Updated!

After doing the Afrikaans translation for FingerNale Tales (Ekletiese Hap Verhale), I realised it needed some updating, not for story, rather for formatting, and did so. Those changes are now live. 

Ekletiese Hap Verhale (FingerNale Tales in Afrikaans)

 

Hier is die nagedagte verhale, hap grootte brokkies van 'n lewe se groter ontwerp, iets om kortliks aan te kou voordat jy aan beweeg.

 

Die Ou Man – 'n kind se perspektief op die ontmoeting van 'n onbekende oom

Die Koninklike Kat – dit is inderdaad 'n kat se lewe

Die Berge Brand – die vernietigende krag van vuur

Oggend Reënboog – wanneer 'n reënboog 'n teken is

Bloed Maan – wanneer die werklikheid heeltemal onwerklik voel

Sluiers van Slaap – wat gebeur in die ryke van vergetelheid

Gevleuelde Wonder – 'n gevleuelde wese loop deur die stad se strate

Glas Drome – elke keer as 'n man sy oë toemaak, breek glas

Eerste Dag – 'n kind se perspektief op haar eerste skooldag

Aan die Einde – die lang jare van die lewe

 

'n Paar vasgelegde oomblikke in tyd wat 'n paar minute van jou dag sal vra. 'n Asemlose lag kan volg, of 'o, ja, ek sien myself daarin!' Miskien skenk 'n hap 'n glimlag, terwyl 'n storie 'n gevoel van verwondering skep. Geniet!

Hap Verhale

FingerNale Tales: 10 excerpts!

FingerNale Tales: 10 Bite-sized morsels!

Read the first 2 paragraphs for a feel of the shorts 😍 

These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.

 

The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown uncle

The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed

The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire

Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign

Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal

Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion

Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets

Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass shatters

First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day

At the End – life’s long years

 

A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder. Enjoy!

THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quite loudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.

I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.

THE CAT HAS no name she is aware of. She sleeps most of her days away curled up and silent, and most of her nights, too. Occasionally she stretches, and enjoys the attention it brings her. When she chooses her place of slumber, it is best to leave her in peace.

Sometimes she hears a sound, and it is familiar to her, a sound often repeated, but she cannot duplicate it, for it has no meaning to her other than that sense of familiarity. She knows this word heralds a summons for her presence. She sits up from her slumber and listens briefly, and then chooses whether to answer that command or not, for she is in control of her fate, not another.

LOOKING ACROSS THE waters darkened and stilled by night’s undeniable influence, I viewed the shadowy silhouette of the far mountains highlighted by the half-moon setting beyond. It was a familiar sight, one I often stared at during daylight, and watched at night as the moon tracked across the heavens.

This night familiarity was altered.

In the centre of the rugged range an almighty scarlet glow dominated the night sky and seemed to flow into the invisible waters of the bay, like a sphere vanishing into the depths.

AS WE DROVE along the quiet road in the early morning, a young couple embarking on an adventure with the tank filled, trailer loaded, kids sleeping on the back seat, we wondered if we had made the right decision.

Others told us we were mad, but we ignored them. Was leaving civilisation behind for a life in the wild a choice we could deal with long-term? Those others - family - said it was stupidity.

ENTERING THE TOWN, it felt as if we had entered another time and dimension. The name on a signboard about a kilometre back told us we were on the right road, this was the town we had marked on a map, but what we found could not have been explained by any means.

The usual was in place. Store fronts were lit for temptation at night, and some shops were still trading. There were streetlights, the typical tarred main street, a park opposite - fronting the ocean, for we could hear waves breaking - bins for rubbish, advertising on walls and boards, street signs and so forth, but there the usual ended.

THE VEILS OF sleep take my consciousness into the sub-conscious, layer upon gradual layer. When my imagination departs from my body, I open my eyes upon a different set of veils. These are as diaphanous, but they are not as benevolent.

Sticky crisscross patterns adorn my path, then another pattern and another veil, seemingly into eternity. No arrangement is quite the same, although they are entirely geometric, therefore deliberately designed. I am faced with an elaborate set of traps, webs meant to ensnare.

