Counting Down to the 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978)
Happy 2026!
It is our 30th anniversary here at Space Dock 13!
On the web since 1996!
You have encountered an extremely old website that continues to exist in old web ways, the same way it has done for now three decades.
In spite of being now 30 years old this year, started in 1996, it is still heavily active and old pages updated daily, new pages added daily, still now in 2026. All hand written, all hand coded (no AI), all by me, same as it ever was.
We Still Exist: The Old Web Did Not Go Away, You Just Forgot How To Find Us
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This site was NOT designed for mobile devices (as they had not been invented yet when I created it) thus this site looks best on a computer, at 1280x768 or above. |
This is a very old website created in 1996, so, yes, javascript is needed for the site to work as it should. If things don't function, you may need to update javascript drivers on your device |
This site tries to be mobile friendly but it's been online since 1996, so old pages may not load right on mobile devices, and as this site has had pages added near daily for 30 years there are now over 20k pages here. |
Having started out in life as a GeoCities site, this site contains glitter, bright colours, blinkies, moving gifs, and other things the old web was known for. |
How can a violent Elf-hater develop feelings for an Elf?
| Writing Fantasy Books |
Character Creation
f you are here looking for aliens, ufos, demons, cryptids, haunted cars, curses, Etiole, the wild man of old orchard beach, the goldeneagle car, the white monkey, or any of that other weird bullshit, you want this video:
...and after that video, you want these ones:
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 Wendy Christine Allen, 2019, able to sit up in a chair for the first time in years, and able to raise up my arm and wiggle fingers. This was when I started playing Witcher 3 on Twitch as part of my physical therapy to regain finger movement. Playing Witcher 3 daily from 2016 to 2019, is how I regained the use of my thumb and two for fingers on my right hand... it is also why I stopped playing Witcher 3 in 2019, once I had strengthen my two forefingers enough to start typing again.Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the September 23, 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) If you are here looking for The Twighlight Manor series, The Crystonite Wars series, The Wild Years series, The White Rock Asylum for the Criminally Insane series, The Twisted Tales series, the Captured By a MerMan series, The Space Dock 13 series, The Kats of Planet Ptarmagin series, the stories about Miss Citten the Eel-Kat, or the stories about Etiole... ALL of those series were combined and consolidated into The Adventures of Quaraun the Insane Pink Necromancer series in 2014, so ALL the different series, are now under one series title. List of the published titles still in print: The Index of over three thousand stories in The Pink Necromancer series What the series is about, for those new here: |
If you want some stories to get you started in The Pink Necromancer series, reading these first will give you a good introduction to the 3 main characters:
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My Elves Are JellyFish...and I asked Google AI and ChatGPT 5.6 what they thought of this.
As requested, my daily writing prompt series is now available print paperback editions on Amazon.
There are 20 volumes of this writing prompt series currently planned and in varying stages of finishing, hopefully all 20 will be published by the end of 2026. I likely will do a 2nd series of writing prompt books in 2027.
Coming soon (Nov/Dec 2026)... patterns for my slow stitched embroidery:
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The first of the Visual Novels/Video Games for The Adventures of Quaraun the Inane/The Pink Necromancer series is published and available on Itch.io, there are 3 more planned for release in 2026, 6 more planned for release in 2027, and the big 60-hour 80k word 150 page one (Quaraun Goes To the Fair) is planned for a 2028 release.
There is a Pink Necromancer card game and a Pink Necromancer board game, as well as a Pink Necromancer table top RPG supliment for Dungeons and Dragons, all in the works, and to be released over the next couple of years as well.
I shouldn't have to say this, but people keep contacting me, so apparently I do:
- No, I do not believe in aliens. Stop contacting me to ask for alien information. If you believe in aliens, I think you are insane, retarded, or both.
- No, my car is not haunted. I've debunked that rumour many times now. . Stop contacting me to ask for haunted car information. If you believe in haunted cars, I think you are insane, retarded, or both.
- No, I am not connected to Stephen King. I didn't even know who he was until you idiots started contacting me asking about him. I had to look him up on Google to find out what you were even talking about! If you have questions about Stephen King, go contact him and ask him. I'm not him. I don't know him. I know nothing about him. I've never read one of his books. I've never seen one of his movies. I can't figure out why you people are even coming to me to ask about him in the first place!
- If someone told you I believe in aliens, if someone told you my car was haunted, if someone told you I was connected to Stephen King, you NEED to contact the FBI agent in charge of my son's murder investigation and TELL HIM WHO it was who told ou, exactly WHAT it was they said, HOW they contacted you, WHERE they contacted you... because it is a KNOWN FACT that my son's murderer is the one who started all these slanderous alien, haunted car, Stephen King rumours, and the FBI is trying to catch her.
If you have any information about my son’s murderer, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
Do you know who this woman is?
On August 8, 2013 she drove a backhoe over my house. On November 14, 2013 she arrived at Southern Maine Community College and crippled me with a golf club and murdered my son. One June 24, 2016, days after my first attempts to walk again, she attacked me with a shopping cart at Scarborough, Walmart, reinjuring the Nov 14, 2013 injury.
She crippled me when I was 8 months pregnant, a woman with a golf club, severed my spine and bashed my baby's head in, I spent 9 years relearning to walk, and the FBI is 13 years into the murder investigation and not yet id-ed the attacker who crippled me and killed my baby, both violently with a golf club.
Complete details of EVERYTHING she did is on this page here.
 The golf club woman who called herself Clair as she looked November 14, 2013. Her hair is a weird chin leangth pageboy (very Medival style cut) platinum blonde with wide brown/black dyed stripes in it (like a reverse of Lily Munster, but the stripes are several, almost like a zebra). I am 5'6" and she was a LOT taller then me, like closer to the height of a man; she had thin lips like a man, and large nose like a man... she COULD have been a man disguised as a woman, given the ease with which she severed my spine....she's is a LOT stronger then is typical for a woman). She was wearing a chambre blue denim "blazer jacket over shirt" and a button up mens shirt (possibly flannel) and blue jeans. The bulk of her yelling was focused on accusing me of being transgender, even while ripping my baby out of my 8 month pregnant belly and bashing his head in with a golf club. |
 The Claire woman as she looked during her shoping cart attack at Scarborough WalMart June 2016, the attack with left me paralyzed and in a wheelchair. Her hair was dyed dark red, and she drove away in a gold Volvo 240 Station Wagon of a late 1980s/early1990s model, with a "458" on the lisnce plate.... If you have any information about the woman who crippled me with a golf club, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office. |
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If you have any information about the woman who crippled me with a golf club, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
Good god! We just found out about yet another slanderous rumour this woman has been spreading? When does it end? How many more of these things are out there?
Video explains what else she's done ...
If you have any information about the woman who crippled me with a golf club, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
 If you encounter anyone claiming my car is haunted, demon possessed, or somehow connected to Stephen King please give the information of who, when, where/location to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.
If you encounter anyone claiming I believe in aliens or was an alien abducttee, please give the information of who, when, where/location to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office. |
If you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine 04064-1520 on August 8, 2013 please give the information of who it is to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.  If you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine 04064-1520 on August 8, 2013 please give the information of who it is to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office. |
I am sick and tired of people not giving a shit that my son was murdered!
I am sick and tired of jackasses making up rumours and lies about me and my car, calling me an alien abductee and my car haunted, just to try to cover up my son's murder!
How can a violent Elf-hater develop feelings for an Elf?
| Writing Fantasy Books |
Character Creation
I am answering random questions today about world building, over on Reddit and decided to take my answers from there and expand upon them even further over here. So that's what this page is. Me rambling on about various aspects of world building techniques I use when writing the Quaraun series. The questions I am answering are embedded here. Clicking the link in the embedded question will take you to the original Reddit page where you can see the original answer along with other people's answers. If you wish to comment, you can do so on the Reddit page where a place to do so is provided.
How can a violent Elf-hater develop feelings for an Elf?
| Writing Fantasy Books |
Character Creation
How can a violent human-hater character develope feelings for a human? from CharacterDevelopment
How can a violent Elf-hater develop feelings for an Elf?
| Writing Fantasy Books |
Character Creation
Not sure if this helps, but I had a similar situation in a novel I wrote a few year back. Here's what I did with it. Maybe it'll give you some ideas what to do with yours?
The main character is an Elf, Quaraun. Weak, sickly little runt, not well liked by the other Elves basically because he's different. Left to his own, he'd probably be content to do nothing but grow roses, as that's what he likes to do. The other Elves think he's a girly sissy and beat him up, mostly to show off to each other and prove how great they are in front of girls.
(So basically, jocks bullying the nerd to show off to cheerleaders sort of situation; only with Elves in the 900s medieval times.)
The scene with the captured horses comes from Forest of No Return
On the other side of the world, there is an evil Faerie King - King Gwallmaiic, Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, who, as his title implies, eats Elves. He's a vicious warlord, with a horrific army of all Elf haters, and for the past few decades, they've just marches across the planet finding Elf villages and razing them, taking the Elves prisoner, torturing them to death, then eating them.
Most every race on the planet wants The Elf Eater and his army dead, as they don't just kill Elves, they kill every body in their path who comes between them and the next Elf village as well. They move like a mindless machine, just as you describe your character, killing every Elf they meet.
Well, King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn - is a Phooka (a type of Dark Trickster Faerie) (he was raised a Phooka; but is actually half Aswang as well - his father was a Phooka his mother an Aswang) Aswangs are vicious blood sucking almost demonic shapeshifting Faeries from South Asia, for some unknown reason all Aswangs are female and breed with Phookas, likewise all Phookas are male and breed with Aswangs - Faeries are strange in this way, that they are able to be born always male or always female.
