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About Literature / Professional Mary T. Whipple28/Female/United States Recent Activity
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A Venom Vice: Ch. 7
    I rested my elbow on the arm of my throne and leaned my chin in my palm, my free hand fiddling with the kerchief in my lap. Rosalind and I sat alone on the top tier of the second stand of seats for nobility. Instead of cushioned bench seats like the rest, our tier had just two throne’s and two lesser chairs. Neither throne was anywhere near as elaborate as those back at the castle, just simple wood, squared at the top without any fancy filigree or carving. Rosalind sat to my right but the throne to my left remained empty. Father had not yet arrived and there were whisperings that he’d been detained by important business.
    Merdwick’s seat had remained empty as well. I had also been annoyed to find that no seat had been provided for my jester. It was apparently assumed that he would not be in attendance because his function as my entertainer would be moot at such an event. In fact, I had not seen J
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A Venom Vice: Chapter 1 + Prologues
The Pre-Prologue:
    The king looked down at the shrieking red creature wriggling in his arms. The creature responsible for the death of his wife.
            “It’s a girl, Your Majesty,” said the midwife. Her voice was flat and exhausted. There was no congratulation in her tone.
            The queen’s corpse was still laid out on the bed, unstopped blood pooling around her lifeless body. A wet cloth was draped across her forehead. Her damp brown hair was plastered across her face and pillow. The white chemise she wore clung to her, sticky with sweat.
            She’d never loved him. He knew that. While she’d never rebuffed his advances, she also never made any pretense of enjoying them. But that had never stopped him from craving her touch. And now she was
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A Venom Vice Deleted Scene: Mourning
    A proclamation was sent throughout the Four Kingdoms that it was to be a time of mourning, for the Queen of the First Kingdom had died.
    Tradition in the Third Kingdom dictated that, when mourning, everyone was to cover themselves in black robes and veil their faces. There was a day long fast in which no one was to speak, no one was to laugh to laugh, no one was to sing, run, skip, bound, jump, hop, canter, flip, flop, cartwheel, or otherwise show signs of any sort of merriment.
    Needless to say, Jack had trouble with this tradition.
    Rosalind woke me that morning with a finger pressed to her lip. She was dressed all in black but she had not yet donned her veil.
    I blinked at her and she handed me a note. I blinked at the note. She sighed and whispered in a barely audible voice.
    “The Queen of the First Kingdom has passed on.”
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Character Playlist Meme: Template by Dracawyn Character Playlist Meme: Template :icondracawyn:Dracawyn 1 0 Character Playlist Meme: Bel by Dracawyn Character Playlist Meme: Bel :icondracawyn:Dracawyn 0 1 Character Playlist Meme: Jack by Dracawyn Character Playlist Meme: Jack :icondracawyn:Dracawyn 0 1
Jack of Hearts to A Venom Vice
Jack of Hearts
    Jack In the Box
    How to begin my story…
    How does one begin any story, really? Begin at the beginning and end at the end. But where are those points? Birth and death, I suppose. But it would be rather difficult to write of either. My birth I do not recall (and I prefer not to ask details from those who do), and as I have not yet arrived at my deathbed I cannot claim to remember that either. And all the blasted details that go between those times! What a terribly long, dreary story that would be. Besides, I do not write this story for myself so much as I do for another. The most important person I have ever known.
    This is a story of dragons and knights, true love and cruelest heart break, poisons, cures, battles, magic, and the humor of destiny. But mostly, this story is about Jack.
     Ah! And there is m
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Hook option 2: The Gypsy Boy
    A ragged troupe of performers made their way into the town of Halbrid. The growing crowd of eager onlookers stunted and dispersed when it became clear there would be no performance that day. Three men argued at the front of the haggard procession. The carts and wagons, once painted colorfully, were chipped and dull. Tense whispers floated through the caravan. The only smile among them was on the face of the ten-year-old boy being guarded at the rear of the procession. His hands were bound and tethered to a small wagon that must have once been yellow.
    “I still say we shoulda just killed ‘im and left the body in the woods,” said one man wearing a floppy hat with a tattered feather, “let ‘im get et by wolves or elves or whateversuch wanders ‘round about here.”
    “Elves don’t eat people, do they?” asked the youngest of the three men. He could have been little mo
:icondracawyn:Dracawyn 1 12
Hook Option 1: Death of the Queen
    The king looked down at the shrieking red creature that wriggled in his arms. The creature responsible for the death of his wife.