THERE ARE EYES on its wings. Many have this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

This is a …

That is the problem - what is it?

This is not the wild either. I am standing here at the corner of a high-rise building, seeking escape from the frigid wind howling through this city, and this winged wonder does not belong here.

THE GLASS SHATTERED first and then the roof shook resoundingly. One would think it should be the other way around. First the roof shake and then the glass breaking. Warnings came first. One would expect the warning to come first, a herald to danger. But no; the glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.

But this was not real.

He was in an aeroplane.

Snorting, he snatched the first breath of sudden awakening and stared around him. Right. The flight from London to Glasgow.

MOM IS AWAKE first, as always, but this is a special day. My heart pounds when I hear her slippers slapping as she goes down the passage towards the kitchen.

Today I will go to big school for the first time.

I hear the kettle make a noise, and know she will soon come in with my tea, but today I will wear my uniform, not my normal clothes as I did before to go to my old school.

I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. It comes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, is merely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets of ten and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells me it is a lie.

Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it on these ruminations, perhaps.

Chapter 1: Winged Wonder

A short excerpt only because this is a short, short story :)

There are eyes on its wings. Many have this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

What is this Winged Wonder?

Taken from FingerNale tales, this quick read tells the tale of a man at an intersection seeing a man, a creature, an angel perhaps, in the crowd waiting to cross.

The strange, the weird, the wonderful and the supernatural is all around us.

THERE ARE EYES on its wings. Many have this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

This is a …

That is the problem - what is it?

This is not the wild either. I am standing here at the corner of a high-rise building, seeking escape from the frigid wind howling through this city, and this winged wonder does not belong here.

There it is, waiting at the crossing for the lights to change, as if it is the most everyday thing. Crossing a busy intersection may be every day, but it certainly is not. Surrounded by a host of commuters, it waits as if nothing is out of the ordinary. How is it they do not see what stands beside them? Are we all so blind now to our surroundings that we no longer notice the extraordinary?

WINGED WONDER

Chapter 1: FingerNale Tales

 

These are the afterthought tales, bite-size chunks of a life’s grander design, something to gnaw on briefly before moving on.

 

The Old Man – a child’s perspective on meeting an unknown uncle

The Royal Feline – it’s a cat life indeed

The Mountains Burn – the destructive power of fire

Morning Rainbow – when a rainbow is a sign

Blood Moon – when reality feels entirely unreal

Veils of Sleep – what happens in the realms of oblivion

Winged Wonder – a winged creature walks the city streets

Glass Dreams – every time a man closes his eyes, glass shatters

First Day – a child’s perspective on her first school day

At the End – life’s long years

 

A few recorded moments in time that will ask of you a few minutes of your day. A breathy laugh might follow, or ‘oh, yes, I see myself in there!’ Maybe a morsel gifts a smile, while a tale creates a sense of wonder. Enjoy!

This is the first morsel from FingerNale Tales (the stories are all quick reads):

THE OLD MAN

Memories from childhood are frequently enlightening in adulthood.

 THE OLD MAN knocked on the door quite loudly. Dad told me in no uncertain terms to stay put - children do not open doors, he said.

I stayed put with reluctance at the round kitchen table where we were having tea, and heard the weather-beaten wooden door creak open and my dad peremptorily demand an explanation for this interruption.

Just moments ago, the old man walked up the garden path, and we noticed his slow progress through the lace-covered dining room window, and my dad swore. My mom told him to shut up, but as usual he ignored her.

Mom was at the basin washing dishes as dad opened the door, but I could swear her ears moved a bit, she was listening that hard. I was listening that hard.

A mumbled conversation followed, one neither me nor mom could quite make out, and I knew both of us were highly curious. Usually the neighbourhood kids came to knock, either asking for me to come out and play, or with one of those sponsorship forms my dad hated so much. An old man was something different. The only old man who had walked up the path before was the Elder from church when mom was ill. This wasn’t him.

Eventually we heard the door slam, and I wondered if it was dad being rude or the wind taking it away from him, as it often did. That door was always slamming, as if daring someone to leave it open for a breath of fresh air. Then again, dad was always being rude, too.

