The Girl with the Corn Silk Hair


The following was a detour I took tonight on my novel because I needed a better understanding of Reynard so that I can move forward with his storyline.  It is raw and, aside from a few spelling corrections, unedited.  It will likely never be seen anywhere but here because it was solely an exercise for my benefit to prepare me for the next portion of the book and to help me through a difficult block I’ve been battling today.  I hope that tomorrow I will return to my novel with a clear mind and nimble fingers so that I can do what must be done and carry on with my thesis.


John William Waterhouse

Though the descriptions do not match, this painting by John William Waterhouse was my inspiration for this portion of the story.

The Girl with the Corn Silk Hair

They arrived at the small, coastal village of [Pentref Arfordirol] weary and crestfallen.  The war had been long and taxing and the recent losses made Reynard wonder what he was even fighting for.

He had joined the troops of Harayan two years before, right at the start of the war.  He was the son of a farmer and the excitement and honor of fighting for the kingdoms drew him more than the life he had been raised to take over, the humble life of a farmer on the edge of a small town on the northern border of the kingdom of Harayan.  He had joined with great vigor and the heavy labor of the farm life had prepared him in many ways for his duties as a soldier.  His body was toned and his mind was prepared for long hours with little immediate reward, so he fit in well with the life of a soldier, the heavy training in strength and weapons, the long days and longer marching.

He did well in his duties and served willingly, but he was not the best.  Many of the others had grown learning to fight while he had been a simple farmer, learning the ways of the land and the ways with animals.  It had been a comfortable life and he had been sorry to leave it behind, but he wanted a chance to see Zinthe and serve the kingdoms and the gods before he returned to the quiet, simple, though by no means easy life.  In a few years, when this war was one, he knew he would return to the home he had grown up in, find a bride in a nearby village, and raise sons to care for the farm after his passing while his bride would raise their daughters in other duties.

It was a pleasant thought and one he brought to mind on days when the war seemed endless and the fighting seemed pointless.  He would dream of the beautiful life that awaited him when they came out victorious.  He would return a hero, a brave soldier who had served them well.  He would be honored and respected among the villages as the other old soldiers were.  He would even some day share old war stories with the other veterans.  His new title as soldier and hero would bring him to the attention of the maidens and he would have his pick.  He wanted someone who was strong enough to stand by him through the hard times that would inevitably come during drought and other hardships of the farm, but also someone who was kind and gentle and sweet.  A girl who was as beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, because beauty would fade with time, but a kind heart and a faithful companion would last him to the end of his days until they at last moved on to the great afterlife, leaving their children to carry on their legacy as he once had for his father.  He knew it was his duty and his destiny to carry on and care for their land after his father passed because he was the only son of the kind, hardworking couple that were his parents, and he was happy to fulfill it, one day, when this war was over.

He first saw her when they came into town.  They were welcomed wholeheartedly by the villagers.  The people of this small town honored the arriving soldiers for their service and looked forward to the help they would offer in return for supporting them during their stay.  She had been only one of many men and women who came to greet them and direct them to their lodging.  Most stayed in the small inns the village supported, but some were taken in by widows and other lonely villagers who needed the help and the company.  Reynard joined William at the inn with many of the senior soldiers– they were all veterans now, though some had been so for much longer.

He only saw her for a moment in all the bustle, but her hair shone like corn silk on a summer afternoon and drew his eye.  When she turned and he saw her face, she was more beautiful than he could have hoped, the most beautiful maiden his eyes had been fortunate enough to see.  Her smile was sweet and kind as she welcomed weary soldiers into their town and homes, and then she was gone.

He watched for her, hoping she would come by again in the evening because he had missed the opportunity to speak with her, or even catch her name.  That evening, the inn was chaos as they found places for the new arrivals to sleep and sorted out the business of feeding the weary, hungry men.  Even in the bustle, he knew that he would have seen her again had she been there, but she was not.  He watched for her the following day and offered whatever help he could around town in hopes that he would come across her in so many varied tasks, but he did not.

On the third day in the village, he at last found her again.  She came to down to bring yarns from her father’s sheep for dying.  He then learned that her name was Melinda, great gods, what a blessed name, the name of highland sprite, a gift from the heavens.  He offered his assistance to her and she graciously accepted.  He found that her home was some distance from the town.  Her father was a shepherd with a number of sheep he tended out in the hills and she came into town every day or two to buy supplies or offer her wares– the finest wools in the region and some of the finer craftsmanship in knitted pieces.  Once he had found her, he offered his services exclusively to her.  He was not one to deny assistance where needed and so helped other villagers when requested, but his whole purpose was to stay with this delicate and beautiful young maiden.

