C is for Chimeric

         (My A to Z theme this year is How to Make a Fantastical Creature, in which I explore 26 traits that are widely shared among the monsters and marvels of fantasy and folklore.  I’ve started early, but I promise that I’ll end with Z on April 30, just like everyone else in the April A to Z Blog Challenge.)

        The chimaera of Greek mythology was described as having parts like three disparate animals: a lion in front, a serpent in the rear, and a goat in the middle.  I would have thought this description implied a snake tail in the same way that a mermaid has a fish tail, but instead the chimera is usually depicted as having a full lion body, with a snake head on the tip of its tail and a goat head poking out of its back.  Quite early in English (late 14th century) this hybrid creature gave its name to any sort of creature composed of various parts of other animals, and later to any sort of wild fancy.  In fact, the most common and universal way to make a magical creature in cultures all around the world is to describe it by the resemblance of various traits to other creatures.  Indeed, the mythical creature that can’t be described chimera-fashion is the exception.  You can read a previous post on chimeras here.

        Loads of famous mythical beasts are chimeric.  The centaur is half man half horse, and the faun half man half goat.

        The Han Dynasty scholar Wang Fu (c. 220 CE) described lung dragons with “the nine resemblances…: his horns resemble those of a stag, his head that of a camel, his eyes those of a demon, his neck that of a snake, his belly that of a clam, his scales those of a carp, his claws those of an eagle, his soles those of a tiger, his ears those of a cow.”

        The Egyptian demon/goddess Ammit has a crocodile head, foreparts of a lion, and hindquarters of a hippo.  She eats the impure hearts of those people who, after death, fail the judgement of Osiris.

        The Mesopotamian lamassu has the body of a bull or lion, a human head, and avian wings.

        The basilisk, although originally a mere serpent, eventually developed into a chimera with the front half of a rooster added to its snake tail.  (It also may have poison breath suitable for the letter B.)

        The hippogriff is a chimera combining the hindquarters of a horse with the front half of another chimera: the griffin.  Of course, the front half of a griffin is just the front half of an eagle.  There’s also a creature called the hippalectryon that looks the reverse: front half horse, back half eagle.

        The magical Himmapan Forest in the Himalayas is populated by many magnificent chimeric creatures, including the Kunchorn Waree, which has the front half of an elephant and the back half of a fish.

        The Persian simurgh is sometimes depicted as a peacock with the head of a dog and the claws of a lion.  But some chimeras can be a bit variable.

        A creature with lots of options is the yali or vyala of India, which can combine its feline-ish body with lots of different possible heads, including elephant, lion, bird, horse, or dog.  But whatever kind of head it has, it's always strong and fierce.  (This illustration is one of mine.)

        You can find lots more chimeric creatures in previous posts, including malacomorphs, ypotryll, and welwa, as well as the jackalope and a host of similar rabbity-chimeras.  There are even chimeras that are mixes between beasts and objects, such as the umbrellaphant and the capybureau.

        The moral of these conglomerate creatures is that the easiest way to make something new is to mix up a few old things.  A Pro Tip for mad scientists is to get yourself a lab on a secluded island where no one asks awkward questions about why your pet ant-lions need their grain feed supplemented with gazelle meat.

        What creature traits would you most like to combine?  Do you have that mad-science hankering to create your own chimeras?  Try the Hybridizer, and tell us about your favorites!

[Pictures: Chimaera, Greek votive platter, 590-570 BCE (Image from Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien);

Ammit, illustration from Egyptian Book of the Dead papyrus, c 1250 BCE (Image from the British Museum);

Basilisk, wood block print by Jost Amman from Thierbuch, 1592 (Image from Library of Congress);

Kunchorn Waree, mural from Wat Gangaram, Ratchaburi, Thailand (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Simurgh, silver platter, Iran, 9th-10th century CE (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Yali (Fierce Guardian), rubber block print by AEGN, 2018;

Monster with the head of an ass (among other things!), wood block print from Monstrorum historia by Ulisse Aldrovandi, 1658 (Image from DFG viewer).]