Phookas are one of the most bloodthirsty of all the Fae - they are born in the form of swamp dwelling black furred Shetland Ponies with gleaming silver horns, long talons instead of hooves, and sharp fangs, but can shapeshift into any form.
Phookas delight in pretending to be sweet innocent injured ponies, then when someone stops to help them, they turn back to there little demonic pony true form, viciously stab the person to dead with their horn, trapple their entrails under their feet to feel the blood swishing through their toes, the eat the person, saving the skull which they skewer onto their horn and wear like a crown on their heads.
Most Phooka eat Humans, but a few prefer Elves and are known as The Elf Eaters. Being one of the many a types of horned Faerie horses, they are sometime referred to as "Evil Little Unicorns"
Every one knows Gwallmaiic is just plain cruel, cold, heartless, and doesn't have a kind bone in him. No Phooka does.
Little known fact... Gwallmaiic is 2,000 years old, is struggling with failing health, is going blind, and hasn't been heading up his army for the past few decades. He just gallops along with them now, his general (evil Necromancer Gibedon the Great) does the killing. No one but the general knows this. No one knows WHO Gwallmaiic is, what he looks like, him being a shapeshifter appearing different to everyone.
So the army is slowly marching North, and another army (Humans) is headed to cross paths and stop them. The new army catches The Elf Eaters off guard, sneaking up on them when they are stopped to camp for the night. 3/4s of Gwallmaiic's army is slaughtered and the few that survive are chained with Faerie iron that forces them all into their true form and takes away their ability to shapeshift. So the Human army has this herd of little Shetland Ponies that are not really horses, but they don't know which one Gwallmaiic is.
Back to Quaraun... the Elf has fled the bullies yet again, runs off to hide by the river. The Elf loves horses, they are his favorite animals, and what does he see? An army, with a herd of tiny ponies all being abused and beaten up. Soldiers are out there whipping the horses, and trying to get them to say which one Gwallmaaiic is, but the little ponies are saying nothing. The horses are cut and bleeding and whinnying in agony, but refusing to turn on their King.
The soldiers decide, "If they won't tell us which one he is, all we can do is kill them all."
The little Elf, he doesn't know these are not real horses. He doesn't know this is the Phookan army of the Elf Eater and that one of these seemingly innocent little ponies is the Elf Eater himself.
All Quaraun knows is there are a bunch of soldiers beating up the tiny, little horses with their legs in chains and unable to escape the whips.
Quaraun creeps up to the far side of the row of horses. The one closest to the river, farthest from the yelling soldiers, is trembling from lose of blood, trying not to collapse. It's an old, silver eyed, sway backed pony with thick matted fur that has never seen a brush, it's mane and tail matted into wooly ropes. The pony looks half starved, it's skin sticking to it's ribs. Blood is oozing from it wounds. The pony is gasped, struggling to breath, and looks to be dieing.
While the soldiers argue, Quaraun sneaks up to the old wounded pony and washes it's wounds with the river water, trying to stop the bleeding. Quaraun always has candy with him and feeds it to the pony, then begins trying to remove the chains on it's legs.
But then the Humans start killing the horses and the Elf is horrified at what he's seeing as the soldiers just go down the line mass slaughtering every horse in the group. Slicing their throats and stabbing their bellies with their swords.
Elves have magic psychic abilities, this one in particular more so then others, him being a wizard, and so Quaraun casts a spell that releases the ponies and kills the soldiers.
Now only a dozen or so of the horses are still alive, but they gallop off and run away, King Gwallmaiic among them. His army in vanquished and no longer able to reign terror. Most of them running separate ways.
The Elf goes back home, sad that the ponies have run away, and wishing that the one he'd been helping would have stayed with him.
The Phookas, now scattered to the wind, and the Elf Eater now alone, he realizes an Elf village must be near by so, takes the form of a half-Elf and follows Quaraun back to his village.
The Phooka follows Quaraun as Quaraun travels, following him for many years, finally catching up to him just outside of the Moon Elf village, in the Frozen Forest.
“You're King Gwallmaiic.”
“Aye. I is.”
“Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Murderer of millions.”
“Ya knows who I be yet ya be no afeared of me. I likes that. I likes that a lot. Strange Elf ya is. Yis scared of so mony t'ings, yet ya does na run from me. Why is that, eh?”
“Why would I be scared of you? You're nothing but a Faerie.”
"No t'ing but a Faerie. Aye. King the Fae I is. Most feared creature on this planet, un ya has no fear of me. Why ya no fear me?"
Quaraun knew that he was facing the infamous black hearted King of the Faeries, himself, and were Quaraun any other Elf, he would have been trembling in fear, but Quaraun had a bad habit of being scared of things he had no reason to fear, and not fearing the things he should.
"You're a Faerie. Faeries are useless gutter trash. Scum of the Earth. Almost as bad as Demons. No one who knows anything about Faeries has any reason to fear them. They resort to illusions, pranks, and trickery. They can't hurt you if you don't eat their food."
"True. But then ya can ne'er be sure ya has no eaten Fae food."
The little Phooka walked slowly around the Elf as he spoke. As short as Quaraun was, the Phookan king was several inches shorter, barely coming up to the Elf's shoulders.
“I can rarely get this close to ya.”
“Implying you've been close to me before?”
“Mony times,” the Phooka breathed as he moved close to the Elf, stepping up on his toes and kissed Quaraun's ear. “Und so lovely ya be. This be closest I has ever been to ya. I has wanted to touch ya for so mony years. Ya has ne'er let me get this close before.”
“I've never seen you before.”
“Oh ya have. Ya just do'na knows it. I be shape shifter. I be anything. Anyone. I be mony. I try for years to get close to ya, but ya be skittish un run away, every time.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“If I were gonna kills ya, I would already has done it. I wants to fuck ya not kill ya. I is ever devoted follower. Pretty Pink JellFish, loveliest of all creatures. She went missing. To where no one knows. Rumour has it, she got implanted inside a Moon Elf. Pretty female goddess. Ruler of the galaxy. Imprisoned by the DiJinn. Escaped. Captured again. Now imprisoned inside the body of an Elf. I has done followed her for centuries. She went missing decades ago. I has mourned her loss ever since. Now I has found her again. She lives inside of yas. I worship the ground ya walks on. I always have. I always will. Before ya hads a body I could no touch. Now ya has a lovely body waiting to be fucked.”
"You think I'm the Sacred Pink JellyFish?"
"Aye."
"You're insane."
"Aye. But I loves ya still the same. Pretty little Quaraun. Yis insane yarself. Quaraun the Insane. Is that not what they calls ya?""
Quaraun did not know why, but he felt no threat from the creature and so made no move to get away, as the little Faerie pressed it's warm body close against him. Though Quaraun was a very short Elf, the Faerie was even shorter than he was and stood on the Elf's feet, then rose up on his toes to be eye level with the Elf. The Phooka was pushing his hard erection between the Elf's legs and it was arousing Quaraun, much more then he wanted to admit. Gingerly, Quaraun put his hands on the Phooka's chest and pushed him back a few inches.
“How do you know me?”
“I has hunted ya for years. Could ne'er catch ya. Then one dae I were wounded un ya saved me life.”
“I do not remember that.”
“And also I will never forget it. Nor will I fail to remember how ya saved, rescued, un protected what were left remaining o me army. I has worshiped thee faithfully for centuries un ya saved me when I could nay be saved."
"You think I'm a god?"
"Aye. Though me army does not."
“Your army?” Quaraun looked around at the motley crew of various Dark Fae, Dark Elves, Blood Elves, and undead creatures, which were gathering to watch what their leader would do to the young Moon Elf. “I have never seen your army before.”
“Ya did. In the desert of the Di'Jinn. Ya saw us. Ya fed us. And the Di'Jinn unleashed their terror upon us, ya unleashed ya terror upon them. We be indebted to ya. We'd all be dead now, were not for ya.”
“I don't know what your talking about.”
“Ya's an Elf after me own 'eart. Some dae ya will remember what ya did for the wee little ponies un when ya does, I shall be waiting for ya. Come Gibedon, we leave.”
The very old pony that Quaraun had helped, was Gwallmaiic who truly was old, going blind, and crippled. He had been slowly distancing himself from his army, letting his general take over. Gwallmaiic would not have run with the army much longer, even had they not been captured. He was too old and the others would have abandoned him and left him behind the moment he fell to the way side.
Gwallmaiic was curious to find out why the little Elf had helped him. But after meeting up with the Elf outside his village, appearing now in a Human form, Gwallmaiic realized the Elf did not recognize him as having been the pony.
Next day the Elves find a gingerbread house in the forest just outside their village and a little, old, crippled, elderly half-Elf selling candy (which is drugged).
Once a few Elves have eaten the candy, they are passing it out to other Elves and soon no one is noticing that every week 1 or 2 Elves are going missing. That they head to the gingerbread house to buy candy and never come back out.
Quaraun, being a wizard, can see through the Faerie's illusion and sees the gingerbread house for what it really is, but none of the other Elves believe him when he tells them, and the Phooka just laughs at Quaraun's attempts to warn the others a Phooka is in their village.
Though Quaraun continued to argue with her, Bealuna was finally able to drag the Moon Elf out of his tower and into the village. A few minutes later Quaraun found himself on the other side of the village, on the outskirts of the Frozen Forest, standing in front of a house made of gingerbread. A front path made of chocolate pebbles and trees and bushes made of lollipops and cotton candy.
"It's not real," Quaraun said the BeaLuna.
“What do you mean it's not real?”
“It's not real.”
"No? Looks real. Tastes real too."
"Tastes?"
"Yeah, most everybody in the village has taken a bite out of his house. I did too."
"Why?"
"It's made out of gingerbread."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"It's not it's... it's ghastly... it's horrible... it's made out of..."