After some days in the village, William spoke with him about their interactions.  He urged Reynard to confess his love for her, that if he hid it from her, then she could never reciprocate and if she held no love for him, then it was better that he know now so that he could forget his desires and stop torturing himself.  At last he did confess his feelings for her and to his delight and relief, she admitted that she felt the same for him.

After that, they were truly inseparable, enjoying the happiness and contentment and only young lovers can.  Rumors spread about them, though through the villagers and the visiting soldiers.  Reynard was happier than he could ever have dreamed that he had found such a sweet, kindhearted maid to spend his days with.  As the time passed, he could not imagine finding another he desired more to be his wife, but with the war looming over their heads, however quietly it had been lately, he feared that it would not be wise to pursue his courtship with the young Melinda.

At last the day came that he had both anticipated and dreaded.  A messenger came with orders for a portion of the men to return to the main camp to prepare for a new battle campaign.  Reynard was eager to do all that he could to finish this war so that he could return and wed his sweet Melinda, but he could not bear the thought of leaving her side.  Melinda was heartbroken when the news arrived, but she tried to hide her sorrow and fears so that her love would not return to war with a heavy heart because, while she could not bear the thought of losing him, she believed that a man should fulfill his duty, no matter how difficult.  Reynard volunteered to return to camp with many of the others, but William, taking pity on him and his sweet companion offered to go in his stead.  William convinced him that he would not be needed for this battle and that they had more than enough men to carry out the commander’s wishes.  Reynard was grateful beyond measure, though he felt pained that his friend would risk his own life so that he could remain with Melinda for a little while longer.

After at least half of the battalion marched northward to join the other companies in the main encampment, life in the small coastal town returned more or less to normal.  With fewer mouths to feed, the village felt more at least and began to prepare for the coming winter festivities.

Life with Reynard and Melinda continued as they had and they were happy, but Reynard lived with the fear that any day he might receive orders to return to the camp and fight again.  He had never doubted that he would come out of the war alive and well when the Zinthians were at last victorious so that he could have the happy life he had long dreamed of, but now that he had found the companion he wished to bring back with him to his humble farm in Harayan, he feared that the dream might not come to pass because this war was harder and longer than any of them had anticipated when they joined it.  He wished desperately to ask the gentle Melinda for her hand and dreamed of the beautiful, but simple wedding they could have here, in her home village, the celebrations of its many kind and generous inhabitants.  He thought of the children they would raise together.  He knew his mother and father would be pleased because while she was sweet and gentle, she was also strong and hardworking, which would serve them well in their long life together.  They had spoken of it in quiet whispers on evenings under the stars above the craggy cliffs on the edge of the small village.  She would be sad to leave her mother and father behind, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for their future and her skills would be greatly appreciated in the village of Reynard’s home.  They spoke of their future together in dark, hushed moments, when no other soul might hear and only the gods were witness to their promises, but they didn’t dare bring their plans to the light of day for fear that it would shatter them and take away their happiness.

Too soon, the inevitable end came.  Another messenger rode into the village with new orders for the remains of the battalion.  They were to return to the main camp at once to continue the battles.  They had regrouped and gained a foothold on the Citadel Isles– their greatest victory since the war had begun– and now was the time to attack with full force.  All the soldiers were required at the main headquarters so that the battalions could be reorganized and put to work.

The remainder of the battalion living in [Pentref Arfordirol] spend the day preparing for the journey, packing their belongings and food for the long march north, so that they could depart first thing in the morning.  Reynard and Melinda’s last night together was bittersweet and many things were left unsaid, but they confessed their love again and again as they had so many times before and prayed to the gods that Reynard would return safely soon so that they could begin their happy life together.  Before they departed, Melinda presented him with a locket her mother had given her as a child.  Inside, she had placed a small lock of her corn silk hair so that he would always remember her and be strengthened to return to her soon.  He clasped it around his neck and vowed never to take it off until they met again at last.  They said their goodbyes in the breaking light of dawn and Melinda could not restrain her tears, though she tried.  Reynard would not shed a tear, though he wished he could, because he could not leave his love more heartbroken than she already was.  He promised to return and that he would do what he must to win this war, but no more.  As the separated, Melinda watched him go, more afraid than she had been of anything in her life that he would not return and cried until she could no more.  Then she returned to her home and her work and prayed that the gods would protect her soldier, Reynard.

