Tuesday Tales: Writing Silly

Welcome to Tuesday Tales, a weekly blog featuring diverse authors posting excerpts from their works in progress based on word and picture prompts. We’re a book hungry bunch that enjoys reading as much as you do. This week’s word prompt is silly. My snippet is from a new whimsical tale starring a flower deva. Enjoy the other authors at Tuesday Tales.

“Mademoiselle Eveningfoam, I stand astonished! Incredule! You are woolgathering once again?” Madame emphasized the last three words with three darting, upward flurries. Her fifteen inch lavender pompadour bobbled with each flurry. Golden energy sprinkles sprouted unheeded from her fingertips, punctuating her outrage.

Stricken at Madame’s tone, Dilys froze in midair. She spun around, away from the dark haired human who was fast disappearing into the mysterious evergreen thicket. Her cheeks heating to what she knew was an unattractive vermillion, she mumbled an apology and bolted into fevered action. She fluttered her wings to resume her task, fanning moisture droplets toward the estate’s most cherished rose bush.  If she performed her job as prescribed by the Espirit de Jardin Sacre, by spring tiny buds would appear and eventually unfold into the most stunning and fragrant ebony glory.

Hours later she had finished her task and nestled snug on a dandelion sprig to catch her breath. There had been no sight of Madame’s disapproving scowl for a while. Hopefully, that was the end of it, and she could somehow find it within herself to stay focused, instead of allowing her attention to roam toward forbidden matters, places, and people.

Her heart sank as someone even more unwelcome and disagreeable than Madame approached. It was Nastur Gullietail and her swarm of lack-sense mimicks. Nastur had it in for her because she had wanted the job tending the black rose but instead had been relegated to a perennial patch at the edge of the garden. “Can’t keep your eyes off the ugly human giant, can you Dilys Eveningfoam? I wager you’ll soon lose your cozy cushion in the roses.” Then with a curled lip, she began to chant, “Silly Dilly, Silly Dilly.” All the mimicks followed suit, with sounds as shrill as a scourge of mosquitoes.

Dilys clapped her hands over her ears. Why had she been born with that bane of all flower deva traits—curiosity? And if she was curious, why couldn’t she summon the wherewithal to keep it to herself?

I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the word prompt silly. Thanks for stopping by. Return to Tuesday Tales.

Cheers & Happy Reading!

Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic in Romance