"It's gingerbread. It's meant to be eaten. What else do you do with a gingerbread house?"
"Do you see a gingerbread house?"
"Yes, don't you?"
"I... no... It's not..."
Quaraun was very disturbed by what he saw verses what BeaLuna and the rest of the village saw. While the others saw a gingerbread house, Quaraun saw the ruined remains of an ancient castle, long ago destroyed, and built out of bones. Piles of crumbling grey stones, were littered around the edges. All around the house, where BeaLuna and the others saw trees dripping with lollipops, Quaraun saw monstrous dead oak trees, heavy laden with poison apricots, and dripping with blood. The trees were not trees, but Fae beasts with red eyes and sharp fangs. All around the ruins, grew dead roses and bramble vines, thick with thorns, also oozing blood.
The chocolate stones were the heads and skulls of hundreds of dead Elves, their eyes gouged out. Every bit of the house dripped in fresh blood. The bone structure was lashed together with entrails.
A purplish black miasma mist hovered like a dense fog all around the evil place. Quaraun knew immediately that the mist was toxic and had drugged the others. Powerful dark magic was controlling this strange place that had appeared at the edge of their village. He looked back into the village. The mist was wafting low along the streets, drifting into shops and houses. Everyone was infected.
"He's not a candy maker, he's Necromancer," Quaraun muttered under his breath as he reached out to touch one of the bloody apricots. "Apricots don't grow on oak trees... or bleed Elf blood."
Quaraun quickly withdrew his hand from the apricot. It was cold. Colder then cold. The icy void of death wafted from it.
"It's a Lich's frost."
BeaLuna was still yapping happily on about gingerbread and candy. Several young Elflings from the village were gathered around the gingerbread house, breaking pieces off of it and eating it. Quaraun felt sick. He could see the reality behind the illusion. He knew that what they were eaten, was not gingerbread, and he knew that powerful dark magic was entrancing the villagers.
"Faeries," Quaraun whispered to himself.
"What?" BeaLuna asked.
"Faeries."
"Where?"
"Here!" Quaraun pointed to the horrific bloody building, but all BeaLuna saw was gingerbread. Like the others, she too had already eaten a piece of the house and was caught up in the spell.
"It's an illusion. You're all drugged by Fae food."
"You're talking crazy again Quaraun.”
“Think about it. It's a gingerbread house. It's impossible. You can't build a real house out of gingerbread."
"Quaraun, I hate to disagree with you, but there it is. Big as life. A real live gingerbread house. Here, try some of it?"
"Why are you eating it?"
"Why not?"
"When did it get here?"
"A few weeks ago. It just showed up one night. Kind of just fell out of the sky and landed here. Not long after you arrived actually. In fact, the next day I think."
"And you don't think that's strange? Houses don't fall out of the sky."
"We did at first, but I don't know. It kind of grows on you."
"But it's not real."
"No? Me house is no real, eh? Pray do tell just how me dwelling absolutely no is real," asked a heavily accented Scottish voice behind him. "How does one tell iffy house be real or even no, eh?"
"I'm a wizard," Quaraun said, not looking to see who had spoken. He was too busy staring at the house and trying to determine what type of Faeries could be causing such a strong spell that it had over taken everyone in the village. "I can see through illusions."
"No mony wizards be able to see that which can absolutely no be seen."
"I have the gift of Faerie Sight... that's not a real gingerbread house it's a Faerie glimm..."
"Yis be the Moon Elf's wizard, eh?"
"Yes," Quaraun continued staring at the house. "I'm the only wizard around here. Wizardry is illegal in these parts. If you're not a Guild member they'll hang you or behead you or both. Terribly regulated. My father's the younger brother of the king, it's the only reason they allow it with me. It's the only thing I'm good at."
"Ya like me house?"
"There is no house, it's nothing but..."
Quaraun turned to see a strange looking half-Elf standing incredibly uncomfortably close to him. Had the creature been a little taller, they would have hit noses. The incredible closeness with which the creature had come to him, without his realizing he was there, caught Quaraun off guard. No one was able to get close to him. He picked up on anyone entering his personal space, before they could get within several feet of him.
A feeling of dread ran through Quaraun, as he realized, only an extremely powerful wizard could have broken through his barrier undetected like this. Quaraun took several steps back. He stared at the little creature, trying to see through it's glimmer spell, but the magic around the creature was too strong, and Quaraun saw partly what the creature wanted him to see and partly what he really was.
What Quaraun saw looked like a pure white albino Moon Elf, with massive frizzy clouds of snow white afro dreadlocks, small thin black almond shaped eyes with no colour and no whites, several dozen rows of long pointy piranha-like fangs protruding over his lips, and fearsome razor sharp gleaming black eagle talons 4 inches long on the tip of every finger. He was dressed in a long chocolate brown velvet cassock with tiny red buttons resembling red hot candies, down the front, and white piped trim around the edges. He looked like a tiny snow monster wearing a gingerbread man costume.
"It's worse then Faeries, Hags, and Liches combine," Quaraun muttered to himself. "It's a Phooka."
"I be worse then Fae? What be?" BoomFuzzy asked.
"You're a trickster. I can sense it. I know you."
"If wishes were horses we'd'll ride unicorns."
"What?"
"Ye wished for a horny horse."
"No I didn't."
"Aye, ya actually did. For ya is a DiJinn un right here I be."
“I did not wish for you.”
“Yis a Di'Jinn. Granting wishes be exactly what ya do.”
"When did I wish for you?"
"Not more then an hour ago. Ye wished for someone to seize yar wee little problem away."
"Did you make a wish, Quaraun?" BeaLuna asked.
"I..."
"You're a Di'Jinn, you know better then to go around wishing for stuff. You make wishes happen, but with consequences."
Quaraun ignored the Gnome and addressed the candy making Necromancer.
"I didn't wish for you or that grisly pile of rotted flesh, muscles, and bones."
"Pile of bones. My, my. Exactly how is ya be seeing that?"
"The gingerbread house is not real. It's a pile of bones. A hut made of dead Elves. You're an Elf eating Phooka and I didn't wish for you."
"A wish once granted can'na be undoed," BoomFuzzy warned.
"I didn't wish for you."
"Quaraun, what did you wish for exactly?" BeaLuna asked.
"Among various other t'ings him did wish for ye to close shut ya wee lil trap."
"What?"
"Does ya remember what exactly ye wished for, me wee little Elf?"
Quaraun, stood very silent. He couldn't remember what he had said.
"What ye precise exact words and phrases were? How ye worded ye wish, that ye now finds yeself granted with?"
Quaraun sighed and shook his head. He remembered what he'd wished for and he knew immediately who this was, but he didn't want to admit it.
"Ah, ya remembers, eh?"
"What?" BeaLuna looked back and forth between Quaraun and the grinning candy maker.
"The soldiers were saying this morning, the Elf Eater of Pepper Valley was seen in the area. I wished he would come here and eat my father and everyone who hurt me."
No longer able to mass slaughter Elf villages without his army, the Elf Eater has changed tactics but is still eating Elves.
On multiple occasions he witnesses the Elves making sport of bullying the little Elf whom had rescued him. He thinks nothing of it at fist, but begins to realize why the Elf had been alone that day, and begins to feel pity for the Elf, remembering his own childhood.
Phookas and Aswang are not known for their skills as parents. Children are often seen as competition for food and may be killed by parents or older siblings. As a child Gwallmaiic had fallen ill. The clan moved with the weather, and with winter coming on, they packed up and moved to warmer climate. The young Phooka had had trouble keeping up. Slowly he fell behind his family, but was still in the caravan, but soon he fell to the end, and before long was trailing far behind, desperately trying to catch up to his tribe, begging for on of the adults to help him. Burning up with fever, the young boy collapsed from exhaustion and when he woke up, he was still lying in the road and the tribe was gone. They'd left him behind, because he had not been strong enough to keep up.
Gwallmaiic was only a small child, 5 or 6 years old. Still very sick, and now terrified and on his own, the young boy followed the road for days hoping to be reunited with his clan, but they were gone. For weeks he wandered aimlessly, not knowing where they had gone, and finally winter arrived, with it's frigid sub zero winds and endless blizzards. The snow was waist deep and the boy could travel no more. Lost, cold, and alone, the abandoned child somehow survived the winter, but the experience made him mean, angry, bitter. Had his family not abandoned him, he likely would not have grown up to become the tyrant warlord who slaughtered all the Kings in the Realm of Fae and crowned himself King of Fae.
As he watched the other Elves beating up the little Elf, anger burned in his heart, for he remembered how his own tribe had treated him, and thus he identified with the little abused Elf and began to feel pity for him.
One day a blizzard hits the village hard, and Quaraun is chased out into it by the bullies. He stumbles around lost until he finds the gingerbread house and goes inside to wait out the storm. The Elf Eater, now using the name BoomFuzzy, has just killed an Elf so no reason to kill another, and recognizes this as the Elf that had saved his life, so spends the night talking with the Elf and realizes the Elf is sad, lonely, and has no friends. He starts thinking "I know the feeling, I'm alone now too." He ends up inviting the Elf to sleep in his bed to keep warm, as the blizzard is frigid cold.
"Look at dat lack of a sunrise!" BoomFuzzy exclaimed as he looked out the window.
"What are you so cheerful about?" BeaLuna asked.
"I spent de night cumming on me favourite Elf."
"I didn't want to know that."
"Ya dragon sack of twinkies dragging me kiwis across yar face!"
"Why do you talk like that?"
"We should be two hours into daylight un it is as black as midnight out dere. I loves me blizzards!"
"You love blizzards? Are you crazy?"