B is for Breathing Fire

         (My A to Z theme this year is How to Make a Fantastical Creature, in which I explore 26 traits that are widely shared among the monsters and marvels of fantasy and folklore.  I’ve started early, and it’s still not too late for you to join in the Challenge with your own blog HERE.)

        There are no real-life creatures that breathe fire (although a few come surprisingly close!) so who was the first to imagine a creature that could?  Most likely this strange and marvelous - and scary - thought occurred to multiple people in the history of humanity, since the trait appears in folklore around the world.  Fire is one of the most magical forces humans know, simultaneously beautiful and potentially deadly.  The most famous mythical fire-breathers are dragons, but they are far from the only ones.  

        In classical Greece the chimaera and the Mares of Diomedes (already seen at the letter A) were known to breathe fire, and Persian mythology has fire-breathing horses with asses’ heads called conopenii.

        The basan is a Japanese creature that looks like a rooster but breathes bright red ghost-fire.  Interestingly, its fire may be cold and doesn’t burn.

        The catoblepas is a beast known to the medieval naturalists, which looks like a buffalo but with a shaggy head so heavy that it can’t hold it up.  This is lucky, because according to some authors it breathes fire, while according to others its breath is poisonous (but all agree that its stare is deadly, as well).  So let’s expand today’s category and include all sorts of breath weapons.  

        The French Lebraude (or Souffle, which is an awesome name for a monster!) is a large lizard or salamander which breathes only once per day, but when it exhales its poison, everything around dies instantly.

        The olgoi-khorkhol (or Mongolian death worm) can spit poison or discharge electric shocks.

        The Physeter (or Prister) of the Atlantic Ocean is an enormous sea monster that spouts violent streams of water and steam.

        In Jamaica there are dangerous duppies, which are ghosts or spirits, including Rolling-Calf, which breathes fire, and Three-foot Horse, which breathes poison.

        The modern mythology of Dungeons & Dragons categorizes its dragons into whether they breathe fire, poison, cold, acid, or electricity.

        Or read the previous post on Spring-heeled Jack, who breathed blue flame.

        Finally, I would like to mention the bonnacon, a beast of the medieval bestiaries, which has a lethal weapon it can spray, but not by breathing.  Its weapon comes from the other end.  The bonnacon looks much like an ox, but its horns are so tightly spiralled that the sharp ends don’t stick out to offer it any protection, so instead it sprays caustic, burning dung for a quarter mile behind it.

The moral of breath weapons is, of course, that no one wants to be a dragons’ dentist.  A Pro Tip for knights: try offering hostile dragons an enticing suit of armor packed full of high explosives.

        What's your best dragon-slaying strategy?

[Pictures: Dragon, rubber block print by AEGN, 2010 (sold out);

Basan, wood block print by Takehara Shunsensai, c 1841 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Catoblepas, wood block print from The Historie of Foure-Footed Beastes by Edward Topsell, 1607 (Image from Folger Collection);

Physeter, wood block print from Historiae de gentibus septentrionalibus by Olaus Magnus, 1557 (Image from Biodiversity Heritage Library);

Bonnacon, illumination from bestiary, 1201-1225 (Image from Bodleian Libraries).]

A is for Anthropophagus

         My A to Z theme this year is How to Make a Fantastical Creature, in which I explore 26 traits that are widely shared among the monsters and marvels of fantasy and folklore.  I always start early, but I promise that I’ll end with Z on April 30, just like everyone else.  Be sure to check out the list of other participating blogs HERE.

        Anthropophagus is a fancy word meaning “eats humans,” and that’s the number one quickest and easiest way to make a monster.  Of course real animals that eat humans, such as tigers or crocodiles, are scary enough, but a man-eating horse becomes an insta-monster, a baby-eating crone becomes a wicked witch, and the problem with giants isn’t that they’re big, but that they’ll grind your bones to make their bread.  I don’t need to go into any deep explanation of why we find this trait monstrous, or why, if we want to tell stories about monsters, we give this trait to the villains to make them even scarier.