     “It’s a girl, Your Majesty,” said the midwife. Her voice was flat and exhausted. There was no congratulations in her tone.
    The queen’s corpse was still laid out on the bed, unstopped blood pooling around her lifeless body. A wet cloth was still draped across her forehead. Her damp brown hair was plastered across her face and pillow. The white chemise she wore clung to her, sticky with sweat.
    She’d never loved him. He knew that. While she’d never rebuffed his advances, she also never made any pretense of enjoying them. But that had never stopped him from craving her touch. And now she was dead. Still without producing a suitable male heir. A final snub to his affection.
    The queen’s lady in waiting stood beside the bed.
:icondracawyn:Dracawyn 1 3
No Escape
Rubies graced her fingers and lips.
The bright silk of her crimson dress turned dark
By the dew of the garden’s grass.
Her slippers turned thick by the moist earth.
Her mask turned blindfold by her tears.
The darkness turned prison around her.
“No escape, my love.”
Within, the masque went on without her.
A violin screamed briefly above the beguiling music,
Victim to a novice’s too proud hand.
A man of blurring shades of black and white
Danced against the wind that clawed
The warmth free of her blood.
“No escape, my love.”
He sang to her as he grasped her arms,
The heat of his fists doing naught to
Protect her from the cold.
“No escape.”
Ruby stained the emerald grass.
In the distance, an owl caught a wayward dove
That ought not to have flown at night.
“No escape.”
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Punjab Lasso
    “I heard that the play is actually really boring…”
            These words are forever etched into the insides of my skull as though with a rusty nail. I have heard girls say this, and things like it, many times. Each time stoking the flames of my ire and malice until little tendrils of heat begin to pour out my eyeballs and fumes of smoke burst from my ears.
            But perhaps I should back-track.
            I love The Phantom of the Opera. No. You don’t understand. LOVE. My mother has always been a fantastic singer and actress and both my parents are highly in support of the arts. In fact, they met in their high school drama class. I was conceived during a time when my mother was taking intense acting lessons and playing a minor role in a low budget film whose t
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A Wise hand holds one Young, unsure,
A hand unknowing how to endure.
The wise hand comforts, strengthens, lifts
Giving insights, love, and gifts.
The Young hand trembles,
The Wise stays sure
As the Young one reaches for a door,
One of many it could choose,
So afraid of what it may lose.
The Wise hand gives the Young a squeeze,
Imparting strength before it leaves.
Showing faith of Young, undeserving
Hands of a weakness so unnerving.
The Wise hand releases the one so Young,
The one that would have gladly clung
Forever to its Mother’s grace
Never leaving that strong embrace
But the Wise hand knows the Young must grow,
That to learn, it must go.
So they part, but never will
These hands forget the love they feel.
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Red Riding Hood
Ritta had once vowed never to return to the woods. As a child she had played there, gathering wild flowers and tromping off to Grandmother’s for goodies. Grandmother had been greatly intrigued by the mysteries of those dark woods ever since they had taken her husband. She had built a house in their depths in the hopes of gaining an understanding of them. In Ritta’s village, it was rumored that she was a witch. When Ritta was such a young girl she found that more… intriguing than frightening. It gave her a feeling that she was immune to the darkness. If her Grandmother was truly a powerful witch she would be able to protect little Ritta from the evils of the forest.
The day that brought disillusionment was alarming indeed…
Connor had watched Ritta from the time she had blossomed into womanhood. She simply fascinated him, her cascading crimson curls and sharp silvery eyes. Yet her beauty seemed fragile, like a wild flower that dies shortly after being plucked from
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Shadows of the Underworld
Shadows fill the Underworld.
No company but:
The Dog and the Dead.
Shadows linger beneath Her garden.
Dance partners to the flora
As a breeze stirs the air.
Shadows fill the Underworld.
No company but:
The Dog and the Dead.
Shadows dance beneath Her feet
As Apollo brings is chariot home.
Another Shadow follows.
Shadows lick up
The sweet blood of the fruit
As it spills from Her lips.
Shadows fill the Underworld.
In company now:
The Queen of Spring.
VII. “Shadows will do no harm
Where light will burn you.
Life creates pain. Death creates peace.
“Shadows will embrace you,
Light will enslave you,
Force you to see what you wish to hide.”
Shadows whisper in her ear.
“You may find that Winter
Is lovelier than Spring.”
X. Shadow’s rip asunder
With the crackling roar of thunder.
Lighting fills the void.
Shadows cannot fight light.
They shrink into dark corners
As Winter melts to Spring.
Shadows fill the Underworld.
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-Silence- by Dracawyn -Silence- :icondracawyn:Dracawyn 6 8 A few of my favorite things by Dracawyn A few of my favorite things :icondracawyn:Dracawyn 1 22

