A Day With Unicorn (Quaraun first drafts)
A Day With Unicorn (Quaraun first drafts)
This is a "free sample" first draft of a story from the Quaraun series. These are made available as teaching tools and are not intended for normal "casual reading". I teach workshops where I show how my work is edited, how my editing process takes it from the first draft to the finished product, so that students can see what sorts of errors exist in the first draft, what things are added or removed before the final draft, etc.
What you are reading is one of these unedited first drafts and so it will contain errors in spelling, grammar, consistency, and plot, as it has not yet gone through editing. As I am an underwriter at the first draft stage, this is likely only a 1/3 or less the size of the finished product. Often these first drafts do not yet have dialogue, and frequently paragraphs are in a simple "quick narrative" telling format, instead of "showing" the scene.
These "free to read first draft samples" exist to help teach students how to edit their own work, by them using these first drafts and comparing them to the published product.
If the finished version has already been published you will find it on Amazon and/or on GumRoad .

Once again, Quaraun found himself embarking on an eventful day with his mischievous companion, BoomFuzzy, known to him affectionately as Unicorn. Little did he know that this particular day would be filled with chaotic adventures and unexpected challenges.
As the sun rose over Noodle Beach, casting its golden glow upon the lighthouse and the nearby food truck, Quaraun prepared for a day of running errands in the bustling marketplace. Unicorn, true to his trickster nature, decided to take the form of a vibrant, candy-colored unicorn, ready to create mayhem in his wake.
With their list in hand, Quaraun and Unicorn set off, drawing curious glances from onlookers as the whimsical unicorn trotted alongside his elven companion. The marketplace was abuzz with activity, merchants hawking their wares, and shoppers weaving through the bustling crowd.
Unicorn, unable to resist the urge to stir up mischief, spotted a stall filled with delicate glass ornaments. With a twinkle in his eye, he transformed into his unicorn form and pranced around, playfully knocking down a tower of glass figurines. The stall owner gasped in horror as the delicate treasures shattered upon impact.
Quaraun, flustered and apologetic, tried to reason with the stall owner and offered to pay for the damages. But the stall owner, though dismayed, couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the vibrant unicorn causing chaos. After much negotiation and the promise of compensation, Quaraun and Unicorn continued their journey through the marketplace.
As they strolled along, Unicorn's insatiable curiosity led him to a bustling grocery store. Sensing an opportunity for more mischief, he transformed into his unicorn form once again and galloped down the aisles, knocking over stacks of canned goods and sending produce rolling in every direction. Shouts of surprise and laughter filled the air as Quaraun chased after the prankster unicorn, attempting to minimize the damage and calm the agitated store owner.
After another round of negotiations, Quaraun paid for the havoc caused by his playful companion, all the while shooting Unicorn an exasperated look. It seemed that every errand they embarked upon turned into an adventure filled with mishaps and laughter.
The day wore on, and the pair made their way back to the lighthouse and their food truck, both adorned with the vibrant colors of the unicorns. Quaraun took a moment to catch his breath and reflect on the day's events, a mixture of frustration and fondness swirling within him.
As the sun began to set, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, Quaraun and Unicorn shared a moment of quiet companionship. Despite the chaos and mishaps, there was an undeniable bond between them. Unicorn, in his mischievous ways, had a knack for turning an ordinary day into an unforgettable adventure.
With a sigh and a smile, Quaraun realized that life with Unicorn was anything but predictable. Each day brought new surprises and challenges, reminding him to embrace the unpredictable nature of their journey together.
And so, as the stars twinkled above Noodle Beach, Quaraun and Unicorn settled down for the night, ready to face another day of laughter, pranks, and the enduring friendship that bound them together.
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Once again, Quaraun found himself embarking on an eventful day with his mischievous companion, BoomFuzzy, known to him affectionately as Unicorn. Little did he know that this particular day would be filled with chaotic adventures and unexpected challenges.
As the sun rose over Noodle Beach, casting its golden glow upon the lighthouse and the nearby food truck, Quaraun prepared for a day of running errands in the bustling marketplace. Unicorn, true to his trickster nature, decided to take the form of a vibrant, candy-colored unicorn, ready to create mayhem in his wake.
With their list in hand, Quaraun and Unicorn set off, drawing curious glances from onlookers as the whimsical unicorn trotted alongside his elven companion. The marketplace was abuzz with activity, merchants hawking their wares, and shoppers weaving through the bustling crowd.
Unicorn, unable to resist the urge to stir up mischief, spotted a stall filled with delicate glass ornaments. With a twinkle in his eye, he transformed into his unicorn form and pranced around, playfully knocking down a tower of glass figurines. The stall owner gasped in horror as the delicate treasures shattered upon impact, shards of glass scattered across the stall.