        Of course it doesn’t take magic for a creature to eat humans, but the anthropophagus trait is often given to creatures that wouldn’t normally be carnivorous, thus turning them from ordinary animals into something outside the bounds of the natural world.  The Mares of Diomedes and the Stymphalian Birds which Hercules had to conquer are classical examples, and a more modern example is the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”

        Furthermore, for all the dangerous beasts in the world, there are few that really hunt humans as a first choice.  So when you tell stories of a monster that deliberately favors human flesh, that makes it more than an everyday carnivore.  The manticore is particularly known for its voracious man-eating nature, and indeed its name derives from the Persian for “man-eater.”  It has the body of a blood-red lion, but the head of a man, and a tail with poisonous quills or a scorpion stinger.  It has a triple row of super-sharp teeth, and it devours its victims bones and all.  A single manticore will hunt people up to three or four at a time, and chomp them all down, leaving not a trace.

        Ogres are cannabalistic humanoids who consider human babies to be a particular delicacy.  They’re usually large (sometimes basically giants), hairy and clumsy-looking, with great strength, but the eating of humans is their primary trait.

        The wendigo of Algonquian-family First Nations peoples is also defined largely by its insatiable desire for human flesh.  It looks like an emaciated walking corpse.  It is a spirit of both gluttony and famine, as its cannibalistic hunger merely increases, the more people it devours.

The isiququmadevu of Zulu folklore swallows not just individual people, but entire armies and entire villages, men, women, children, cattle, dogs, and all.  Luckily, in a trait shared by a number of anthropophagus monsters, if you can manage to kill her, you can let out all the victims in her belly, and they will be none the worse for wear.

The Hidebehind, a Fearsome Critter, hunts loggers and other humans in the woods, and particularly favors eating their intestines.  It’s impossible to see one stalking you, because no matter how quickly you turn around, it’s always able to hide behind a tree… or you.

        A couple other anthropophagus monsters you can read more about in previous posts are the Ninki Nanka and the rakshasa, and of course many of the monsters we’ll run into throughout the rest of this year’s A to Z may also eat you if you don’t watch out.  It’s easy to see why people all around the world and throughout history have told stories about creatures that are more than ordinary man-eaters.  They serve as warnings, nightmare fuel, and most excellent antagonists for our heroes.

        The moral of these monsters is that  no one likes to be someone else’s dinner.  But folklore from many traditions gives us a couple of Pro Tips for monster-slayers: 

1. Try to gain access by making friends with the monster’s wife or granny, and 

2. If you do defeat it, cut open the stomach to release any survivors before destroying the body.

        How would you pass the time waiting for a hero in the belly of a monster?

[Pictures: Manticore, illumination from bestiary, 1226-1250 (Image from Bodleian Libraries);

Mares of Diomedes, illumination from Recueil des histoires de Troi by Raoul Le Fevre, c 1470 (Image from Bibliotheque nationale de France);

Ogre, wood engraving by Gustave Doré from Les Contes de Perrault, 1862 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Hidebehind, ink by Jessi Jordan, c 2021 (Image from artist’s web site JessiJordan.com).]

A to Z Challenge Theme 2022 #AtoZChallenge

         It’s time once again to announce my theme for the April A to Z Blog Challenge in which bloggers all around the world post a piece for every letter of the alphabet throughout the month of April.  This year I will be looking at How to Make a Fantastical Creature.  In other words, I’ve picked 26 characteristics that, when applied to a creature, turn it fantastical and mark it out as more than ordinary.  Around the world and through time, humans keep coming back to some common themes in the stories we tell and the magical, mythical monsters we imagine.  If you’d like to consider those themes, come along with me for the next month and a half to look at what traits we seem to find particularly entrancing and why.

