Raven Lynn Brown
The Story of a mind traveller, the places she helps create, and the folk she meets along the way.
“She’s going to write a novel, She’s going to write a novel.” announced the small germ of an idea waiting to take form, dancing excitedly through the author”s mind, moving so quickly, it threatened to shake lose of her imagination before it even had a chance to be resolved into something more…..
“Analise“, answered to pile of crumpled papers and deleted files “We’ve heard it all before…..”
“But Grandmother, this time I think she really means it.” answered the thought, as she slowly began to take shape.
“She always really means it.” grumbled all the good ideas and neglected bits of pieces of information and half formed characters that haunted the halls of the sketch work castle they’d laughingly dubbed “The Work in Progress”
“But….But…” stuttered Analise nervously, wanting to defend the traveller, and wanting, to encourage her as well, though all the same knowing what they all knew. “I really, really, think, she might do it his time.”
“What’s that you say?” asked Grandma Libris, as she leaned forward, drawing her tatter shawl around her as she took a closer look at the elfin form that only a few moments before had been a fleeting thought.
“I said, I believe, no, not believe” she added, straightening her body into gesture of bold defiance, “I know, she is going to do it this time.”
“Has she named it yet?” asked the wise old bird, noting as she asked, that even as she did, everything was beginning to feel, just a bit more real.
To which the wee one answered, in voice filled with pride, “Sheridan Lynn, Mind Traveller”
“Uhmmm” the old one pondered it a while and then conceded “Well at least she’s seems to be writing what she knows, though wanderer, might be more accurate, than traveller, still….”
“Yes, Yes,” responded the child, with hopeful enthusiasm.
“You know” added Libris sternly, “She’s going to need a lot of help.
“I know, I know”, agreed Analise with a smile that seemed as big as she was.
“Well. then you’d better get to it!” The Grandmother commanded, a smile washing through her ancient eyes, then watched as her quickly growing Grandchild, danced off to catch her writers ear.
“Maybe, just maybe, this time,” she turned, to address the spectral court, “she will finally make us real.