The old man walked ahead of dad into the kitchen. Well, we were flabbergasted, mom and me. This was another unusual event. Dad allowed the kids in, if only briefly while they waited for me to grab a ball or something, but never anyone else. He even told the church Elder where to go off and hide.

There was something familiar about this old man. I felt as if I knew him. When mom dropped the pot she was scrubbing, letting dirty water splash everywhere, I realised she knew him, too, but she had not forgotten as I obviously had.

A clear plastic bag filled with peanut clusters, tied closed with a red ribbon, landed on the table in front of me and I could do no other than look away from that lined face to the yumminess resting there where I could actually see it. I heard dad clear his throat. Children do not need sweets, he always said, and I knew he wanted to snatch it up but could not, not with this old man watching.

And then I heard my mother say a name, and I knew who this old man was. My uncle. My dad’s older brother, the one everyone believed had died in the war up north. I knew him because he looked like my dad, but I had never seen him before.

He stayed for an hour and I really liked him. Even dad laughed. Mom seemed to watch dad more than my uncle though. Strange.

Funny thing, I never saw him again, but I will never forget him. My uncle Ed. I often wonder what happened to him, but dad never said, and mom always said to ask dad.

Those were the best peanut clusters I ever ate, I tell you.

FingerNale Tales

Chapters 1: African Moon & At the End

Tomorrow she will go on with her life …

It’s a hot day in Cape Town but a woman holds the vigil at a window overlooking the beach. She has repeatedly dreamed of a sailing boat, a lost soul perhaps, entering upon silver streaks on the water. Is this merely dreaming or, as she believes, a vision?

She will watch, she will give it this one day and night, and then go on with her life, and waiting with her is Barney, her beloved dog, and Fantasy, her snooty cat. Man, a girl and her fur babies get hungry while waiting for something to happen, and yet her instincts keep her there … watching … waiting …

Lattice 3 from Latticework: 14 Lattices from Space and Time

 

SHE LEANS ON her elbow, chin in hand, and stares out over the bay. The sun is bright on the water and the sun worshippers are out in full force on the narrow strip of beach, their colourful umbrellas and sunshades drawing the eye.

Bronzed bodies languish amid reddening skins. She, however, is uninterested in people silly enough to burn to crisps in such heat; she watches the water intently, staring through the hot silver stripes upon the waves.

Twice now she has dreamed of the yacht and both times the images were so real she can no longer ignore it. She sees sails dancing upon a beam and with it there is a feeling of sadness. Such sadness that she is in tears when she awakes.

She will look and watch until she either dies of eyestrain or something happens to prove her night visits are more than dreams. Or, she thinks in amusement, she will die of starvation, just sitting here.

The screams of frolicking kids rise up to reach out to her through closed windows, but she barely hears them. The drone of a jumbo jet overheard faintly rattles the glass and is then gone. The subdued sounds of slow traffic vying for right of way along the crowded street do not even register, and neither does the periodically jarring siren of an angry driver leaning on the hooter. Her mind is engaged in the soothing notes of Mozart at his absolute best.

Barney snuffles at her feet, gives a loud moan and thumps his tail resoundingly upon the wooden floor, and then sees that his mistress is not about to budge yet. He releases an exaggerated yawn and sinks to the floor with a long-suffering sigh. The great big fur ball is asleep in seconds. Lucky sod.

She leans down to scratch him behind his ears and then props her chin up once more, all without taking her eyes from the water. At least Barney adores Mozart too.

Alex did not. Alex thought loud rap was music, the louder the better, and scoffed at her love of classical music. She kicked him out eventually, more because of his musical tastes and his love of inflicting it on others, than for any other reason.

He was a distraction for a while, but not enough to warrant putting up with that noise. The peace after his railing mode of departure was worth billions. And Barney hated Alex; what more proof did a girl need? Barney, for heaven’s sake, puts up with Fantasy, her I’ll-take-you-on-hell-on-four-paws Himalayan cat. That is saying something for Barney’s nerves.

Mozart delves into his famous clarinet concerto and she feels her body relax. Out of Africa indeed. That is African sun out there, although in cosmopolitan surroundings.