        Of course many of the creatures I’ll be sharing this year will be ones you know and love (or love to hate), and ones I discussed back in 2016 and 2019 when I also had mythical creature themes.  Still, there will be some new ones, plus this time we’ll be considering just what it is that makes these mythical beings so… special.

        As always, I’ll start early so that I can take a few days off during April, so having revealed my theme I’m going to dive right in.  You can come back next week for A if you want to get a head start on the alphabet with me, or you can wait until April, when I’ll include links to get you to the proper letter for each day.  Having already posted about lots of these creatures, I’ll provide plenty of links for those earlier posts, as well.  You can also go to the List of Participants to see what themes other bloggers have selected for the year.  There’s always a great variety.

        So, what’s your favorite magical being, humanoid, or beast?  Let me know and I’ll try to make sure it’s included!

[Pictures: Portrait of the Artist, rubber block print by AEGN, 2019.  (Read more about the making of this piece here.)]

Samella Lewis Relief Prints

         Samella Lewis (USA, b. 1924) may not be a household name, but she has been a towering figure in studying, collecting, promoting, and educating about African American art for over half a century.  But of course I’m looking at her not in her role as collector, scholar, teacher, or advocate, but in her role as an artist herself.  I have for you today four of her relief block prints.  The first is my favorite, and was made in 2005 when Lewis was already more than 80 years old.  I hope I’m still making block prints at 80!  I love everything about this piece, from the expression in the person’s eyes to the textures of the gouge marks that create the shading.

        Second is a group of children playing, and this one is more abstract, with the children formed from very plain, geometric shapes.  There is no shading in the human figures, being pure, stark black and white, but there is a bit of texture in the background.  I never tire of the motif of people holding hands in a circle, and apparently the world never stops needing the reminder that we should all be joining together in one dance.

        I think this third, even more abstract piece is quite unusual for Lewis, whose work almost always features human figures.  Even with the abstract shapes, however, Lewis is seeing people, and titled this piece “Family.”  I think the pattern of shapes is pleasing, and I especially like the way the shape on the left evokes a hand making a gesture of support or blessing.

        Finally, another recent piece that’s very dramatic.  Unlike today’s other pieces, this one has Expressionist vibes.  It represents a “Prophet,” and although this prophet is clearly male, it’s not a stretch to call Lewis a prophet herself.  She said, “Art is not a luxury as many people think - it is a necessity.  

It documents history - it helps educate people and stores knowledge for generations to come.”

[Pictures: I See You, linocut by Samella Lewis, 2005 (Image from Hearne Fine Art);

Child’s Game, relief block print by Samella Lewis, 1968 (Image from Scripps College);

Family, linocut by Samella Lewis, 1967 (Image from Hammer Museum, UCLA);

Prophet, woodcut by Lewis, 2006 (Image from Hearne Fine Art).]

Words of the Month - Naked Babies with Wings

         This Valentine’s Day I got thinking about all those little naked babies flying around in Western art, so today we’re going to take a look at just who they are, and what the different words for them actually mean.

Cupid - Cupid is the Roman god of desire and erotic love.  His name derives from the Latin word for “desire,” and started being used in English writings in the late 14th century.  Allegedly Cupid is winged because lovers are flighty, and is portrayed as a child because love is irrational.  He carries arrows because love wounds, and in some Roman myths he actually had arrows of aversion with lead tips as well as arrows of desire with golden tips.  He is often shown as mischievous.  But somewhere along the line this one god began to multiply himself into various aspects of love.  Cicero said there were three Cupids, and during the renaissance writers imagined thousands of the little guys frolicking about 

and causing a certain amount of mayhem.  Generally speaking, if you see a naked boy with wings and he’s got a bow and arrows, it’s a cupid.

