The Far Dorocha

For those of you who have been following my blog from the beginning, you may remember that I did “7 Days of Halloween” back in October.  I wrote a post for seven days that had something in it that frightened me.  I wrote about my fear of pigs, the Tailypo, even getting haunted in Savannah.  I had about a dozen ideas, but only seven days to write about them.  One of the faeries on the list was the Far Dorocha or Fear Dorocha.  You know the Irish, they can spell things a dozen different ways and each time it’s completely unpronounceable!

At the same time I was writing this series of blog posts, I was contemplating whether I would have the balls enough to attempt NaNoWriMo.  Yes, I did have the balls, steel balls in fact.  What did I have to lose?  The answer was nothing.  Only problem: What the hell was I going to write about?

I glanced over my blog notebook.  (I keep a notebook for notes on my posts and idea for future posts.)  I kept rereading the name Far Dorocha.  I was going to write a story about him.  And he wasn’t going to be the villain in the story.  He was going to be the hero.    My novel, The Dark Man, was born.

You see, the Far Dorocha isn’t exactly a good guy.  In fact, you can argue he’s a horrible guy.  Far Dorocha means Dark Man.  (I know.   My novel’s name isn’t very clever.  I’m open to suggestions.)  Everyone who studies faerie lore knows that the faerie queen likes to kidnap mortals.  Well, the Far Dorocha does the dirty work for her.  He rides up on his black stead and carts folks back to Faerie for her.  He can compel people to obey without uttering a single word.  He acts as a sort of butler serving the queen her tea.  Oh and he also punishes folks with a big mouths.  What does he do?  He blinds and/or maims them.  Charming really.

The Far Dorocha had the potential to be a complex and interesting character.  How did he become the Far Dorocha?  Did he like his job?  What was his relationship with queen like?  What would he say if he talked?  Does he like red or white wine?  How do the other faeries treat him?  Do they let him join in their faerie games?  The questions are endless.

A few weeks after I started writing The Dark Man (which back then was called Enlightened), I read about Karen Marie Moning’s graphic novel, Fever Moon: The Fear Dorocha.  (If you haven’t checked out the Fever series I would recommend it.  I only read the first book because it was free on my Nook.  I love free books.  I really loved this book.) 

My heard plummeted to into my shoes.  If you haven’t experienced this feeling, you are lucky.  I believe I had a mini-panic attack.  How could I compete with KMM?  The answer was I couldn’t.  Her Fear Dorocha is different from my Far Dorocha.  He appears to be the villain in her story.  I don’t picture him a black suit and tall top hat like she does.  I have seen a few panels from the graphic novel and her Fear Dorocha looks very much like how I picture Ankou, the Breton portent of death.  There seems to be some relationship been the Fear Dorocha and Ankou.  Anyway, I put on my big girl panties and got over it.

If you’d like to check out my inspiration board on Pinterest for The Dark Man, you can check it out here.

Repeat Faerie Friday Post - Bwca, Bwca, Bwca

I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize for my lackluster (and sometimes absent) Faerie Friday posts.  I liked the quick posts I did for the A to Z challenge, but now after reflection, I’ve decided that this is just making me a very lazy writer. 

Starting next week I’ll strive to be better.  Right now I am hot and cranky and I have little confidence that I can be my usual charming self.  Instead, I’ll share with you an old blog post that was one of my favs.   It’s from November’s Hairy Beastie Month. 

I hope you enjoy. 

Welcome to the last week of Hairy Beastie Month! I know I am two and a half days late. I blame it on pumpkin pie and sausage stuffing. (Speaking of sausage, I do realize that the Bwca in the picture above is exposing his boy-parts. I thought I’d get this out of the way. Laugh and point at the Naked Bwca. I did.)

The Bwca is a Welsh House Faerie, kind of like the English Brownie with a Boggart twist. The Brownie is a faerie that helps out around the house. Not to be confused with young roving-cookie-peddling division of the Girl Scouts. A Boggart is a poorly behaved house spirit who makes a general nuisance of himself (herself?)

The Bwca is short, about two to three feet high, with a long nose and long fingers. He’s described as being shaggy and resides in rural Wales. He doesn’t like teetotalers or clergy men. (I don’t either to tell you the truth.) He apparently doesn’t like people with long noses, either. (I bare no such grudge.)

