Another top review from Bitten By Books. Reviewer Lyda has sunk her teeth into The Enchanted Faerie and likes what she tastes.
As Good As Gold by Heidi Wessman Kneale
A gold hunter has a surprise homecoming when a young woman steals some cursed gold from him to pay for a chance at finding love - now if he can just find that woman. This story was definitely one of the better ones in the anthology. It not only met the expectations for a story, but it also had a bit more depth and meaning that gave it more significance.
The Beltane Faerie of Fate by Holly Greenfield
Shaw has known Calinda all his life. When she is left to be the leader of her clan, she may need his help, she stubbornly refuses. Shaw enlists the aide of a gypsy to maybe, somehow, possibly, show Calinda some reason. This is the other story in the anthology that is definitely more notable and memorable. To put it simply, they chose a good story with which to end the book.
The other day my daughter wrested a cake from my hoarding hands and threw it out. The cake had been given to me by her old flatmate who was a (insert fancy name for fancy pastry chef here) and taught said subject at a career college. It was a fruit cake - traditionally made, complete with brandy soak, marzipan and icing, rosebuds - you know... the kind of thing that somebody plonks a bride and groom doll on top and the wedding planner charges 4,000% of basic cost on top of.
Over the course of a year it lived in my microwave so the ants wouldn't attack it. I picked off a lot of the roses and decorations, and it was a nuisance to have to unload it out of the microwave before I could cook anything but...
I hoard therefore I am.
Yes I hoard. Mea Culpa - a sin for the confessional in which I am sure the priest would give me four Hail Mary's and one Our Father for breaching the 11th commandment:
Thou shalt not hoard.
I have no problem generally with the ten commandments, but you see, the trouble is that Thou shalt not hoard is rarely mentioned.
But ironically this comandment inadvertently made me commit the first one. The biggie. Thou shalt not kill. You see the darn cake was discovered by an ant scout. The word went out and the ant brigade invaded my house and my microwave.
It was like some awful scene out of a horror swarm movie, drunken ants soaked in the juices of a dousing of brandy the microwave looked like it was about to be hijacked.
Wall to wall ants didn't last too long under the onslaught of my can of ant spray. My kitchen tidy became a mass grave for dead ants.
My daughter is on constant alert. She's tossed out any cans dated before 1709 in my pantry. Gone through my freezer and thrown out the Barramundi dated 1968. And I'm too scared to leave the fort in case she comes and tries to throw out my pile of RWA newsletters in the still to be read pile.
I have a theory about hoarders. My mother wasn't. My father used to say, coming to my sister and my own house felt like coming home, because they were always full of my mother's unwanted junk. We are both full-blown hoarders. So my daughter grew up in a clutter environment and isn't a hoarder. If it hasn't been used for six months out it goes. Shauna's kids are the same.
Are you a hoarder? Is my theory sound? I have a friend whose house is so uncluttered you long to see whether it's all in the cupboards and would kill you if you open a door. But then,