Erotes - The Romans probably got their idea of multiple Cupids from the Greeks, who had the Erotes, a group of gods associated with love and sex, who usually hang out with Aphrodite.  In Greek mythology there are several names associated with distinct Erotes, but they are also often portrayed more generically.  The word is the plural of Eros, the singular Greek god of desire, and the Greek equivalent of Cupid.  As such, in art erotes is usually pretty much just a synonym for multiple cupids.  Yet another word for little love god babies is amoretti, entering English in the 16th century from the Italian diminutive of Amore, from Latin for "love."

cherub - Originally a cherub was an angel, arriving in English in the late fourteenth century by way of Latin and Greek, but originally from Hebrew kerubh meaning “winged angel,” which is why the angels have the Hebrew plural cherubim.   There is not a lot of agreement about the nature of the angels, how highly they’re ranked, their function in heaven, the number of their wings, or whether they’re even human-shaped…  There is a theory that the word cherub is cognate with the word griffin.  In the early eighteenth century, however, we 

begin to see the word used to mean “beautiful child,” and for reasons that I cannot explain, the word came to be conflated with the winged babies so beloved of art.  I guess it was just the mushing together of the connotations of “child” and “angel.”  When cherub is used in this way, the plural is the ordinary English form cherubs.  If you see a naked baby with wings clustering around the throne of God or adoring a saint, it’s a cherub.

putto - The proper term for gratuitous chubby tots in art is putto, and because they usually come in multiples, it’s more common to see the plural which, because the word derives from Italian, is putti.  The word arrived in English in the 1640s, well after the figures arrived in artwork, and derives ultimately from Latin for “young boy.”  (It shares its root with puerile, “childish.”)  Putti originated in classical art, but had a revival when Donatello (Florence, c.1386-1466) began using them in his work, blending the classical connotations of Cupid and the Christian connotations of cherubim, but using them primarily as decorative motifs rather than primarily for their symbolic meaning.  They are often shown around the edges of artworks and not taking part in the main action.  If you see a naked baby with wings (or sometimes without wings) peeking around the edge of an architectural element, or chilling on a cloud off to the side of the sky, it’s a putto.

        But keep in mind that these categories of naked babies with wings are far from distinct, and there are many contexts in which it’s not at all clear whether your winged tot is meant to be angelic or erotic, to symbolize love or innocence, or to be merely decorative.  What about when there’s no bow or arrow, but it’s clearly associated with lovers?  What about when it’s playing Cupid’s lyre but is clearly celebrating a Christian saint?  Who knows… probably even the artist wasn’t thinking all that clearly about it, and just liked the way it looked.  I’ve never done any pictures of them myself, but it’s very evident that artists enjoy depicting naked babies with wings no matter what word you use to describe them.

        (And if you still want more, to learn how money can buy you love, check out previous post Seller of Cupids, or see a few different styles of cherubim and other angels at Herald Angels.)

[Pictures: Terra, engraving by Michiel Mosijn after Cornelis Holsteyn, 1640-55 (Image from Rijksmuseum);

Illustration by Gustave Doré from Orlando Furioso by Ariosto, 1877 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Cupid, engraving by Jean Daullé after C. A. Coypel, 1755 (Image from Met Museum);

Love Minchiate card, hand-colored wood block print by A. Baragioli, 1860-90 (Image from Bibliotheque nationale de France);

A Token of Love,  chromolithograph postcard, anonymous artist, c. 1910 (Image from Missouri Historical Society);

The Triumph of Galatea, engraving by Hendrick Goltzius after Raphael, 1592 (Image from National Gallery of Art);

Title page of Missale Romanum, engraving by anonymous artist, 1639 (Image from Skoklosters Slott);

Adoration of Christ, painting by Lucas Cranach the Elder, 1545 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Detail from Assumption of the Virgin, painting by Andrea del Sarto, 1530 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Study for a painted wall decoration, drawing by Antonio de’Dominici, c.1730 (Image from Cooper Hewitt museum);

Detail of sea chart of the English Channel, hand-colored engraving, after 1681 (Image from Wikimedia Commons);

Detail of a panel of ornament, engraving by Master of the Die after Perino del Vaga, 1530-60 (Image from Met Museum);

Five putti blowing bubbles, engraving by Louis Fabritius Dubourg, ca. 1741 (Image from Rijksmuseum).]

