra and Neron were complete; they walked through the dawning and Nomra formed wonders for her love and he delighted in them.

   Her first gift was an ocean, which Neron called Nomra-A-Neh, because it was beautiful like Nomra. She created a mountain that made light in its belly and he called it Neronimahnon because he loved it so. She gave him trees and flowers, streams and lakes.

   Together, Nomra and Neron walked through the darkness, and the Light followed them, illuminating their joy. Their feet turned the void beneath them and their path led them in a circle and the Light circled the newly formed land.

   Nomra and Neron took the small lights and explored the darkness that lay above and below the path of Light. Nomra rounded the two ends of the land and Neron was charmed by the ball of matter and called in Oramon, for it was his favorite gift of all. And around Oramon all was dark but the Light that circled it.

   Neron took from the Dark above and with the smaller lights formed his first gift for Nomra. She called it horse and it was fleet and with it she could circle Oramon and see all she had created. Neron made more living creatures, for his skill and love were great.

   Nomra loved his creations, especially the winged creatures that made beautiful music for her.

   Nomra made a high mountain cliff that over looked her sparkling ocean and there she would sit, watching the birds wheel over the waves, waiting for them to land on her outstretched arms and sing their praises of her creation. She named the mountain cliff Amalteron for it was a place of glory.

To Be Continued!

Ambulatory Cadavers Art and Giveaway!

   The October Frights Blog Hop continues!
   Today we have art and a giveaway!
   I had a post on here about the drive to write and how it's like being a host for some alien intelligence that compels you to write (here it is, if you want to check it out). Writing isn't the only thing I'm a host for. I have an alien compulsion to draw, too. Often it seems to be another facet of the writing compulsion: I have to draw what I write. I like to be able to see my characters and how they dress, since I usually write stories set in another time period, and with Ambulatory Cadavers I had to see them especially clearly, because they would appear on my book cover.
   I've always loved the Regency period. I studied fashion plates and illustrations of the clothing of that period before designing the cover. It had to be authentic.
   Test was of course the most important character to design, being the zombie representative of the book. I think I was sketching ideas in April 2015 when I was writing the first draft. I wanted something decayed but cartoonish, like Plants vs. Zombies. But also somewhat classy and dignified. I think I found the right balance.

Katie M John is the wizard who framed my painting. Wonderful isn't it? And drippy. She is wearing a matching velvet bonnet and spencer: the short jacket popular during the Regency era.

Oil portrait of Test

   The compulsion never ends: I started out testing my new ink dip pens and before I knew it, I had the whole cast of Ambulatory Cadavers. These were really fun to paint: fast and furious.

Asa Crimpton--Artist and Medium. As a professional artist, it is perfectly acceptable for him to view naked women.

Charles von Hopenheim--Not much up in the skull, but lots in the heart, although most of it is futilely directed at his cousin, Lyra.

Creamey--A strange young man of questionable occupation. Is his nose broken or does it have naturally graceful curvature?

Lyra von Hopenheim--Avid scientist and social rebel. Sometimes a coup d'etat is the only answer.

Test--He's really very handsome actually...in a way. But he will eat your hydrangeas. They make a lovely garnish for brains.

Alice Crawft--Lyra's cousin. Doomed to an odious marriage. She enjoys edifying poetry, painting, and the pianoforte.

   If you like these ink dip pen and watercolor portraits, you're in luck, because I'm giving away a set of 5x7 prints! That's six altogether: Alice, Test, Lyra, Creamey, Charles, and Asa. Also, I'm giving away a print of the painting that was used in the book's cover.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Also, here is a preorder link for Ambulatory Cadavers

An InLinkz Link-up

Distracted by Art and Upcoming Newsletter!

My writing has been neglected this month as I've been following the #artitupwithfriends daily drawing challenge theme list for June on Instagram (hosted by @pabkins and @badaliceshop). It's been fun to stretch my drawing (and painting) muscles.
Here are several drawings. The themes were Danse Macabre, Black, and Under the Bed. Follow my Instagram @mccallumjmorgan for more!

I'm also working in releasing a (hopefully) monthly newsletter, the first issue of which is going out in July. If you want the inside scoop on upcoming projects, sign up below! It's going to be a blast. I plan to have a new character portrait from Weather Casters Book Three each month, starting with the Duchess of Nachdenklich and hoepfully later on, I'll be able to organize some book recommendations and spotlights. Who knows what I'll stick in there.
Newsletter Sign Up

The Weather Casters

W.C.---The Weather Casters, supernatural beings from my novel "A Hole in the Ice," who control the weather, weaving it and casting it out over the world. They will appear more prominently in book two of the Weather Casters series, "A Hole in the Sea," which is planned to come out sometime this fall.
Here's a little logo I painted for them:

I think it would be cool as a frontispiece or something, but it's really not perfect enough. I might touch it up on the computer and see what it looks like then. I'm pretty clumsy, as you can see by te smudges on the lower left edge.
There are more creatures in book two, as well...stay tuned for more art, just as soon as I can figure out how to depict them.