July 22, 2023

I have finished my thematic rewrite of Dream Pirates. It goes out to my Beta readers today. I am so excited. Below you will find an excerpt.

For the last two weeks, I have posted 2 articles per week for my blog/book, Listening for the Sounds of Summer. Each week I included a Peek at what’s happening in my yard. Check out the visitors to my yard at – to ListeningfortheSoundsofSummer.blog

Dream Pirates by Terry Johnson

Prologue THINGS THAT GO “OINK!” IN THE NIGHT

The following is an excerpt from the Prologue.

The Dream Pirate, an old balding figure in tattered clothing, whispered to his companion. “Watcha, you,” when the squat four-legged figure following him across the floor bumped into the pirate when the Old Pirate came to an abrupt stop. 

            The Pirate’s Companion made a snuffling noise.

Old Red sniffed the air. Inhaling deeply, he sighed with deep satisfaction. “Yes, I smell it. I haven’t tasted as sweet a story as this in ages.”

            “Oink,” was the reply from the Dream Pirate’s portly partner. 

            “Quiet, ya lubber,” drawled the Old Pirate. “You’ll wake the lass. You should ‘ave come to me straight away. It looks like we’re too late to hear a Telling tonight. Still, there is enough Essence seeping from the girl’s dreams to keep us going a bit longer.” 

            The pig snuffled in reply and settled down on the floor.

Meanwhile, another Faerie with more malicious intent entered the master bedroom across the hall from the sleeping girl. The apparition paused as it crossed the room when one of the two humans in the large bed against the wall snorted. The room fell silent. Then with a grunt, one of the humans rolled over. The only remaining sound was that of slow and steady breathing.

This Faerie no longer concerned himself with the shadows. The moody critters had been uncooperative with his kind as of late. He moved with a sssss-thump, sssss-thump across the bedroom floor. His strange gait brought him to the bookshelf, holding a collection of several dozen books, their numbers having slowly dwindled over the years. He had no trouble finding what he was looking for. Fresh, intoxicating traces of Essence still floated up from the bindings of the recently read story. Traces of the Telling still stirred in the air. If you looked through the moonbeams at just the right angle, you would see the blue tendrils of magic swirly like smoke from a chimney. Surtur thought the Essence smelled of the memories of lilac trees and sweet juniper berries picked in late summer.

…Surtur wasn’t there to appreciate the story or its Essence. He took the opportunity to feed off the energy of the story while he siphoned off all its content, taking the fleshed-out characters, the full body of prose, and even removing the bones which had held the story together.

I can’t wait to hear back from my Beta readers. I am very grateful for their enthusiasm and assistance. And thanks to all of my readers, I am truly appreciative of all your support.

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