The shopkeeper's face flushed with anger as he surveyed the mess, his voice raised in frustration. "What in the realms do you think you're doing? You've ruined my prized collection!"
Quaraun hurriedly approached, a worried frown creasing his brow. "I am truly sorry for my companion's antics. We will pay for the damages, of course. Please, let me compensate you."
The shopkeeper's anger softened slightly at the elf's willingness to take responsibility, but his frustration still lingered. "Payment won't bring back my precious figurines," he grumbled. "But if you're willing to compensate me, I suppose we can come to an agreement."
Quaraun nodded, relieved that the shopkeeper was willing to negotiate. He reached into his satchel, retrieving a pouch filled with glittering gold coins. "Here," he said, his voice gentle. "This should cover the cost of the damages. And again, I apologize for any inconvenience caused."
The shopkeeper reluctantly accepted the gold coins, his gaze fixated on the elf and the mischievous unicorn by his side. "See that it doesn't happen again," he muttered, still seething with frustration.
As Quaraun and Unicorn continued their journey through the marketplace, the atmosphere had changed. Whispers traveled through the air, spreading tales of the mischievous unicorn who wreaked havoc wherever he went. Shopkeepers and other customers, aware of Unicorn's antics, cast wary glances at the pair, bracing themselves for potential chaos.
Unicorn's next target was a bustling grocery store, filled to the brim with fresh produce, towering stacks of canned goods, and harried customers. Sensing an opportunity for more mischief, he transformed into his unicorn form once again and galloped down the aisles, his hooves knocking over stacks of canned goods and sending apples and oranges rolling in every direction.
Shouts of surprise and laughter filled the air as Quaraun chased after the prankster unicorn, attempting to minimize the damage and calm the agitated store owner. But this time, the laughter was sparse and forced, drowned out by the angry grumbles of those whose shopping had been disrupted.
The store owner, face red with rage, confronted Quaraun with an accusatory finger pointed at Unicorn. "This is your doing, isn't it? Your companion has turned my store into a chaotic mess! Do you think this is some kind of joke?"
Quaraun, feeling the weight of frustration settling upon his shoulders, raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I assure you, we will pay for any damages. Please, allow me to compensate you."
The store owner's anger remained palpable as he eyed the elf and the unicorn. "Compensation won't undo the havoc he's wreaked in my store," he grumbled, his voice laced with annoyance. "But if you're willing to pay, I suppose we can reach an agreement."
Quaraun nodded, his expression tinged with weariness. He reached into his satchel, retrieving another pouch of gold coins. "Here," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "This should cover the cost of the damages caused by my companion. I apologize for the inconvenience."
The store owner reluctantly accepted the gold coins, his lips pressed into a thin line. He muttered his discontent as Quaraun and Unicorn made their way out of the store, the weight of frustrated gazes following them.
Exhausted and disheartened, Quaraun trudged back to the lighthouse, his mind heavy with thoughts. As they entered their cozy home, GhoulSpawn, their loyal companion, noticed the frustration etched upon Quaraun's face.
GhoulSpawn, always perceptive, approached Quaraun with a concerned look. "What happened, Quaraun? You seem troubled."
Quaraun let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. "It's Unicorn," he replied, his voice weary. "His pranks and trickery are causing trouble wherever we go. People don't find it funny; they're angry, frustrated. I can't keep paying for the damages. I offered to pay later, but I am a billionaire. I can afford to pay now."
GhoulSpawn's brow furrowed in thought as he considered Quaraun's words. "Have you spoken to Unicorn about this? Maybe he doesn't realize the impact of his actions."
Quaraun nodded, a mixture of frustration and affection evident in his eyes. "I have tried, GhoulSpawn. But he finds it amusing to see people get angrier. He thrives on the chaos he creates."
GhoulSpawn's gaze softened as he laid a comforting hand on Quaraun's shoulder. "He is mischievous by nature, Quaraun. It's in his essence. Perhaps forgiveness and understanding are the keys to resolving this."
Quaraun sighed once more, his frustration ebbing away as he absorbed GhoulSpawn's words. "You're right, GhoulSpawn. I need to find a way to forgive Unicorn for his antics and help him channel his energy in a more positive direction."
With a newfound determination, Quaraun approached Unicorn, who had transformed back into his Faerie-man form. He looked up at Quaraun with wide, innocent eyes, unaware of the turmoil he had caused.
"Unicorn," Quaraun began, his voice gentle yet firm. "I understand your love for pranks and trickery, but we must find a way to make it enjoyable for all. Let's work together to find ways to bring joy rather than frustration."
Unicorn's lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling with newfound understanding. "You're right, Quaraun. I've taken it too far. I'll do my best to rein in my mischievous nature and find ways to bring laughter without causing harm."
