Code Compliance


29 June 2017

To the Dark Forest Code Compliance Office,
I am sending this letter in reference to the numerous notices and fees I have received from your office concerning  the overgrown condition of my yard.
Firstly, let me remind you of the past accolades my yard and home have earned.
• The Yummiest Yard Award presented in May 2014, 2015, and 2016 by the Little Gnomes Society.
• The Delectable Décor Honor presented in August 2014 and April 2016 by The Munchkin League of Fairytale Land
• The Stripes are Scrumptious Medal presented in June 2014, 2015, and March 2016 by The Fairies for Equality Foundation.
• The Editable Construction Certificate presented for the year of 2016 by King Phillip –himself!
As you can see, I am not in the habit of letting my property fall into ruin. Maintaining a gingerbread house is a full time investment. However, because of the debilitating injuries I suffered in an unfortunate incident earlier this year, I’ve had no choice but to fall behind on the maintenance of my estate.
Surely, you read about the incident in the Princess Daily Press. Although the article was extremely one-sided, making me out to be some kind of monster, I’m sure you’ll be reassured once you hear my side of it.
It was in early May when I found two children nibbling away at the siding of my home. Of course, I felt sorry for the poor dears. They were obviously very hungry, so I invited them inside. If only I knew what was to come.
Once inside my home, the boy, Hansel, went into a frenzy, eating and licking everything in sight. I thought the boy foolish with hunger so I placed him in an enclosure to save the integrity of my home. I instructed his sister, Gretel, to assist me in whipping together a batch of my famous chocolate chip butter cookies. Sure, the children ate the cookies without complaint, but when I insisted Gretel help tidy up the preparation mess, she threw a huge temper tantrum. I explained the concept of cleaning up after oneself but there was no calming the child. – I blame the parents –
Seeing I would get no help from the children, I went about cleaning the oven myself. It wasn’t until I felt the firm push that I realized my mistake. Those horrible, ungrateful, evil children had pushed me in and closed the door. Consequently, I suffered major injuries. I spent weeks in the hospital and am still recovering. Thus, all of this has hindered me from keeping up my home.
I should hope you understand. I am asking for the full dismissal of the accumulated warnings and fees your Code Compliance Officer, Miss Priss has nailed to my front door. And, compensation for the damage said officer has caused to the door with said nails. Thank you.
Awaiting Action,
The Witch in the Gingerbread House on Canetree Lane

P.S. I was sorry to hear of Hansel and Gretel’s recent disappearances in the paper. I’m sure they’ll turn up.
P.P.S. Please extend an invitation to Code Compliance Officer, Miss Priss. I invite her to come to my house for milk and cookies. She knows where I live.


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First Draft’s Promise

First Draft’s Promise

by J. Rae Moore castle_in_the_clouds_by_mad_computer_user-d4o967e

I thought of this while reading the first draft of my new paranormal manuscript. I know it will be something special – eventually.


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Babies in the Woods

The pale moon’s light barely penetrated the forest’s thick canopy as a woman darted between the trees. Her feet pounded the trail as she sprinted, giving percussion to the woodland’s nighttime whispers. Garbed in cape and cowl, the only visible part of the woman’s body were her hands, which were wrapped around a tiny bundle she had cradled against her chest.

Her footfalls came to an abrupt stop as she approached a rim of trees surrounding a meadow. There, she stood for a moment, surveying the clearing. The moonlight shined brightly here, its rays exaggerating the variances between light and shadow.

The woman tiptoed to a cluster of flat boulders spread out in the center of the meadow. Her gaze slid across the edges of the clearing before she laid down the bundle on top of one of the stones.

A tiny coo sounded from the blanket.emigramps2011

The woman jabbed a toe against the side of the bundle and an infant’s cry filled the air.

With a hard yank the woman removed the hood from her head, tilted her head up toward the bright night sky, and shouted, “I call your con.” She looked back down at the crying baby at her feet. “Now fetch mine back,” she said, her voice low and threatening, “or befall faes’ curse.”

She gave the baby a solid kick, which shocked the infant into a momentary silence, then marched out of the meadow. She disappeared into the tree line headed in the direction she’d come.

The baby caught its breath and resumed wailing. The blanket around it fell free as the child pathetically writhed upon the rock, now bare to the air’s nocturnal chill. Its crying continued until the moon slipped passed its nightly summit, only then quieting to a soft snivel.

On the other side of the meadow, the undergrowth shook and a badger-sized creature slunk from the foliage. It lifted a pointed nose and sniffed the air before silently creeping across the grass toward the child. The shadows of the boulders hid the creature until it stood upright to study the squalling baby.

Fur covered the creature’s bent back and haunches while its head, limbs, and protruding belly were hairless. Its face was man-like but for its overly pointed features and the sharp angles that toiled over its surface.

A short but cautious climb brought the creature up even with the babe. Its thin lips pulled back from a set of serrated teeth and a low growl rumbled through its chest as it gazed down at the child’s tender flesh. With one of its jagged claws, it snagged the blanket and brought it to its nose for a smell. Then, it turned its eyes back on the baby.