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As you may have noticed, (because I'm sure you all look at my website as obsessively as I do) the book launch timer for A Venom Vice has increased significantly. You may have also noticed that this is indeed the second time the timer has changed.

Well, through a series of unfortunate events no where near as amusing as the ones described by Lemony Snicket, I have decided to push back my launch until July 1, 2017. It started with an Ulcer, a few missed deadlines from my various media specialists (through no fault of their own), and the realization that I did not, in fact, have everything I needed to create a hardcover version. Then I proceeded to lose my voice (making recording an audiobook somewhat more challenging) and developed a sinus infection. At the gentle insistence of my husband (who doesn't want me to die before we get me a better life-insurance policy) I pushed back my deadline the first time. When my bodily conditions failed to improve, my husband then helpfully pointed out that I'd missed the prime launch dates for this season anyway and that I should just take a break from the stress that was trying to murder me and binge-watch some Netflix until I felt better.

I was extremely frustrated at first but have come to accept the logic. The tail end of December through the end of January are generally considered the best time to publish romantic stories, which does apply to A Venom Vice but it isn't the perfect label by any means. Fantasy stories are best left for summertime launches ("beach reads" they call them) which I feel is a much better category to plop it into. Then, the more I thought about it, the better I felt about a July launch. Not only does that give me enough time to finish up all the bare minimums I was struggling with, but it will also give me a chance to really get this sucker going. I have time to get a hold of book reviewers. I have time to really polish and beautify both the text and the formatting for all the different mediums. I'll have enough time to record the audiobook properly and without rushing.  I'll be able to get a bunch of fun pre-launch merch for my long-time fans and to pique the interest of new readers. I'll be able to get all my social media platforms up and running properly (which was far more complicated and time consuming than I had initially imagined). Heck, if I'm feeling brave and social enough, this even gives me time to arrange a legitimate launch party.

I apologize for making you all wait again but I promise you that the wait will be worth it. With these extra 5 months, I'll be able to put out a product I can really be proud of. 


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Mary T. Whipple
Artist | Professional | Literature
United States
Mary T. Whipple is predominantly a writer of traditional fantasy (because what story could not be improved by the introduction of dragons?) but also has a penchant for pirates, tragic romance, Victorian England, and Greek mythology. She has a deep love for fracturing fairy tales and an unreasonable amount of disdain for the Knight in Shining Armor and Prince Charming archetypes.
At the age of four she wrote her first story about a family of squirrels (spelling things more or less phonetically). The “novel” she wrote the following year (after attaining a greater understanding of the alphabet) was the story of an incomprehensibly beautiful witch (incidentally also named Mary) who went on a grand quest for no other reason than she felt like it and rescued baby sea monsters and dragons all along the way. Ms. Whipple has continued writing ever since and is proud to say that she now has a very firm grasp of the alphabet. Over the years she has published short stories in three small press literary magazines, placed fifth for a short story she entered in the New Mexico English Expo, and written freelance doing everything from product descriptions to click-baity internet lists. She is launching her debut novel, A Venom Vice, on January 30, 2017.
When not reading or writing, Ms. Whipple can often be found playing video games with her husband while their puppy, kitten, and bearded dragon look on dolefully and wonder why they are not currently being given treats and tummy scritches.


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Yokoden8 Featured By Owner Jan 24, 2017  Hobbyist
6 DAYS it's so incredible. I can't wait to look it up on ibooks. I had so much fun reading VV and I can't wait to read the finished product!!!!
Nyxity Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
You are a sneaky, naughty one, m'dear... such a large amount of submissions and then...

With.... drawel.... *Gasps*
Dracawyn Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2016  Professional Writer
Sorry, I had a hectic weekend. ^^; I'll be back to updating tomorrow. 
Nyxity Featured By Owner Edited Mar 28, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
No worries. I was just displaying my adoration. =P I've waited so long already... I'd wait another torturous hiatus if necessary. Sweating a little...
Malleni-Stock Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
:+fav: Thank you! Have a nice day Flower for you
PoesDaughter Featured By Owner Apr 30, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you for the :+fav: on my tutorials! :D
Nyxity Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Holy cow! You are alive!!!!!
Dracawyn Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2015  Professional Writer
-ish ;)
Nyxity Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
I'm not picky. I'll take it. =P
Schattenblum Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2014
Tumblr quote you may appreciate: Ariel from The Tempest is the David Bowie of Shakespeare characters.
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