"Aye, I is, I fucking out ta me gourd, but dat beside de point. I ai'na doing dis one. Dat be real snow un ya really trapped wid me now. Dis really be me favourite weader - I do'na live where I live for nay liking snow, ya knows! Haha! I used to live wid Christmas Elves."
BeaLuna turned to Quaraun and said: "He's crazy."
"I know."
"He's absolutely off his rocker."
"That's why I like him, BeaLuna."
BoomFuzzy ran for the front door, opened it and stood staring up at the sky.
"It be right on top of us," cried BoomFuzzy as he watched the snowflakes blowing outside. "We be stuck in here for de duration, now. Listen to de trees! I wish I could see it. Not crazy enough to step out into de forest un look - de winds."
BoomFuzzy closed the door.
"I should nay has opened door, now I be fucking freezin' cold."
"Yes," agreed BeaLuna. "And of course - living in an gingerbread house, on the bottom of a mountain, in a storm like this - you really got hope these winds don't lift the whole "house" off the ground. In case you hadn't noticed, the walls are shaking like there's a mob out there tearing your candy frosting off. Is it safe to be in this thing during a storm like this?"
"Well, no turning back now," said BoomFuzzy as he turned back to the room. "Ya try to leave to get to some ot'er shelter, ya will freeze to death before ya get a foot away from de front door. Like it or no, we is stuck in here for de duration, now."
"I can't believe I'm trapped in freaking gingerbread house, with two crazy Elves, during the biggest blizzard to hit us in 50 years."
"Well, at least ya will nay starve to death. Plenty of house to eet."
"You're crazy, BoomFuzzy. Who lives in an edible house?"
"I does. Un I fucking loves it."
And that therefore brings us to the worst possible crime that could be committed in Moon Elf society: Sexual Relations with non-Elves. Or even to have sex with an Elf that is any race of Elf other then a Moon Elf.
The Moon Elves believe (without proof or evidence) that they are the purest, most god-like, of any being in all creation, by virtue of their being the whitest skinned, whitest haired species or race known to exist. They are a race of Elves made up entirely of albinos. While every one knows the High Elves are known for being a little odd and are prone to delusional arrogant self images of grandeur, the Moon Elves in particular, take this to levels that go beyond insanity. The most fanatical extremists of all the aristocratic High Elves, Moon Elves glorify their whiter then white pure whiteness taking their white Elf pure blooded superiority to levels of the utmost extreme, to the point that they kill at birth all none albino babies, and then turn on the mother accusing her of having bedded with a non-Moon Elf. If a Moon Elf toddler starts acting emotional or not Elf-like, the father will kill the child, claiming it was a Faerie Changeling, then kill the mother claiming she was an adulteress who bedded with a Faerie.
The actual crime was not "adultery" but rather "muddying the blood" or taking a risk at creating a half-Elf. Moon Elves claim to have the purest, most direct bloodline to god, and to defile the purity of their divine blood is the worst sin that can be committed.
In the case of Quaraun, he was caught in bed with a what they thought was a half-Elf/half-Faerie. Even though the Fae was a male and no chance of creating a half-Elf from two males bedding together, this did not matter. All that mattered was Quaraun was a Moon Elf and the person in his bed with him was not, the non-Elf's gender was not taken into consideration. Also not taken into consideration was the time, place, or conditions... it was a blizzard, the two had become trapped in a storm, they had slept huddled together to keep warm through the storm. They had not had sex and were just sleeping together because it was a very cold winter night. But there was no explaining this to an angry mob, because one was a Moon Elf and the other a Faerie and that was the only thing anyone saw.
The Faerie escaped the mob, and fled to the forest, not realizing what was about to be done to the Elf else he would have stayed to prevent it, but he was unfamiliar with Moon Elf ways. Quaraun was dragged out of bed, stripped naked, dragged through the street by horse, taken to a tree at the center of the village, hung upside down by his ankles, and left there for 5 days while the villagers threw rocks at him, hit him, beat him with sticks, cut him with knives, etc. His own father took a knife and mutilated his genitals leaving him nearly castrated, then sliced his belly open pulling his entrails out of him. When it became obvious Quaraun was near death, they took him down, dragged him out into the forest, near where an Elf Eating Phooka had been sighted, and used him as bait in a trap to try to catch the beast.
Unknown to the Moon Elves is what type of Fae it had been, that they had found in bed with Quaraun. What they saw was a little old man, a tiny half Elf half Faerie, whom they likely assumed to be a Leprechaun or FarDarrig. That they were setting up a Phooka trap, nearly at the front door of the old candy maker's gingerbread house, was completely overlooked by them.
Quaraun survived as the Faerie returned, emerging from his gingerbread house to see what it was the Elves were doing in his front yard... the mob by that point (it had been 5 days) was calmed down quite a bit and only a few of them were still at it. When the old crippled little Half-Elf toddled out of his gingerbread house, limping along on a seemingly lame leg, looking like harmless Phooka bait himself, he asked the Moon Elves what they were doing, they explained to him "We're catching a Phooka, go back to your candy shop, we'll deal with you later."
To which the tiny old man replied "What if the Phooka you seek loves the Elf you've used for bait and is unhappy with how you've treated his lover?"
The Elves started laughing, but the old man, being a shapeshifter, melted away to reveal he was in fact King Gwallmaiic, the demonic black Unicorn they were trying to catch, King of the Faeries and the Elf Eater himself. Before the Elves had time to react, the Elf Eating Phooka slaughtered the Elves in the mob, turned into a giant fire breathing Friesian stallion and trampled them under his hooves, then eat them and galloped off laughing hysterically with their heads skewered on his horn.
Never trust a Unicorn - their innocence is a facade.
Or little old men with gingerbread houses - as no one who was not evil, ever lived in a gingerbread house.
(This scene comes from the novel titled "BoomFuzzy" btw.)
Quaraun would have died from his injuries that day, but the Faerie King used Fae magic to put the wounded Elf in a RipVanWinkle-coma-like sleep which lasted for several months, while he tended to the Elf's wounds. As it turned out, the Faerie King was not as evil as rumours said he was and the Phooka had great compassion for any wounded beast he encountered, and even though he normally ate Elves, was appalled by the way the Elf had been treated by his own kin.
When Quaraun woke up after the spell was lifted, he thought it was only minutes later and that the mob was still after him, not realizing his attackers were dead. He was traumatized out of his mind, so mentally deranged with fear that he was unable to function in society any more (thus why he became called "Quaraun the Insane").
The Faerie King, seeing that the poor Elf would never be able to return to Elf society, and realizing that it was his fault this had happened to the Elf, and remembering that this was the same Elf that had saved his life, kept the now insane Elf as his pet/lover, thus the accusation that had been false, became true after the fact.
BeaLuna had always been meet with disdain by the haughty Moon Elves, but never like this before. Something was wrong and she knew it. She feared it. She never felt fear walking through the streets of the Moon Elf village before, but now she did.
At the palace, things were not any better. Few Elves acknowledged her existence, most acting as though she were not there. Any friend of Quaraun's was not welcomed in the village right now, any his Fae friends even less so.
BeaLuna felt uneasy and puzzled as she made her way through the Moon Elf village to the palace.
"Quaraun is not here," the king told the Gnome when she inquired to his whereabouts.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. And I don't think any one around here really cares."
"What happened? Why is everyone acting so... strange?"
"We have laws, BeaLuna and Quaraun has been breaking a lot of them. I like Quaraun. I always have and I indulged him, allowed him the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Personally, I don't really care about many of the ancient laws, nor do I enforce them. However, my brother does and most of the village supports my brother's way of thinking, not mine. They decided that Quaraun had broken too many of the ancient laws and it was high time someone taught him a lesson and made an example of him to prevent others from following in his footsteps, so they took the law into their own hands."
"What do you mean? What did they do?"
"Public execution., by long and slow torture."
"Execution? Is he dead?"
"He was still alive last time I saw him. In a pitiful state, badly injured. They stoned him, beat him, tortured him, castrated him, I'm told the old candy maker broke it up, killed several of the villagers, and took Quaraun with him. Poor Quaraun. I'm not even sure he's still alive. I can no longer feel his bond to the village. Whatever bond he had to the community is gone. There is no more psychic connection between him and us, which means either he's dead, or his mind and soul are seriously broken. I tried to stop them, but a king has no power against an angry mob. When I last saw my nephew, he was in very bad shape, bones broken, flesh mutilated, skin ripped off, gaping wounds ripped through his body. If he lives, I doubt he'll ever fully recover. Poor thing. He would have made a good king. He was just and fair with everyone, didn't judge people by their race or social standing, he had a chance to go free and let someone else take his place, but he would not allow an innocent to take his punishment for him, we needed a king like him. If he does live and I die and he takes my throne, the people will never listen to him now. The kingdom will fall into anarchy upon my death."
"If Quaraun's with BoomFuzzy, did BoomFuzzy leave the village?"
"Not as far as I know."
"You said, you didn't..."
"BoomFuzzy has put a curse on the village."
"Has anyone gone to the gingerbread house to find out if they're there?"
The king gave a small nervous smile, one that suggested great fear.
"BoomFuzzy is a Phooka. An Elf Eater from Pepper Valley and a Necromancer. Likely King Gwallmaiic himself."
"Quaraun has actually said that to me on multiple occasions, but that doesn't answer my question."
"Whatever spell BoomFuzzy put on the villagers when he arrived, is broken, or changed."
"Meaning?"
"It's not a gingerbread house that sits at the edge of the forest any more."
BoomFuzzy shut down the candy store and spent his days trying to calm the increasingly erratic and deeply traumatized Elf. A vast barrier went up around the gingerbread house and try as they did, no one could get near BoomFuzzy's yard, as monstrous sharp fanged plants, sprouting bloodthirsty blossoms grew around the yard, snapping up and swallowing whole any Elf that got within reach.
