Friday, September 27, 2013

Celebrating the Births . . . Roberta Gellis and Rose Lemberg

Roberta Gellis (born 27 September 1927)
An influential writer of historical romances, Gellis has alos written several Fantasy and Science Fiction novels, including four with Mercedes Lackey.  T least three of her novelsare freely available.

At Baen
Bull God  Fantasy. 2000.
     "Like today, when her daughter would be consecrated as high priestess of Dionysus so that Pasiphae herself, queen and high priestess of Potnia, the Snake Goddess, wouldn't need to be bothered conducting the rites of a minor godling whose shrine had been built to satisfy common vine growers and winemakers. Ariadne swallowed hard as she allowed a servant to slip off the loose gown in which she had been combed and painted and wrap around her the white, many-tiered bell skirt, embroidered elaborately in the same wine red her lips had been dyed."

Thrice Bound. Fantasy. 2001.
     "That change of form had originally been a punishment for some forgotten misdeed in her first blossoming of adolescent rebellion, but the punishment had been far more valuable to her than simply teaching her that obedience to her father was the easiest path. Some instinct had wakened in her when her father's spell touched her, and when he tried to change her back, she resisted him and remained a withered crone."

Ill Met By Moonlight. With Mercedes Lackey. Fantasy. 2004.
       "The great gold and black banners of King Oberon and Queen Titania flew over the Palace of Avalon proclaiming to those of the elfhame that the King and Queen were in residence. And none too soon; never mind that the elves and their Underhill kin lived long and slow lives, those lives still intersected with the mortals in the World Above, and in that world things were moving, and in directions that were—less than auspicious. Once again, there were choices to be made, and those choices would resonate Underhill for centuries to come."

Rose Lemberg (born 27 September 1976)
      A fantasy and speculative fiction writer, poet, and editor, Lemberg is the founder and co-editor of the wonderful free speculative poetry ezine, Stone Telling.

• At Beneath Ceaseless Skies: "Held Close in Syllables of Light"
     "The Penareh docks had been my favorite place as a child. The walkways above the harbor were planked in golden wood, lustrous with a thousand years of painted designs—shells and outmoded galleys, water serpents, gears. Maintained by the power of my ancestors’ deepnames, the designs did not fade or tarnish under the heavy traffic but mellowed with age, almost translucent, a whisper beneath the workmen’s feet."

• At Daily Science Fiction: "Seven Losses of Na Re"  Slipstream.
      "My life is described by the music of mute violins. When my parents married, my great-grandfather, may the earth be as a feather, ascended the special-guests podium, cradling the old fiddle to his chest. "And now the zeide will play the wedding melody," they said. "A special blessing," they said, a sgule, a royal blessing. But the bow fell from his fingers."

• At Daily Science Fiction: "Theories of Pain" Magical Realism
     "But the seeds, the seeds, his fingers are full of them, black shiny pain-seeds with a tender whitish core. If you bite into them they are bitter, the kind of sweet shallow bitterness that chases away nausea. But he cannot bite hard enough, and all he can taste is skin, unwashed and smoky. Janet is late again."

• At Fantasy Magazine: "Geddarien" Magic Realism.
     "Zelig’s grandfather liked to smoke with his window half open, even though winter’s breath melted on the old parquet. When the snow on the streets turned as porous and yellow as a matzo ball, a pigeon flew into the room. It hid under the chaise, there to await compliments or perhaps breadcrumbs."

At Jabberwocky: "A Mother Goes Between" Horror.
     "Darja’s husband stood in the doorway, his bulk a blackness of smoke-smelling furs that obstructed the way back into the warmth. For three years the log-house had been her home, but now the starving wind slashed her, the snow choked her, the heart-heavy dusk smothered her face. "

• At Strange Horizons: "Kifli"
     "My mother always calls at three a.m. From over the ocean I can feel her gearing up for the call, pacing in her seaside apartment with huge windows and a half-working washer (the drying is supplied by sun and pigeons). She doesn't know what time it is in America, she doesn't know my husband's name; she wants to buy me a set of dishes. Say thank you!"

• At Strange Horizons: "Teffeu: A Book from the Library at Taarona"
     "I see it on my shelf sometimes, tucked between the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia and Kari Gade's study of skaldic poetry. On other days it sticks out like a dejected crow among the seven small red books of the Medieval and Modern Welsh series, somewhere east of Pwyll and west of Branwen Uerch Lyr. I trace a finger on the spine—its faded dark blue leather tooled with tiny clover flowers, each petiole lovingly painted with a sable-tip brush as tiny as an eyelash."

At Author's Site:
• At Goblin Fruit: "I will show you a single treasure from the treasures of Shah Niyaz"

At Strange Horizons:

At Through the Gate:

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