William E. Smith's Linoleum Prints

         William E. Smith (USA, 1913-1997) is one of the many Cleveland artists associated with Karamu House.  Founded in 1915 and primarily famous for theater and performing arts, Karamu House was one of the first (and for a long time only) arts organizations in the USA committed to full racial, religious, and economic equality among its artists.  That’s where Smith got his start from living as a teenager by himself in the city to eventually becoming a well-respected artist and teacher.  Because of its inclusion of black artists, Karamu House fostered a community of artists in Cleveland who focussed on the African-American experience in their art, especially through the 1930s and 40s.

        Smith’s work reflects his experience and the experiences of the people around him through the Great Depression and World War II, making a wonderful artistic record of people whose experiences were not often highlighted in that era.  The depth of emotion in this second piece, entitled “War Fatigue,” is beautifully expressed.  The soldier’s posture is moving, but Smith’s use of stark black and white lighting and shadows heightens the impact.

        The man in the third piece also evokes dejection, but where the soldier’s despair is active and consuming, this man’s dejection has become lethargy.  Interestingly, Smith has given two different impressions of the same block different titles.  One is called “Poverty & Fatigue,” while the other is called “Siesta.”  Those give very different interpretations to the piece, and I wonder which title came first, why it was changed, and what Smith’s thought process was in making those decisions.  Either way, however, I love the masterful depictions of the folds and drape of the man’s trousers and the crown of his cap.  The carving is really extremely simple, especially in the background, but incredibly effective.  This is exactly the sort of carving I wish I could do!

        My favorite piece, however, is the first.  On the one hand, I love that this scene is absolutely universal: the love of a parent for an infant.  On the other hand, I love that Smith depicts it by celebrating people whose participation in this universal aspect of humanity is so often not shown.  Western art history has thousands of wonderful images of white mothers and children, but the love of black fathers and children has been almost invisible by comparison.  This piece, with the light beautifully revealing the tenderness of the man holding his infant son, reminds the world, both black and white, both women and men, that yes, this universal experience really can be something we all share.

[Pictures: My Son! My Son!, linoleum cut by William E. Smith, 1941;

War Fatigue, linocut by Smith, 1940;

Poverty & Fatigue, linoleum cut by Smith, 1940 (Images from Cleveland Museum of Art and The Melvin Holmes Collection of African American Art).]

Sledding Squid

         This delightful linoleum block print by Sarah Smith makes me smile, and I hope it cheers your day, as well!  It is made with three blocks, printing three colors: dark blue, pale blue, and pink.  Because the pink is transparent, there’s also a nice greyish color where it overlaps with the light blue.  My favorite touch is the stocking cap on the tip of the squid’s mantle.  If you wish to read a detailed description of every step along the way of creating this piece, you can read the article here.  It involves great information on the physical process (including transferring the design from block to block so they all match up), as well as a wonderful description of the creative process (including various design choices).

        The reason for a small post today, featuring just the one fun piece, is that very shortly I will be heading off to Boskone, the first in-person convention in two years.  After the enforced hiatus, I’m delighted to be back to a busy convention schedule:

   • Art Show (60 pieces!)

   • Presenting my talk “The Fantastic Bestiary” (always a little stressful wondering whether the tech will work)

   • Panel of artists talking about “Different Artists, Different Mediums”

   • Panel of authors talking about “Scary Fairies”

   • Panel of authors talking about “Poetry Matters”

   • Broad Universe Rapid-Fire Reading (much dithering over what to read, but I’ve finally chosen an excerpt)

   • Drop-in workshop where people can make mini block prints

        I’ve put labels in the side-bar pointing out prior posts related to the subjects of the three panels, in case anyone’s interested.  Of course there has been lots of other preparation over the past couple of weeks for all those items of the schedule, but (fingers crossed) I think all is ready to roll.  While there will be inevitable changes from the days BC (having to wear a mask all day, for one thing), I am optimistic.