The house itself came alive, no longer a gingerbread house, but now a vast flesh eating, grey stone mansion, it's windows glowing red eyes, it's door snarling, snapping jaws, it's bleeding walls crumbling and flattening any Elf foolish enough to get close. Tall towering pine trees uprooted themselves and thundered around the edge of the forest, stepping on and crushing like ants, any Elf they saw.
The Moon Elves shrunk back from the Frozen Forest in terror as they realized the horrifying truth, that a Phooka had taken up residence in their midsts and the only reason he was not killing every one of them because he was too busy taking care of the dying Di'Jinn wizard.
BoomFuzzy took care of the wounded Elf, remembering that no one had been their for him, when his tribe abandoned him and left him to die. He could not bear the thought of seeing someone else suffer as he had done, alone, abandoned, unloved, unwanted, cast out, and left behind. He identified with the poor wounded Elf, knowing the mental anguish of having no one care if he lived or died.
Gwallmaiic had not intended on keeping the Elf, but when Quaraun woke up deranged, terrified, and clearly with far more then just his body broken, but his mind and soul broken as well, the old Phooka could not bear to leave the Elf alone, knowing he'd not survive. Gwallmaiic had survived on his own, because he'd been raised by vicious fighters. He had known how to survive. But Quaraun was a weak little Elf who'd never done anything but grow roses and eat candy and now he was too terrified to do even that.
Since then Quaraun became afraid to sleep, going days on end refusing to sleep and sleeping only when he finally collapses from exhaustion. At which point his Phookan lover watches over him and protects him. Quaraun suffers from serious PTSD, and though he is himself an Elf, he now has a phobia of Elves and avoids contact with them, becoming a wandering vagabond wizard, living on the run, always fearing another mob is just around the corner waiting to kill him. He was deeply traumatized. He walks a dozen or more miles every day, obsessively unable to stop walking, for fear if he does, he'll be attacked again. The Phooka never leaves his side, going with him wherever he travels.
Most Elves do not survive an ordeal like this. Quaraun is one of the few known, to have not been killed by this method. Many said, that due to his mental state after, it would have been better had he not lived through the punishment, as his quality of life had been reduced to his being terrified to be alive and always running from shadows, frightened out of his mind of every sight and sound that passes near him.
"I had infection," Unicorn said to GhoulSpawn. "I dead now."
"Is that how you died?" GhoulSpawn asked the Phooka.
"Aye. Knife wound in belly. Took infection. Pain was unbearable. Grew worse every day. There was no cure. Killed meself to stop the pain. Did no recon on crazy lil Elf resurrecting me."
"He loves you."
"Aye. I know he does. I does na know why. I is evil."
"Does love need a reason? He saw something in you no one else did. I don't think you're evil Unicorn. I don't think you ever were. I think you were hurt. You felt unloved. You reacted badly to that. Finding out someone loved you, changed you. He's been good for you. You've changed just since I've know you two."
"I know. Him ain't good for much, but him good for that. I is evil. Him love me any ways. Never understood that."
"You're not evil, Unicorn."
"I has murdered millions."
"In life. Centuries ago. But you don't any more. You take care of sick little Elf now. You know not a lot of people would do that. Most people would just leave him to die."
"Not a lot of people could put up with hims annoying whinny, bitchiness."
"There's that too."
"Yis a very a non-judgmental person, eh?"
"I'm a half-Elf. And half-Demon. I got judged a lot. I learned not to judge others. It hurts to be judged. I try not to cause that pain in others. Unicorn... you need to careful with him. You're rough with him. He's not in good health, even when he's not complaining."
"Is ya our GhoulSpawn?"
"Yes. I'm your GhoulSpawn. Except I'm not actually from here, remember? I'm not from your dimension at all. And the 1980s is where I should be, not back here in the 1400s with you. My mother was from here. But my father was interdimemsional demon. But I've been back and forth in time now. I've seen him in other times. Future times. Past times. He's frailer then he wants people to know. Hysterical, annoying, whinny, and bitchy, but...that's kind of because he's scared of everything. He's not as a crazy as he acts. Being loud and overly crazy seems to get people to back off and that's what he wants. He wants people to back off. He doesn't like people calling him insane, but at the same time, the crazier people think he is, the less they bother him, so he tends to act crazier on purpose. I started realizing that, when I realized he acts very different in public then he does when he's alone with just his family. He hasn't got much strength to defend himself with and he really doesn't like using magic. He avoids it usually. He's frail and weak and he scared of being hurt. That's why he acts like this. Of course, at the same time he is crazy. He's just not as crazy as most people think he is. Not yet."
"Not yet?"
"I've seen a future, where he... I'm not sure what happened to him. But he's ... not quite himself any more. I don't know how far into the future it is. But he gets hurt. Really bad. It changes him. Makes him mean. Scared and mean as a defensive measure. He's no longer hysterical yelling to keep people back. He gets violent. Starts hurting people. Not out of hate, but out of fear. I don't know what happened, but he was really scared. Too scared. Protect him. Don't let him get that scared."
"Him can get so hysterical."
"I've seen that."
"Nah, ya has not. Ya has no idea how bad he can get. Ya does nay live with us. Ya sees him here un there. Not all the time."
"I've seen him enough that I could imagine how much worse he gets."
"I am with him all day. No break. I need a holiday from him once in a while."
"You're overwhelmed."
"Overwhelmed? Aye. Him a handful. I does no understand how one lil Elf can be so hard to take care of. I never took care of no one before. Taking care of him is like taken care of whole army, if every solider was high on drugs un running around crazy all at once."
"Don't you keep him on drugs?"
"Aye."
"Is that not making it worse?"
"Oh no. Makes it better. Drugs I give him, calm him. Opium mellows him out. It only time I get to rest. Him keyed up now on account of, we ain't got no opium, so him being himself now. No more mellowed out hysterics. Just plan old over the top hysterics."
"Is he that much of a handful?"
"Aye. I just wish he would stop walking. He will no stop. He walk for days on end without sleep. Walk until he collapses. All me life I never encountered any one like him."
~Scene from City of the Slushies Chapter 7
So, yeah, that's how I took a cold blooded killer who hates Elves and turned him into a relatable character who took on an Elf as his lover.
Not sure if you could do something like that for your characters or not.
The evil/mean/hateful one gets injured/hurt/captured and the one he hates rescues him, them later he sees his rescuer hurt and returns the favour resulting in their getting talking and getting to know each other and start to identify with each other realizing they've both suffered losses, and so a friendship forms out of that.
What you have done with your character is shown them as evil, vengeful, pitiless, and not worthy of your readers compassion. This is what it takes to be a villain. Your character must be so revolting that no one, not even you readers, could ever love her.
However, that is only one side of her. Now that you've convinced your readers, she's a worthless, cold hearted piece of shit that your readers can't wait to see slaughtered by the hero...
... all of a sudden you make something really bad happen to the big bad meanie. The readers is cheering you on: "Yes! The bitch is gonna get what's coming to her! Kill the fucking, murderous bitch!"
And then you pull a fast one on your readers and get inside the evil bitch queen's head, and show the reader what she's feeling... her confusion and fear... suddenly they see she's not the big bad bitch they thought she was. She's nothing but a frightened little girl. Well, now you are pulling on their heart strings, because they know she's the evil bitch but they can't help but feel sorry for her. She's thinking about all the horrible things that happened. The reader is crying along with her now. Remembering the horror of her family dying. Now they start the feel pity for her, realizing she's been through hell. No more are they cheering her defeat, now they start cheering her triumph, going: "I know what it's like! I've been there too. Go get 'em!"
At the same time, your hero comes in and sees this side as well. He sees her not as a monster but as someone who he can identify with. Now that she's been cut down, he can see her as a comrade, as someone not quite as over the top big bad evil as he at first had seen her to be. He starts to care about her, and takes this opportunity, while she's down, to help her.
At first she just takes her chance and leaves, but as the days go by, she's thinking about the boy who helped her and wondering: "Why? Why did he do it? Why would someone like him, help someone like me? Maybe the Humans all bad after all. Maybe he's different. I can't stand this. I have to know. Why did he help me. I gotta go back. I gotta find him. I have to know why he didn't kill me like the rest of those shit head bastard Humans would have done."
Now she goes back and, what does she find? His own people have turned on him, now it's her turn to help him and repay the favour. She helps him, they both escape. Now what? They get to talking, get to know each other, realize that each is not as bad as the other had at first thought. Love blossoms. And your Human hater now finds herself in love with a Human.
Well, that's what I did with the story of BoomFuzzy to bring an Elf hater into a romance with an Elf. Not sure how that set up would work in your story, but it's one way to go with it at least.
Good luck with it.
Where to find more info Elf culture, Elf society, Elf ethics, and the Elven way of life:
- What makes an Elf an Elf?
- Moon Elves - Albinism in The Quaraun Series.
- How To Write Hot Sex - Video Interview On Elf Sex Lives
- On Writing A Clinically Insane Character Accurately, While Avoiding The Psychopath Stereotype
- Wizards vs Witches vs Sorcerers: How are they different?
- FAQs About Quaraun
- Psychedelics In A 'High' High Fantasy World (High Elves Getting High)
- High, High Elves: Elves on Opium | Drug Use
- Writing Horror That Features Violence Against Children
- Spell-casting Side Effects of Magic
- Child Sacrifice in Fantasy Novels
- Meet the Characters - Who is GhoulSpawn
- Marriage in Moon Elf Culture
On Writing The Quaraun Series
World-Building In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Weird-Building In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Building A Magic System In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
- Wizards vs Witches vs Sorcerers: How are they different?
- Magic Systems and How to Build Them
- Necromancy: How will resurrection affect society as a whole?