Cape Town on a hot day. Sun worshippers and cell phones, bling and gourmet treats. It could be the French Riviera, for pity’s sake. Karen Blixen would turn in her grave, for certain. Karen Blixen probably never dreamed of a modern sailing yacht.

AFRICAN MOON

We should all do the best we can with what is given us,

so that one day we too can look back and say,

‘I lived a good life’.

 

At the End is an insight taken from FingerNale Tales and tells the story of a woman looking back over the years of her life.

I NEVER THOUGHT I would get old. It comes as a surprise to sit here at age ninety. Really it does. This, for me, is merely a number, for I do not feel nine decades old and, despite those sets of ten and the various injuries sustained over their progression, my body tells me it is a lie.

Is my mind as sharp as I believe? You be the judge of that. Base it on these ruminations, perhaps.

Let us see. I remember being lowered headfirst over the font in church and having water sprinkled upon my head. My mother in later years told me I was three weeks old.

The time I skinned both my knees after slipping on wet paving - I was eighteen months, and put up quite a racket. Another tumble, this time from my tricycle - two and a half years old. First day at school. High school. First boyfriend. Tenth boyfriend - he was the one I married, at age twenty-two, bless his now departed soul.

I recall every birth also, four of them, two boys and two girls, although I doubt a mother ever forgets, no matter how old she is, no matter how old her children are either. Unless you are unable to remember.

This is not a maudlin trip down memory lane, though, and I am not about to discuss those diseases that befall some of the aged (and sometimes much earlier than old age). My point is, I do remember all of it, and I believe my mind is as sharp now as it was when I juggled job and studies.

Do you agree?

AT THE END

Audio covers updated for Latticework and FingerNale Tales

 

Latticework

FingerNale Tales

These covers now fit with the updated ebook covers.

New covers for shorter stories

These have now been updated as well :)

FINGERNALE TALES

LATTICEWORK

MINSTREL OF THE WATER WILLOW

Audio: AT THE END now available

 

Elaina Davidson · At The End

Winged Wonder sample

 

Elaina Davidson · Winged Wonder

Winged Wonder audio now available

Audible US

Audible UK

Promo codes available.

At the End / Winged Wonder

My FingerNale Tales consist of bite-sized insights, and the audiobook is available also. My narrator - Andy Barker - a while ago said to me he wishes folk would take the chance and listen because he did some of his best work for FingerNale and reckons the stories are so insightful that both the audiobook and the eBook should be hitting the lists. To that end, to showcase both the stories and his talent, I have published two of the tales separately, and Andy has kindly uploaded the audio for both. Bless him, he really is a professional! 

I chose Winged Wonder due to the supernatural twist, and also Andy's absolute favourite, At the End, which is a about a woman at the end of her life looking back.

There are eyes on its wings. Many have this subterfuge somewhere upon them, out there in the wilds, and therefore the concept is not exactly strange. Used to fool predators, it is an effective tool of disguise. But this is not a creature of the wilds.

What is this Winged Wonder?

Taken from FingerNale tales, this quick read tells the tale of a man at an intersection seeing a man, a creature, an angel perhaps, in the crowd waiting to cross.

Winged Wonder

Audio book now in review

We should all do the best we can with what is given us,

so that one day we too can look back and say,

‘I lived a good life’.

At the End is an insight taken from FingerNale Tales and tells the story of a woman looking back over the years of her life.

At the End

Audio book now in review

Your next escape!

Latticework

FingerNale Tales

Still have a fair few promo codes available for both the US and UK. Listen for free in exchange for a one sentence review! Comment below if interested :)

FingerNale Tales

On the subject of audio books, do give FingerNale Tales a chance, whether to read or to listen to (or both!). I received a message from my narrator, Andy Barker, saying these are the most well written stories he's ever had the pleasure of telling and this should be flying up the charts, so do give these short stories a go. Something for everyone, from a mountain fire to a winged being on city streets!

Amazon

Audible

Short Reads Updated

 Updated to include Feast Night :)

All the quick reads!

 Also quick listens! (terrible grammar, I know, lol)

Amazon

Andy Barker knows how to tell stories!

 I'm over the moon with how Andy tells these short stories, and I know you will be, too!