And so, the days that followed saw a transformation in Unicorn's antics. He channeled his mischievous energy into cooking elaborate meals, surprising Quaraun and GhoulSpawn with delectable dishes that seemed to appear out of thin air. The food became a source of delight and amusement, a reminder that Unicorn's pranks could bring joy rather than frustration.
Quaraun, GhoulSpawn, and Unicorn spent evenings snuggled up together, sharing stories and laughter as they savored the delicious creations. The frustration that once clouded Quaraun's heart gave way to forgiveness and understanding, as he realized that BoomFuzzy's mischievous nature was an integral part of who he was.
And so, in the warmth of their cozy home, Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, and GhoulSpawn forged a bond that transcended chaos and mischief. They found solace in each other's company, embracing the unpredictable nature of their journey and cherishing the enduring friendship that bound them together.
This is just the rough first draft.
It will be expanded longer, into a full novella or novel over the next few weeks, and will appear on Amazon and/or on GumRoad once completed.
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You can find out more about Quaraun HERE.
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You can find out more about BoomFuzzy HERE.
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You can find out more about GhoulSpawn HERE.


This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
All Rights Reserved.
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Do you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Avenue, Old Orchard Beach, Maine on August 8, 2013? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son on November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College and crippled me July 26, 2016 at scarborough WalMart,... they arrived the first time with a backhoe on August 8, 2013, that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since....
... which means it is now only a few weeks from the 14th anniversary of my son's murder. I was 8 month pregnant November 14, 2013, and a student ay SMCC, and coming out of the Buglight Lighthouse art studio after art class, when a still unidentifiedwoman wielding a golf club attacked me, severed my spine, while I was 8 months pregnant, triggered early labour, then killed my son minutes after he was born.
While accusing me of being transgender, screaming "transvestite freak" and "look at that thing, that's Ken's son in a dress"... while I was 8 months pregnant.
My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son and crippled me, arrived the first time with a backhoe that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since. |
The backhoe driver returned November 14, 2013, armed with a golf club, used it to break my spine and smash my baby's brains out on the ground
On November 14, 2013, my son was murdered. I was 8 months pregnant, leaving my college classroom, and just getting into my car, when 3 strangers, a man and two women, armed with golf clubs leapt out from behind my car screaming "kill or be killed, kill the transvestite freaks, kill them all before they kill us! look at that thing! That is Ken's son, look at how it's dressed! kill the transvestite freaks! kill or be killed"... while the bald man and the red haired woman chanted this over and over, the blonde woman, lunged with the golf club.
She severed my spine, I am now a quadriplegic, and been paralyzed arms and legs, and in a wheelchair for 13 years now. She broke my hips, my knees, my legs, ruptured most of my discs, and shattered three of my vertebrae so bad that the shards of bone acted like glass and embedded themselves into my spinal column nerve bundle.
The attack also triggered labour.
My son was born in that parking lot, and he lived only a couple of minutes, before the deranged blonde woman, beat his head in and smashed his brains out, with the same golfclub she had just used to sever my spine and leave me crippled for the rest of my life.
Realizing that I was not transgender, and they'd just murdered a baby, the man grabbed the 2 women and forcibly dragged them away to a 4 door white pickup truck, and they left me there to die.
The FBI told me later, that a few weeks before this attack, and transwoman, had murdered a cis woman, in a parking lot, abou 20 miles away from where I was attacked. The FBI, believes that my attackers, had somehow found out I wrote transgender fiction, connecting my real name to my penname, (my father's name is in fact "Ken", and I do have a brother) and believed that I wrote transgender fiction, because I was myself transgender, even though I'm not transgender. The FBI, believes the attackers, thought I was my brother, pretending to be a woman.
The FBI investigation, into my son's murder, has dragged on for 13 years, and still now in 2026, continues on, with the FBI, still not having yet identified my attackers, and only guessing at what their motive was.
Thus we come to 2014, and the full swing change of the series I write. WHY my series, went from just a transman main character living life, to the full blown Mpreg genre series that it now is today.
Before the attack, I had a chance of having a baby. I don't know. And because I'm in America, I'm too old to adopt. You have to be under 45 years old to adopt a baby. That is the law in America. I was informed this, when we tried to adopt, now that my injuries leave me unable to get pregnant a 9th time.
Thus began my obsessively writing, my transman main character, pregnant. Always pregnant now. Every time. Every story. Stories that now fully focus on pregnancy, labour, miscarriages, babies dying, babies living, raising babies... the whole series, since 2014 has devolved into an outright baby obsession.
Meanwhile, reborn baby dolls were suggested to me by my therapist, and have also become a deeply obsessive part of my life. Because 13 years ago my son was murdered minutes after he was born, because a transphobic bigot mistook me for being transgender, I'm STILL in a wheelchair, struggling to relearn to use my arms and legs, now 13 years later, and I'm still DAILY dealing with police officers and FBI agents who while they are trying to find my son's killer, they are also daily reminding me... oh, yeah, my son was murdered, literally ripped out of my belly, by a transphobe. Who still has not been located and walks free to kill again.