- Spell-casting Side Effects of Magic
- Necromancy FAQ - A Real Necromancer Compares Fantasy Necromancy With The Reality
- Colour Magic - Gypsy Style
- Beware of White Men In Gypsy Clothing: Fake Psychic Scams
- Child Sacrifice in Fantasy Novels
Plotting & Writing Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
- Ernest Hemingway Style of Writing Literary Fiction Used In Epic Fantasy Novels
- Do you write a novel start-to-finish?
- Ideas, Ideas, Ideas (Where Do You Get Them?)
- Should I plan for ending or just keep writing?
- NaNoWriMo Overachievers: How did you do it?
- How Long is 50,000 Words?
- Why Write 50,000 Words In 30 Days?
- How long does it take to hit 1667 words?
- Average Typing Speed
Character Creation In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Writing Sex In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Disabled Characters In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Drug Use In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
Horror In Bizzaro Dark High Fantasy Yaoi
This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
All Rights Reserved.
Note: there are likely spelling errors on this site, and I am unlikely to see the ... I fix them when I find them, but, there are many issues here...
Note: English is not my first language, Shetlean Scottish is my native language, there are likly spelling and grammar errors, as I do not know American English and am attempting to write it by sounding words out.
Many times that Americans think a word on my site is misspelled, often it is not misspelled, it is just I mixed up languages and wrote it in Scottish without realizing I mixed the Scottish in with the English. Also our grammar is somewhat reversed from English grammar so words that are seeming in the wrong order for American English, is usually because they are in the correct order for Scottish and I either put English words in Scottish order by mistake or was unaware English put them in a different order then Scottish does.
For those unaware, Scottish Shetlean looks like this:
American English to Scottish:
a bit (piece) = a party --- EXAMPLE: "And some know a bit of Latin " > "And somme kan of latyn a party "
a long distance from = A piece fae
a piece of = the bit --- EXAMPLE: "The duck ate a piece of bread " > "The deuk ett the bit breid "
about the banks (on the shore/at the beach) = aboot da banks
accomplishments = kunnandi
After = Back o --- EXAMPLE: " After Halloween" > "Back o Hallomas "
alive (living) = kvikr
Always on the move = Never aff o da go
am I not = amn't I --- EXAMPLE: "Am I not invited? " > "I amn't invited? or Amn't I invited?"
are = is --- EXAMPLE: "Are you going soon?" > "Is ya to be going soon?"
autumn = dah haihst
belong to = fylgja
best = bettah moost
betray (verb) = svíkja
bewildered = villhyggjandi
building = biggin up --- EXAMPLE: "building confidence in everyday use " > " biggin up confidence in ivvryday øs "
built = builded --- EXAMPLE: "He built a new porch." > "Hims builded a new porch."
cast a spell = hoodooed
cat = kat (sounds like "caught") --- EXAMPLE: "Is it an orange cat?" > "Be he a o'jinn kat?"
child = bairn
church = kirk
color = colour
danger = hœttr
daren't = darena
daring = djarfr
dark = dökk
dark elf = Dökkálfr
dark-elves = Døkkálfar
darker = dökká
do you agree = ,eh? --- EXAMPLE: "That's a fine looking woman, do you agree?" > "Dair's ah right bonnie lass, eh?"
do you want to come too = ,eh? --- EXAMPLE: "I'm going to the store, do you want to come with me?" > "Me go to shope, eh?"
each = eche --- EXAMPLE: "Which each person can understand " > "That kan eche man understonde "
educated = lered --- EXAMPLE: "Both among the educated and the uneducated " > "As wel among lered as lewed "
elf = Alfr
Elf = Álfr
Elf Home = Álfheimr
Elf World = Álfheimr
elf-advice = Ælfred
elf-beautiful = ælfscyne
elf-friend = Ælfwine
elf-guardian (female) = Ælfwaru
elf-guardian (male) = Ælfweard
elf-powerful = Ælfric
everyday = ivvryday
eyelids = eye ledes --- EXAMPLE: "He closed his eyelids." > "Hims did shut hims eye ledes"
fair = faire --- EXAMPLE: "Going to the fair." > "Done gone went to the faire."
feild = felde --- EXAMPLE: "Standing in the feild." > "Stoodt in thems felde."
further = ferther --- EXAMPLE: "I looked further." > "I dids lokid ferther."
green = grene --- EXAMPLE: "Look at the green hedges and woods." > "Look see at thems heigges and holtz so grene."
handsome = braw --- EXAMPLE: "He is very handsome " > "Him wicked braw "
have faith = trúa
Have no doubts about our doing it = Nae faer o wis
Have no liking for this. = Hae nae brou o this.
have not = ain't
He knows how many beans make five. = He kens the laid frae the croun o the causey.
He knows which side his bread is buttered on. = He kens whilk side his bannock's buttert on.
Head for = Mak wye for
head rope in fishing nets and lines = baak
head to head = Be at the knag and the widdie
horse fly = klegsie
I = Me
I Think = Me thinks --- EXAMPLE: "I think we're late. " > "Me thinks that we is late. "
I wish you well for the future = Lang may yer lum reek (translation: Long may your chimney smoke)
idiot = eejit --- EXAMPLE: "You idiot." > "Ya eejit."
idiot = numpty
if = iffy or yif--- EXAMPLE: "If you don't mind..." > "Iffy yas does no care mind...."; "If you'll stay with me long enough = "Yif ye so longe with me wil dwelle". "
I'll be even with you = A'll see day aboot wi ye
know = ken
looked = lokid
looked = lokid --- EXAMPLE: "I looked up." > "I lifte up me eye ledes and lokid ferther."
magic = hoodoo
naked = nøkkviðr
needle = bodkin
neither = nouther --- EXAMPLE: "Who know neither Latin nor French " > "That kan nouther latyn ne frensch "
No = Nay --- EXAMPLE: "No, I don't think so. " > "Nay, me thinks not. "
Nobody knew = not-knew nobody
Noontide = Da heicht o da day
NOTE: Extra words are often added. --- EXAMPLE: "Did you meet the new family next door?" > "Dids ya gets a chance to stop by and meets with thems new folk that move-ed in down yawn there next doors to ya, eh?"
NOTE: Extra words are often added. --- EXAMPLE: "He went to Rite-Aid to pick up his prescription" > "Hims did go to that yawn there new fangled store the new folks call that Rite Aid place, to gets himself some of thems there pills what the doctor gone and tells him to take each morning, a-yep, hims did."
old = olde --- EXAMPLE: "But educated and uneducated, old and young " > "Bot lered and lewed olde and yonge "
orange = o'jinn
out = oot --- EXAMPLE: "The cat wants to go out." > "The kat he do wants oot."
outside = oot dair
people = fokk --- EXAMPLE: "the people of Shetland " > "Shetland fokk "
people = folke --- EXAMPLE: "Look at all those people." > "Lookie at all thems folke."
poorly = febelly --- EXAMPLE: "Who know French very poorly " > "That kan frensch ful febelly "
Recognising = Recognisin --- EXAMPLE: "Recognising the bilingual nature of Shaetlan speakers " > "Recognisin da wye at Shaetlan spaekers is bilingual "
shield = skjoldr
Since = For --- EXAMPLE: "Since that is your native language " > "For that is youre kynde langage "
tell = telle --- EXAMPLE: "I'll tell you in English " > "In englysch tonge I schal you telle "
the = da, de, or is not used at all --- EXAMPLE: "I went to the store" > "Me goes to da shoppe" or "Me goes to da shoppe" or "Me goes to shoppe"
them = dem, dem dair --- EXAMPLE: "I went with them" > "Me goes wit dem dair"
there = dair --- EXAMPLE: "I want those potatoes" > "Me be wanting dem dair tatetas."
they = dey
To where = whither --- EXAMPLE: ""Where you go, I will go." " > ""Whither thou goest, I'll go."
understand = understonde
understand = understonden --- EXAMPLE: "Some understand English " > "And somme understonden englysch "
very = wicked --- EXAMPLE: "very good" > "wicked good"; "very bad" > "wicked bad"; "very cold" > "wicked cold"
Where = Whither --- EXAMPLE: "Where is the restroom? " > "Whither is the privy?"
Yes = Yea or Aye --- EXAMPLE: "Yes, I think so. " > "Yea, me thinks so. " or "Aye, me thinks so. "
For anyone actually interested in learning my native language, the Scottish government has THIS listed as the official dictionary of our people: https://static1.squarespace.com/static/61d7352954b7fd1c9dbdfef4/t/65ddb2749d5e0541a01009c0/1709027964496/Spaektionary_2024feb.pdf
The Scottish government provides this document to show our language in use: https://www.shetland.uhi.ac.uk/t4-media/one-web/uhi-shetland-images-and-documents/documents-/shaetlan/Shaetlan-Language-Plan-2022-Shaetlan.pdf
More information about our language can be found on this website: https://www.iheardee.com which is written in my native language.
However, there is also other reasons why words might be misspelled, or why I might not understand someone when they speak to me.
My grandmother Helen Ricker Allen, was from Unst, Shetland, Scotland, and she the one who raised me. She taught me to read and write, but it was Shetlain that she taught me. She died when I was 8 years old, and I was locked in a woodshed after her furneral, I escaped the woodshed 27 years later at age 31, and have been trying to learn how to speak and write English since then.
It is a very great struggle.
At age 37 I took remidial reading and speaking classes at Southern Maine Community College, but we are Gypsies and Gypsy men do not allow us Gypsy women to have education, and so, while at college, on November 14, 2013, I was beaten with a golf club, while I was 8 months pregnet, breaking my spine, hips, and knees, killing my baby and leaving me quardepaleic since.