It took more strength to walk away from her than he had ever needed before in his life, but Reynard knew he must fulfill his duty to the kingdoms.  He rejoined his battalion for the long march north, and though many reveled in the latest victory and the coming excitement of returning to battle, he could not join in the celebration because he had left his heart and soul with the sweet little shepherdess with the corn silk hair.


A Day that will Live in Infamy


It is 9/11 and facebook has been peppered with posts on where people were and what people were thinking when they got the news.  I wasn’t going to comment on it because it’s been such a long time and it wasn’t even 9/11 for me when it happened—in my timezone, it was 9/12—but someone on the Unofficial NaNoWriMo facebook page pointed out that experience makes for good stories and asked where everyone was etc.  My 9/11 experience was rather unique, and so I felt prompted to share, in brief, my experiences and thoughts on the attack.

There is certainly more to the experience and it’s been so long that the details have blurred, but the following was my response to the poster’s question:

I was 15 and living in South Korea. I had an early morning church class and my mom woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that I wouldn’t have the class the next day, but wouldn’t tell me why. I found out later the next day, but she didn’t tell my younger siblings. All military personnel were called to the base in the middle of the night and required to stay the next day and sleep in their offices while things were sorted out. For the first week, only active duty military were allowed on base, so we had no way to buy groceries or do laundry or anything like that. If any of us living off base managed to get on, we would call all our friends and offer to pick up supplies for those who couldn’t get on. After a week or so, they started letting people back on, but everyone had to enter through the same gate and wait for hours while they searched every car. After a few weeks, security lightened up and things got closer to back to normal, but within a month, they required all military families to move back to the states. I didn’t know anyone or lose anyone in the attacks, but 9/11 affected my daily life in a way it didn’t for most people. For me, it was scariest to be cut off from supplies and to live so close to an enemy country that had nukes and might choose to follow suit. I worried that my dad would be called away to war when they started sending in troops. I had many friends with fathers or husbands or brothers who were shipped off to the middle east, but fortunately, mine never had to go.

It was a horrible tragedy and in some ways, we are still recovering from it, but I was overwhelmed with pride at the way it brought us all together, if only for a short while.  Suddenly, we as a nation were under attack and so we rose to the occasion and became a unified nation.  Strangers reached out to help one another.  We realized how valuable our lives and are freedoms are and appreciated the sacrifices our nation has gone through to make them possible.  Everyone shouted out their pride to be Americans and their support for those who defend us and make us free, the firemen who saved so many lives and the soldiers who went out risking their own lives to make sure such a tragedy never happened again.


I Sit at the Piano


I was recently wandering through old folders in search of some lost document and came across a song I wrote almost two years ago.  I don’t write poems; I don’t write songs.  I suck at it and they frustrate me to no end.  But every once in a while, I give it a shot anyway, and of course, it’s always fun to write about writer’s block.  In any case, I wrote this one.  Based on the date I created the document, it must’ve been the summer my sister and I started a band called One Day.  I haven’t even dared to read it since I stumbled across it because I’m sure it will make me cringe, but you’re welcome to read it yourself.  It has no title and no tune; it is what it is.

(Sorry about the formatting, I don’t know how to get rid of the extra spacing between paragraphs in this program.)


I sit at the piano

Pen in hand

Waiting for thoughts

For words to come


The notes won’t come

The lines get stuck

I don’t know how to write this song


Give me words and melody

Help me say what i need to say

Give me release, let me be free

I want to write this song today


So many words

Just waiting to be said

Wanting to be heard

Wanting to be read


Bring me the notes

Let me be the one to say

Tell me your story

Show me the way


Give me words and  melody

Help me say what i need to say

Give me release, let me be free

I want to write this song today


I want inspiration

I want to be heard

Let me tell you my story

Then you can go or stay


But the notes won’t come

The lines get stuck

I don’t know how to write this song


Give me words and  melody

Help me say what i need to say

Give me release, let me be free

I want to write this song today

June 26, 2012




Ode to a Banana

Ode to a Banana
An original poem by J. M. Evans
Oh ye starchy/tart sweetness
how rare and supple thy fruit
the time is past
and now thou art but rotted slime