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The golfclub woman as she looked during the golf club attack at Southern Maine community college November 14, 2013. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
The golfclub woman as she looked during the shopping cart attack at Scarborough WalMart July 26, 2016. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
The 2nd woman as she looked at both attacks, her hair goes all the way down to her knees. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer's accomplice, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 |
Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
I am a legally blind quadriplegic, and low verbal, I have also published 138 novels in the last 48 years. It's not as impossible as people think. The problem being blind and quadriplegic, medically have different meanings then how those two words are used medically.
Fewer than 3% of all blind people see nothing. While 97% people who are classified as fully blind are able to see up to two feet in front of them. Legally blind means I can see more then two feet in front of me but not far enough to see twenty feet in front of me. In my case I can see about eight feet.
Quadriplegic, has varying levels, it means having a damaged nerve bundle in the spinal column causing limited mobility of all 4 limbs, (in my case this was done by a women wielding a golf club, who also beat my 8 month infant's head to pulp on the parking lot tarmak, at the same time she severed my spine with the same golf club; both on November 14, 2013; the FBI investigation into my son's murder and my being crippled has gone on now for 13 years, a few weeks away from 14 years now, and the FBI has still not identified the killer or her motive). Contrary to popular misconception, quadriplegic does NOT mean ZERO movement, it means means limited movement, specifically in means unable to lift arms over head, unable to grip fingers around objects to pick them up, and unable to stand for more then 5 minutes to a time. Because there are so many thousands of nerves in each limb it is actually very rare for there to be 100% no movement, but how much, and to what extent varies by patent depending upon the specific point of injury to the spinal column.
Meaning typing is still possible for over 60% of all quadriplegics.
In my case, it was the lower spine that was severed, cutting off completly my ability to move my right leg, leaving limited feeling in my left leg, and an ability to stand but not walk, with crutches, for the first 9 years. I regained enough nerve growth in my legs by the 9th year to be able to take ten or twelve steps allowing me to get out of bed for the first time since the golf club attack; This in turn lead to me being able to start using a wheelchair, as I was able to sit upright for the first time as well.
Because the shattered vertebrae bone fragments are broken off completly and embedded into the nerve bundle just above my tailbone, doctors were saying I would never walk again, but now at 13 years, I am able to push mu wheelchair like a walker, a distance of almost a thousand steps a day. Though doctors are still doubtful I will ever walk "normally" again, I have proven them wrong, when their said 13 years ago, that I would never walk again at all.
But because of the placement of the damage to my spine, regaining hand use, was always thought possible, it was just a matter of waiting long enough for nerve regrowth, along side daily finger exercises. I was able to continue writing, after becoming quadriplegic, because I still have use of my right thumb, and 2 fore figures of my right hand. And can type 90 words per minute with those 3 fingers.
I however have no wrist strength, elbow strength, or shoulder strength, so I am not able to form a fist, or lift objects, or brush my hair, or my teeth, all thing I have to have my caretaker do. But, those things are not needed for typing. Unfortunately, my pinky and ring fingers are "nerve dead" and drag over the keyboard, and cause horrific spelling errors and typos, which are incredibly frustrating to deal with.
Unfortunately trying to edit errors myself, just makes the errors worse, because those same two fingers drag over the keyboard yet again. Prior to the golf club attack, I rarely had spelling errors; now I got more spelling errors then someone is learning English as second language. Editing is a challenge, that I've had to accept, I simply can not do myself, and I have to hire several editors to help with that.
Low verbal means sounds can still be made, sounds that software programs like Dragon can be trained to recognize and translate, and type into full words. More then half my novels were typed with this method.
I still have a long ways to go before I am anything close to being able to do the things I could do before the golf club woman beat my baby's brains out and shattered my spine. And you know what's more frustrating then how slow mu medical progression has been? The fact that it's been 13 years and the police and FBI are still coming up at dead ends as to who the woman who murdered my baby was, or why she even did it.
My son's 14th birthday is only a few weeks away, but he didn't even get to live long enough to celebrate his 1st birthday, I don't even know why. And I can't wait to regain my ability to walk again, because regaining my ability to walk, means gaining the ability to go outside and start looking for my son's murderer myself instead of sitting at home trapped in a wheelchair waiting for the police and FBI to to find her. So, writing isn't a big priority for me anymore. I only write now, as a way to exercise my hands, in between relearning to walk.
Never let a disability stop you. Plenty of writers, artists, athletes, do not let either blindness, speech impediments, or limited mobility hold then back from perusing their careers.
Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
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There are no ebook editions as they are already available digitally here on my website.