Now my primary focus these past 13 years has been on relearning to use my hand so I could type... as of 2023, I have regained the use of my right thumb, and first two right fingers, and after 10 years offline, I am back online due to I can use three finguers.
I never went to school, so I do not know maths and numbers and sciences, and I do not know what else would have been taught to me in school. We are Scottish Gypsies and Gypsy culture does not allow females to go to school. Being born female was already a great sin, but my grandmother took great risk in teaching me reading and writing. At 4 years old I was punished by my Uncle Bruce for knowing how to read, by being beaten in the face with a cinder block brick, that broke my right jaw and left me with garbaled near-mute spoken words ever since.
Because no one ever spoke words to be face to face from he time I was 8 years old until I was 37 years old (I escaped the room at age 27, but did not start college until 37), I have no training in how to vocally sound out or speak the words I write or read. I can read words, but I do not know how to sound out or say those words. I can write words, but I do not know how to match the written word against the spoken word. I struggle to associate spoken words at all, or make them match up with writen words.
Esentially, written words and spoken words are two completly seperate languages in my brain, and I have difficulty understanding spoken words.
If you say a sentance to me with your mouth, chances are very high I will have ZERO understanding of what you said and I will not be able to ander you.
However, if you WRITE down that exact same sentabnce, I can understand you and can type a written responce to you.
My doctors tell me this is a side effect of extreme isolation and neglect and lack of human contact during my toddler, childhood, teen, and young adult years, and that my brain never deveoloped to comprehend spoken vocal words due to no one ever speaking to me in over three decades of the first half of my life.
While I can read and write, American English (somewhat) I do no know how words are sounded out, what they are supposed to sound like. I readand write by shape recognition, not by sound/vocal recognition, so when reading and writing I do no "hear the words in my head" as I am told most people do when they read and write. In other words... I see "c a t" and think "c-a-t" I do not think "cat" nor do I "see" an image of a cat, no do I "hear" the word cat spoken. I'm told that this is very rare and that most people read and write by sounding out the words and linking them to visual mind images, while hearing the sound of the word in their head. I neiher hear words in my head no see images of things in my head. I'm told this is what makes me both a speed reader and speed writer, because I'm not tripped up by hear sounds or seeing images in my head like nomal people would be doing... however, I'm also told this is why my spelling and grammar are very poor, because my brain is not hear the sounds of the words or seeing visual images of the objects the words represent, so my mind also does not register spelling and grammer errors at all.
As I was only let out of the woodshed on Sundays to go to the Cape Elezabeth Ward Church of the August Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I was never allowed to go to school or hospital either. No adults ever talked to me because I was evil for comitted the sin of being born female, so I never learned how to speak properly and do not know how to sound out words to say them.
I was 42 years old, in 2016 when, while having an MRI for my spine, the doctors found out my speak issue was caused by a broken jaw as a toddler that was healed wrong because not being allowed to go to doctors. I had surgury to fix that, and since 2016 have been trying to learn how to use my jaw and touge so I can speak vocal words now.
Since 2023 my primary focus shifted to relearning to walk. I can now, in 2026, sit up for 2 or 3 hours a day, and can sand with a cane for a few minutes, and can walk for around five thousand feet in 2 to 3 segments a day, with the help of pushing my wheelchair like a walker.
As of 2026, with a slight return to using my fingers and legs, I am once again focused on trying to learn the American English, but I live in mortal fear of my uncles and male cousins, as they are so hateful of allowing me to have education.
have no one to help me to know if I am doing words correctly, and as such, I have no way of knowing if there are spelling and grammar errors, but I asume there are, and I fix them when I learn them, but I do not know what I do not know and spelling American words is a thing I do bnot know.
I have Low Fucntioning Kanner's Syndrom, also known as "RainMan Type of Autism" aka REAL and ACTUAL Autism, not to be confused with Aspergers, High Functioning Autism, or and of thr 861 illnesses on the Autism Spectrum. An Autism Spectrum Disorder is an illness that has symptoms similar to Autism but IS NOT Autism. If you have an Autism Spectrum Disorder, it LITERALLY MEANS you do NOT have Autism.
I am medically diagnosed as "kanner's syndrome, actual autism, the rainman type, profoundly retarded autistic savant, with a general IQ of 73, and an writing IQ of 221" but they added that they did not know how to properly diagnose me as I am "technically a feral child" and they don't know "how much is the autism, and how much is simple horrific levels of abuse and neglect induced post traumatic stress disorder that will go away with proper socilization".
It means I know how to write, I can write a lot, and it is next to impossible for you to teach me how to do literally anythig else because my brain only knows how to write and doesn;t know how to do anything else..
There's a reason, when I do book signings, people are quick to say: "Okay, what's the joke? why is this stupid retard here? where's the real author? I know this retard isn't the author. where are you hiding the author, why is this fucking retard here"
The end result is, I have near zero social interaction... my 3 years in college was the ONLY face to face interaction I have ever had with humans in my entire life, and I struggle deeply to understand MOST words used by MOST people when they ask me question. And so I suffer from a huge lack of understanding many words people say to me, how to translate those words into spelling, and how to translate what it is that has been said.
The fact remains hat until there exists a human on this planet who is willing to sit down and teach me what words spoken line up with and match what words written, this deficent is unlily to improve. But the fact also remains, that I am simply far too profoundly retarded for anyone to even try to make any attempt at all even to speak a friendly "hgelloe" or "good morning" when passing me on the street, so I have lost all hope of anyone ever either being my friend, being willing to teach me how to match spoken words to written words, or how to speak to other humans.
While there are around 20k pages on this website, most of them are blocked from search engines, with only around 800 of them available for appearing in Google/Bing/etc search results. The remainder can only be accessed via the various links found throughout this site. This was done deliberately on my part, and I did it because the bulk of the pages on this website are chapters from 138 novels and 423 novellas, so only the first page of each novel and novella indexed by search engines, and the remainder are linked in order, one page at a time, via clicking "next page" at the end of each. So if you are looking for a specific page from a specific novel, Google can't help you.
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Thank you for stopping by and have a nice day! ꧁✨🌸🔮🦄🔮🌸✨꧂ And if it’s your birthday today: ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐꧁ᴴᵃᵖᵖʸ☆ᵇⁱʳᵗʰᵈᵃʸ꧂🤍🎀🧸🌷🍭 |
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Get an email whenever Wendy Christine Allen 🌸💖🦄 aka EelKat 🧿💛🔮👻 publishes on Medium.
I also write on these locations: | Amazon | Ao3 | Blogger | GumRoad | Medium | Notd | OnlyFans | Tumblr | Vocal |
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.
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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.
Important:
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There are no ebook editions as they are already available digitally here on my website.
If you encounter a page which asks for a password, no, you can not request access. There are over 2k pages of this website set to password access, due to the ongoing FBI investigation into my son's murder. If you are a police officer authorized access these pages but do not have the passwords, let me know, I will deliver the passwords to the specific pages you are allowed to access, to you via the Portland FBI office and you can pick them up from the FBI agent in charge of the murder investigation.
Pages where you can find out more information on that:
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Wendy Christine Allen, Old Orchard Beach's Autistic Author, Artist, Illustrator, & Art Car Designer Counting Down to the 2028 50th Anniversary of my first published book (September 23, 1978) Yes, I am aware there are a lot of spelling errors on this site. No, I likely will not be fixing most of them. I have been quadriplegia/paralyzed arms and legs since November 14, 2013; As of 2026, I have regained use of two fully functional fingers on my right hand, and only stiff limited movement of all remained eight fingers. This causes most of the typos and spelling errors as my near-dead pinky and ring fingers tend to drag over the other letters on the keyboard. Attempts to correct errors, often causes more errors for the same reason. Much of my writing is also speech to text, but I have "profound low functioning, non-verbal kanner's syndrome aka autism aka the rainman type" (that is what the medical diagnosis called it), I have the medically diagnosed retarded type of autism, that medical doctors mean when they say "real and actual autism", I do not have the cool trend self diagnoses tiktok type of "autism". What this means is, in spite of five decades of trying, I have very limited vocal speaking abilities and a lower then average vocabulary, that leaves my speaking ability around the level of a 4 or 5 year old child; I do not know math or money or clocks and. I also, was raised by a Shetland Scottish Grandmother (Helen Ricker Allen) until her death when I was 8 years old, and she did not speak American, she spoke Shetland/Scottish, Shetlandic, which is a Nordic language, different from Scotts Language, not related to Gaelic which is what many Scottish speak, and while classified as a type of Scottish English is is considered "Olde medieval Norse" dialect of Scottish English and spoken by fewer then two thousand people as of 2026. It is the language of Scottish Travelling Gypsies, which is what we racial are. I was 31 years old first time I ever heard American English, and only started to learn American English at 42 years old. Right now in 2026 at 51 years old, I am able to speak American English on around the level of an 8 year old child, and greatly do not understand over 90% of American words, American slang, and American media references. What this means is, OFTEN words you think are spellt wrong (like color vs colour, or traveling vs travelling, are in fact NOT spelt wrong, because I use Scottish spellings) and often when I hear an American word, I spell it phonetically because I do not know the correct American spelling. Likewise we Scottish do not have words like my or your, and so say me and you, in places where Americans would say my and your. I also use Scottish word meanings, not American word meanings, for example Unicorn means a blood thirsty flesheating shapeshifting sea creature that comes on land and pretends to be a wounded horse to lure in humans to eat, it can only be captured by a virgin. But when I say Unicorn, a word I frequently use, because I write Unicorn folkloric short stories... I find that most Americans connect Unicorns to children's cartoons, gay pride, or swinging sex lives... I struggle to understand who in their right mind thought the most bloodthirsty monster of Scotland folklore was good fodder for children's cartoons or "sex positive" mascots, me thinks Americans need to brush up on the lore of Unicorns using their horns as sword to stabbed people's eyes out, while gallopping through swamps with rows of bloody Human heads hanging from their backs via braids made of Human entrails... really, why did Americans thinks a monster like a Unicorn was fit for children's cartoons or sex positivity? Americans is weird. All this to say... speech to text software, struggles badly with my thick Shetland accent, my slurred Autism speech impediment, and causes additional misspellings and typos because it can not figure out what words I am trying to say. And while I could take the time time to run all of it through a spell checker, that does require better hand mobility then I have, to copy the text from one program to the next and manually click each word, with finger mobility that I simply do not have, but also, most of my time is spent in trying to relearn to walk, and if you are local, you've probably seen this as I'm a stubborn bitch who refused to accept the doctor disnosis that I will never walk again, so, I walk around the block every day pushing my wheelchair, refusing to sit in my wheelchair, and... ...it's taking me 13 years to do it, but, I'm not actually able to stand up and make it all the way around the block now, and my focus on trying to relearn to walk is far more important to me, then catering to your pampered arse by fixing spelling errors, when there are far bigger problems to worry about in life, the spelling errors made by a quadriplegic who is typing this with her only two functioning fingers. Also, in recent years, I've watched the internet devolve into a mindless clusterfuck of ChatGPT written everything. Everyone sounds the same online these days, because no writes their own work anymore. Every website out there has become a carbon copy of each other, because they are all be written by ChatGPT now. I think ChatGPT makes a funny thing to chat with in your spare time, so you can laugh at the hilarity of how inaccurate it's responses are... but I am horrified that people are using AI for serious writing, writing they publish and try to pass off as their own. We live in a society where people people are forgetting how write. Heck I can read and write cursive, calligraphy, italic, short hand, and editor's marks, also edit my books by hand diagraming every sentence, and that... start walking around your neighbourhood and ask anyone under 30 if they sentence diagraming IS, let alone how to do it. So yes, I CAN spell check, and no I don't, for anything but my novels and short story collections, I spell check when it matters... and this is a website, not a printed book... but also, I am just getting so damn fucking fed up with endless AI writing online, so, no, I'm not going to fix errors and typos on my website, and you can bitch about that all you want (yes, I do get your messages, I just don't answer anyone in private) but, honey, maybe instead of bitching over my spelling errors, be thankful is still at least one website on the internet that still being written by a Human now in 2026 when ChatGPT writes over 70% of all posts online. |
Looking for my annual NaNoWriMo Prompts and Dares? I've been publishing these every year since 2004!