The baby let out a gentle sigh and a hiccup as it gazed back. It let out another soft coo before its body began to vibrate.

The creature took a timid step backward as the baby’s features began to morph. Short, chubby arms and legs stretched into long, scrawny ones. Its round cheeks deflated and pulled back tightly across a sharp terrain of bone and cartilage. Soon, another creature, similar to the other in stature and appearance, stood where the baby once lay.

The first creature squinted at the second. “Say, Fornk,” it said, its words dripping each syllable as if they were wrapped in mucus, “ya back so soon?”

“Leaves me alone, Shnives,” Fornk, the one that had been the baby, snarled in answer. He shoved the other creature away, stomped to the edge of the rock, and jumped down onto the grass.

The first creature, Shnives, followed, hopping off the boulder and landing next to Fornk.

Fornk growled before he began stomping across the meadow toward the tree line. “The mortal called con. There’s nothing we cans do now.”

“Whats gaves ya away this time? Huh, Fornk? Huh?” Shnives asked, trailing behind Fornk.

“My’s eyes.” Fornk glanced up at the moon. Its light flashed a yellow glow against his retinas. “It’s always the eyes.”

“Let’s keeps hims though anyway-the wee one that is,” Shnives said. “Besides, I likes hims loads better than I likes ya already anyhows.”

With a grunt, Fornk spun on the other creature. “You knows we can’ts do thats, Shnives,” he said, poking him in the chest. “She called con. Remembers? Now we must fetches her back the wee one or we faces the faes’ curse.”

Shnives’ head drooped. “But I loves hims.”

“And I loved hers—the mother,” Fornk said, his shoulders slumping. “Almost hads me somes forever kin at last.” He wiped a long-fingered hand down his face before turning back around and continuing toward the woods. “But it’s law. If we don’ts follows the law we turns mortals. Nobodies wants that. We must returns the wee one to the mother.”

Shnives followed, kicking at the ground as he went. “Whats does we do-es after thats, Fornk?”

“We snatches us another wee one,” Fornk answered, his tone low and sad. He stepped from the meadow and under the comfortable cover of the ancient forest, Shnives close behind him.

“And if thats one calls con?”

“We snatches us another. You knows this, Shnives. We ares changelings. That’s whats we do-es.”


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Just keep writing


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Sharp, Focused, and Deadly


With 2016 almost in the books, I am looking at 2017 with new focus.

My writing goal for the year of is to complete first drafts for books five and six of my series. I’ve tapped out loads of words in the past few months – completing the first book of a second series this December – and I want to ride this wave while it’s still swelling. Of course, this goal will need to be accommodating to any work that comes my way regarding my first book. My agent; Hubert O’ Hearn of Four Freedoms Publishing is working to get it assigned with a publisher. Any revisions for that novel will take priority over everything else on my desk as they come.

I am also looking forward to writing several short stories, both independent and in parallel to the novel series. I am currently working on is a twenty-five hundred word story that sends one of my novel characters into a minotaur’s maze. I have several more ideas for shorts, but they’re still floating.

As for you, my friends and readers, I hope that 2017 will bring you joy, fortune, and the fulfillment of many accomplishments. Stay sharp, be focused, and meet your challenges with a deadly intensity.

Sincerely, J. Rae Moore

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The World Runs on Stories

The World Runs on Stories

The world runs on stories. Watch television. It could be the five o’ clock news, a sitcom, or children-round-globepestalozzi_animateda movie—they’re all stories. Listen to the radio. The lyrics to the songs, a Dj’s repartee, and the advertisements you’ll hear are all stories. Every single second you spend on social media, you’re bombarded with them—stories on which celebrity did what, on which team beat which team, or what juncture each of your friends are at in their life. Blogs, advice columns, rant rooms—there’s no escaping them. Even after you click off that electronic device, stories are everywhere—in jokes told, in gossip spread, in simple conversation, or even within our own minds. We are a world of many cultures united in the enjoyment a good story can bring.

And who brings all these stories to life? A writer, of course. Without writing, where would we be? Word of mouth is only trustworthy for so long before it stretches and bends into something else. History is only solid when it is written down. That story bouncing around in your head won’t stay there forever. It needs to be written.

While we, as people, crave stories as a world in whole, as individuals, we each seek out stories as diverse as we are. From fiction to nonfiction, romance to politics, fantasy to historical, there are all kinds of readers out there. So also, does there need to be writers ready to provide it them.

Still, most writers have doubted the sanity of writing at one point or another. Some question the worth and value of their works. Others routinely feel guilty about the time they spend scratching on paper or tapping keys. Then there are those who view the time they put into writing as self-indulgent. And, most writers worry that there are other, more important things they should be doing with their time.

Such drivel!



Writing matters because the world needs stories.

So, writers, do not doubt the worth of your work. When you find yourself questioning the sanity of spending hours on end putting down words, remember that the world runs on stories: big and small. Whether it’s happy, sad, fantastically bizarre, written to upset the status quo, funny, or comforting, your story will be written in the unique way that only you can write it.haveafantasticday

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