Latticework links:

Audible US

Audible UK

Audible FR

Audible DE

FingerNale Tales links:

Audible US

Audible UK

Audible FR

Audible DE

Yippee! Listen to FingerNale Tales!

Andy Barker, the narrator for FingerNale Tales has this to say about the process: 'My latest edition, FingerNale Tales, I really enjoyed doing, and I enjoyed the writing.' In a private message, he revealed that number 10 (At the End) is his favourite and the one he loved putting voice to the most! And number 3 (The Mountains Burn) is second favourite :)

So, yippee, it's now available as an audiobook!!!

Links:

Audible US Audible UK Audible FR Audible DE

Only £3.69

Teaser Tuesday: Shattered Glass

The glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.

One would think it should be the other way around. First the roof shake and then the glass breaking. Warnings came first. One would expect the warning to come first, a herald to danger. But no; the glass shattered first and then the roof shook resoundingly.

But this wasn’t real.

He was in an aeroplane.

Snorting, he snatched the first breath of sudden awakening and stared around him. Right. The flight from London to Glasgow.

When the hostess leaned over him, he requested a double brandy. Damn, his nerves were shot. It was probably due to the coming meeting. His entire livelihood depended on a positive result.

He clutched the plastic tumbler when it was handed to him, staring into the amber depths. Dear God, let it work out all right or he would lose everything.

There were shadows in the liquid and he grimaced, thinking a fly or, worse, a cockroach had somehow got in. He snatched another sharp breath when he realised he saw an explosion inside the small vessel he held in his hands, as if a tiny plane had went up in a fireball in mid … liquid.

What was the matter with him?

FingerNale Tales

Teaser Tuesday: The Royal Feline

A morsel from FingerNale Tales!

The Royal Feline

Indeed, it is a cat’s life!

The cat has no name she is aware of.

She sleeps most of her days away curled up and silent, and most of her nights too. Occasionally she stretches, and enjoys the attention it brings her.

When she chooses her place of slumber, it’s best to leave her in peace.

Sometimes she hears a sound and it’s familiar to her, a sound often repeated, but she can’t duplicate it, for it has no meaning to her other than that sense of familiarity.

She knows this word heralds a summons for her presence. She sits up from her slumber and listens briefly and then chooses whether to answer that command or not, for she is in control of her fate, not another.

The cat is queen of her domain.

There is another sound, a strange sibilance that serves to prick her ears a bit, and this one she is more likely to answer to. It usually heralds a tin opening or a pouch rustling – not that she makes those kinds of distinctions. Tin, pouch, pish. The hiss is about food. She is ever hungry, but most often she’s too lazy to hunt. She thus waits for that sound and then meanders to the place where she knows an offering will be made to her.

She may purr her appreciation; most often she merely lowers her furry nose to smell … and eat. If it’s particularly tasty, she may deign to purr after.

When her stomach reveals the sibilant sound is overdue, she isn’t afraid of making her displeasure known with an ear-piercing question to her supplicant. Generally this serves to have her offering granted, but sometimes she needs to swirl around strangely warm posts in motion to garner the necessary attention.

She isn’t happy doing this, and yet it is a better choice than abandoning her comfort zone in order to hunt up something usually unpalatable to appease her stomach.

The cat knows she is lazy … except when it comes to birds. She’ll chase those feathers, yes, despite what you think of that.

She is a loner, but occasionally she feels the need to connect with a different warmth, and she will then cuddle up to receive a wonderful massage, and those hard to reach areas upon her queenly body will accept a delightful scratch. Ah!

Do not make the mistake in thinking she lowers herself to another’s level; know this is a gift she bestows. A queenly gift of great value it is to touch her royalness.

Other felines in her comfort zone are unwelcome, although she may deign to accept them as long as they keep their distance.

Please be aware she will throw the grit from her toilet in your face if you do not keep it clean for her. She is always finicky about cleanliness. She may even leave a donation in an inconvenient place, for you to be made aware of her displeasure.

She is happy sleeping and receiving her offerings. She accepts a royal massage as her due. She prefers her own company and enjoys a private place to purge her royal inner self of unwanted material.

Do not mess with her or she will leave you without a second thought.

All hail Queen Cat.

Amazon