 The Park Bench Method of Writing The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane: Paperpacks & Hardcover Editions on Amazon:
Not sure what the series is about? Check out and Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post and Worldbuilding MoonQuakes and Disabled Characters for Fantasy Writers and How well do I know Quaraun? - Let's find out! to find out more about the plot and lore of the series. Not sure which story to start with? These here are good places to start, to get a good introduction to the three main characters:
Or if after reading those, you still are looking for more free to read stories, there are over three thousand of them on this site, too many to list here, but here a few dozen to get you started... ...you can just jump in and try reading some of the free to read online stories first before committing to buying the books:
Hmmm... soooo... I was making the above list to ALL the links to EVERY Quaraun story published on my website here, and adding it into the footer of my site, here as you can see, which loads on every page, and then I realized... wait... there are over two thousand Pink Necromancer stories up free to read on my website, I can't put two thousand links on every single page! Whoops! LOL! So, now I'm putting list to ALL the links to EVERY Quaraun story published on my website here on this page instead and just link that page to the footer instead. But also I'll just leave some of the links in the footer, as you can see above.
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This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
All Rights Reserved.
The Space Dock 13 WebRing
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Yes, this website (founded in 1996) is old enough to have WebRings on it, and they are still in use.
Don't know what a WebRing is?
They were how we webmasters used to get traffic to our websites before the invention of search engines (aka before Jeeves, DogPile, Yahoo. Google, Bing, or the rest existed). In their simplest form a WebRing is an html code that rotates link displays. In their more advanced form they are java scripts that give random results. Each ring had three active links titled "Previous", "Random", and "Next", clicking any of the 3 links would take you to the next website in the ring.
Web Rings are the REASON the internet was called "the world wide web". To use them, each webmaster submitted their site to the ring, a single code held 100 websites, and codes could be stacked to hold 100 code sets (or 10,000 links to 10,000 websites), each web master in the list, would then place the code in the footer of their website.
This created the SPIDER WEB that was the literal WEB OF LINKS that gave the internet it's name "World Wide Web" and is WHY websites are CALLED "web sites". And technically, your site is not a WEB site unless it is connected to a WEBRing, likewise you technically are not a WEBMaster if you do not build WEBrings links for you WEBsite to connect to the WEB.
Unfortunately, most knowledge of WebRings, and whi sites were called WEBsites and sites on the WEB were called the World Wide Web, vanished from the internet in 2014 when the official WebRing.org company who managed 90%+ of the internet's WebRings went out of business after the infamous Google Panda 2013 bot attack that delisted ALL websites from the Google Index if they contained a WebRing of links to other websites in it's footer.
And while most sites abandoned the use of WebRing Codes on their sites, Space Dock 13 did not. The Space Dock 13 WebRing remains active, now 28 years after it's creation. Over the decades however, one by one all the other websites in the ring have gone off line, and as they did, I replaced the url with a link to a page of my own website (as this is a java code - it updated on every website without the others needing to change anything). Today in 2026, eelkat.com is the last remaining website in the ring, and now all 10k links go only to pages on eelkat.com, no longer sending you to other websites.
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The Park Bench Method of Writing
IMPORTANT NOTE:
There are no ebook editions as they are already available digitally here on my website.
Want even more writing prompts?
Do you have information about my son's murder and need the FBI contact information:
If you have any information about my son’s murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322
If anyone contacts you saying 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, is for sale, know that they are lying to you... it is my land, and it has been in my family since 1531... and the ONLY person whom has EVER gone around saying it is for sale, is a woman who the FBI believes to be the same woman who murdered my son.
My son is buried here, and the FBI believes she is trying to buy my land in order to destroy his grave and destroy evidence of his murder.
Since my son's murder November 14, 2013, every year dozens of real estate agent show up all with a story of a female developer who is offering them MILLIONS of dollars for my lot of land that is only 1/4 of an acre and is not big enough to develop.
When shown police sketches of my son's murderer, the real estate agents say "Yes, that's the woman who hired me to buy 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine", but then the woman disappears and the real estate agents never hear from her again... all contact information she gave them turns out to be fake.
The woman who murdered my son, is DESPERATELY trying to buy 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine... this is the woman to watch out for... and this is what she did:
Looking to find out more about my son's murder, that information is on these pages:
Answering the questions:
Can you give me links to the news reports of your son's murder?
and
Why can't I find any news reports about this?
Maine has well over a thousand murder cases that have never been in the news.
I found this out after my son was murdered November 2013, and a year later I found out it had never been in the news, even though I was hounded for weeks by news people. I went to each of the over a dozen TV stations and newspapers whom had showed up at the hospital and asked why they had never published any report after all the trouble they had gone through to (in some cases illegally) het into the hospital to interview me.
in every case they said some version of "well, it just wasn't news worthy, there was nothing we could use to get views". Really? These were big news stations, channel 13, 6, 8, Portland Press Herald, Bangor Daily...
What exactly was it they claimed was "not news worthy"?
I'll tell you.
On November 14, 2013, my son was murdered. At Southern Maine Community College in the parking lot of The Buglight Art Studio beside the Spring Point Lighthouse.
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.
Oh yeah, and I've been quadriplegic for 13 years.
oh yeah one more thing, same trio, they also found out where i lived in Old Orchard Beach and drove a backhoe over my house as well.
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146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine... July 4, 2013 vs August 8, 2013 |
I have been homeless and quadriplegic for 13 years, and right now it's just a few weeks away from both my son's 14th birthday and the 14th anniversary of the day he was murdered, both of which happened the same day.
Explain to me what about any of that is "not newsworthy"?
I did find out WHY it was deemed not newsworthy. "it would negatively impact tourism" was their reason. The College at Fort Prebble is a tourist destination. The lighthouse at the college is a tourist destination. My house on Portland ave is situated on the primary road to the beach that is a tourist destination.
The news reporters explained to me that, they risked losing their jobs if they publicised "negative news" occurring in these sorts of tourist destination spots.
My son's murder wasn't in the news, because it might cause tourists to stop visiting that lighthouse. That was the reason the reporters gave me.
How often are there things not being reported on just so businesses don't lose tourist money?
How often does this happen? A lot, I've since found out. In trying to find other mothers of murdered children to interact with... I found five others JUST in Old Orchard Beach, whom the murders were not in the news, and all of them happened after my son's murder. I found 2 such mothers in Scarbourogh, their children's murders not in the news. I found over a dozen more in the Bar Harbore area, also all not in the news.
It's a very disturbing trend here in Maine, one that I never would have found out about had my own son not been murdered.
One thing's very clear: in Maine you can get away with murdering a child, if you do it in a big tourist location, because news stations REFUSE to report any crime occurring in tourist locations.
Fuck torists.
I don't give a shit about your precious tourist money.
My son was murdered and I want his killer found... and I am VERY displeased with the deplorable way news stations try to bury child murders in Maine, just to appease tourist funded businesses.
And if you're one of those lunatic jackass bullshitting alien abduction UFO freaks, looking for haunted cars, Stephen King, cryptids, or EBEs, first off, you can go fuck yourselves. I am so damned sick of you conspiracy brained motherfuckers harassing my family and turning my son's murder case into a circus of you psycho deranged bullshit. Here's some pages for you:
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