Bwca’s are mainly known for churning butter. If anyone has tried to make butter, you know it’s a major time suck and not that much fun. Bwcas also do other chores around the house like weaving, laundry, and general household drudgery. He just asks that the hearth be clean and that you leave out a bowl of milk or cream out for him as a reward for a good day’s work.

Should be simple enough, right? A simple you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-your-back arrangement. If the Bwca is offended or slighted in anyway, he can turn horribly vicious pinching, throwing things, ripping clothes, sharing family secrets, banging loudly on the walls. There is a popular story about a woman who left a bowl of urine out for the Bwca who did all the dirty work in her house. The Bwca grabbed the tart by her throat and dragged her around the house, beating the stuffing out of her. As far as I am concerned, if you leave a stale bowl of urine out for someone as payment, you deserve anything you get! She had it coming.

Once a Bwca is offended, you get no more work from him. He sets about to make your life as unpleasant as possible. The only way to get rid of one is the hire a Cunning Man to use iron or holy water to chase the little shit away.

I’d like a Bwca. I’d ask him to put some clothes on first, but he’d be infinitely useful. The laundry is piling up after a month of general laziness and NaNoWriMo. I wonder if he could wrap Christmas presents and clean closets and run the vacuum.

#SixSunday from The Dark Man (Passage 2)

My goal is to share six sentences every Sunday. This one is a little late in the day, but better late than never at all.

Below is the scene where we first meet the Princess.  She’s not as treacherous as her mother, but she’s not to be underestimated either.

The Princess stuck out her lower lip and bestowed Carrig the same expression she had been giving him for 648 years, 6 months and 12 days.  It was the look she used to get him on her side, to bind him to her will; the same guise that had worked for 648 years, 6 months and 11 days. 

Her pout turned to a smile, her straight white teeth sharp and venomous.  “Do I need to want something to seek out my favorite Far Dorocha?”

“Yes.  Get to your point.”

Exotica or Xotica Part One

The Three Fates

No, I will not be talking about a strip club.

Origin:  Greece

Description:  The Exotica is a pantheon of Modern Greek spirits.  The word Exotica means “things beyond” or “things outside.”  They are pre-Christian spirits living in a Christian world and considered wicked.

A few examples:

Charos – Personification of death

Gello – Killer ghost.  A woman who died before having a child and therefore could not become an ancestral spirit.  With nothing else to do, she takes pleasure in killing other women’s children.

Gorgon – Hello, Medusa and her repulsive sisters.

The Moirai – The three fates.

The Strange Hour – A kind of a demon that possesses humans and sometimes is a disease demon.

There are many more.  I’ll save them for another post.

#SixSunday from The Dark Man

I started revising my NaNoWriMo novel this past month.  At the time it was titled Enlightened, but I have since scratched that.  Right now the working title is The Dark Man.  I’m not exactly enamored with this either, but it’ll do for now:

  

The bitch would not die.

Vines wove around her limbs and girdled her slight frame, squeezing and crushing.  Her once porcelain skin had turned an awkward shade of purple.  She should be dead by now, but instead of kicking up her toes like a good little nature spirit, she stood ramrod straight and her stormy grey-blue eyes bore into his.

Defiance.

That was new, refreshing really.

I have a blurb on my new website about the story.  You can check it out here.  Please let me know what you think of the site.  It's just another WIP.

The Monacielli “Little Monk”

I don't think the Monaciello would be wearing a cross, but I'm not sure.

Origin:  Naples, Italy

Description:  The Monacielli look like tiny chubby drunken monks.  They wear sandals and a brilliant red habit and hat.  They can turn into cats at will.

Disposition:  They are a pain in the ass to have around. They dwell in human houses where they pinch people (where I do not know), steal clothes, knock over wine glasses, dance on people’s chests when they sleep, and make a huge mess.  They are even known to cut off little girls’ braids.

Apparently, they have an obsessive compulsive streak.  If you leave out a sieve for them, they will spend hours counting each and every hole.  They are poor at math and this task will take hours - a great way to get one out of your hair for a while.

The Monaciello are known to guard a massive treasure.  If you can steal their hat, you can ransom it back to the chubby little guy for part of the treasure.  It can’t live without its hat.