        I hope you have a wonderful weekend, whatever your plans!

[Squids love sledding, color linoleum block print by Sarah Smith, 2015 (Image from Dartmouth Library Muse);

Packed up artwork, photo by AEGN, 2022.]

How to Make a Love Potion

         This post is a case study of the strange and twisty ways of creativity and creation.  It begins back in the summer, when I was approached by Miguel O. Mitchell to collaborate on his own project of love: a book of poetry combining chemical elements and space aliens.  So there were actually seeds being planted before that, in May when Miguel saw my work at a virtual convention.  (You can see more about Miguel’s project in previous post Periodic Table of Aliens.)  I agreed to do illustrations for 14 of his poems, and one of those was about sodium.  Miguel’s poems were fun to illustrate because they gave only a few clues to indicate what the aliens might look like, which left things wide open for me to add my own ideas to the mix.  All Miguel gave me for sodium was that “in the slime of Oodleplops [it] is part of fake love potions.”  Out of those two lines I had a vivid image of a gelatinous, slimy creature tending the counter in some dark, old-time general store, shelves crammed with every sort of patent medicine.  I created the block print which I called “Love Potion.”

        Having completed the block, a whole different image popped into my head, placing my picture in a story that actually had nothing to do with Miguel’s poem.  Now I was thinking of some sort of Lovecraftian Old One living on Earth, rather than an alien somewhere on another world.  I am not a fan of horror, and was imagining how such an Old One might be quite fond of the patrons of his shop, and thus the whole story spooled itself out from the premise of a friendly, slimy, tentacled Old One selling all manner of magical wares… including love potions.

        I want to make two points about the process of writing that story.  First, it is very rare for inspiration to strike me so definitively and with such a fully-formed story.  I am not the sort to talk about stories “writing themselves,” or bolts of inspiration from the blue.  This story was very unusual for me in coming so easily.  But the second point is that it’s still not accurate to say it came out of nowhere.  Perhaps it came like a bolt of lightning, but it was lightning that struck and fused together all the grains of sand that were already lying around.  Or to return to the metaphor I used earlier, various seeds had been planted much earlier.  There was the seed that came from Miguel’s Oodleplop, of course.  There was my own love of the reconstructed 1900 Main Street and general store in the Cleveland Historical Society Museum, plus Woolworths, where it seemed like you could find anything from sneakers to lightbulbs to accounting books to parakeets, plus the beautiful old cash registers that a few shops still had when I was a child.  There were the seeds of my general attitudes toward monsters and love potions and the modern dating scene.  There were all the bits and pieces that are rattling around in my mind all the time, waiting for the seed of an idea to glom onto.  But certainly it felt like magic that a handful of those bits and pieces and seeds did glom together so satisfyingly.

        And it was another piece of magic, perhaps, that I submitted the story to the editors of Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and they decided that it would be a fun piece to publish for Valentine’s Day.  In another funny little bit of serendipity, I did not offer them my original illustration, but when the editors went looking for an appropriate illustration, they came across mine, and asked to use it!  They also asked if I’d like to do a second illustration for the story, which I did.  So I think this process illustrates the strange and wonderful combination of preparation (gathering and cherishing all those seeds) and luck (meeting Miguel, and having an editor like my piece) that go into getting a story out into the world.

        Meanwhile, I am keeping the rejection pipeline flowing with nearly a dozen other short stories, so I hope to have news of other publications before too long.  But in the meantime, please go on over to Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, read my story, and support their work in bringing SFF stories to the world.

[Pictures: Love Potion, rubber block print by AEGN, 2021 (first published in Periodic Table of Alien Species (Elements 1-86) by Miguel O. Mitchell);

Ineffable Feathersquid, digital illustration by AEGN, 2022 (first Published in Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, Feb. 2022).]