The Entreating Chronicles#1 “THE QUIBBLE QUASMS OF BELLE MORTE”

Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

Greetings fellow spooks & ghouls.  Some random short pieces I decided to put together as possible ongoing compilation of “shorties” its a new year.  Time for a new outlook.  Enjoy the following tidbits.  As always feedback appreciated.


Bone Mother Belleen ❤



“Forgiveness. The scale you measure of the hurtful act that was done to be measured against the something that you love. There was a moment of falter, a cut so deep the impenetrable became the penetrated. The emotion of true sorrow felt so fluid embedded into entire psyche. If you love something you must love its evil as well as it’s innocence. To love only one part, one cannot love truly. You must accept the wiles,observe the hurt and measure the scale consciously. Forgiveness and love you must embrace to the bitterest of ends” ~T. B. Morte  © 2017~



“What is black? A color so deep and engulfing it swallows light whole. Born from the shadows, nothing can be seen inside it. So black are the hearts of the fallen the weak are unable to fathom loving them. So dark were the souls of the broken the brave could not help but love them against all odds.”~ T.B. Morte © 2017 ~



“Love your Hero, and love them well. For they have the spirit of giants and the bravery of fools. They will love what they endear so brutally, they will avenge any slight against them at all costs. They will carry you upon a broken back, they will be your shield, they will be your iron cladded will and word. But if you were to mock the love the Hero gives, you have foolisheartedly committed a most heinous act. You have broken their spirit. The hero then can no longer sing with shine, the song is now tainted, darkness slowly encrypted. The fool must now think of the catastrophe they have unleashed. They have morphed the Hero into a Villain.” ~T.B. Morte © 2017~

What I Fear

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Fear is an emotion that I don’t always display but I often feel.  I have this strong tendency to don a *Hero’s* mask.   Because superhero’s feel nothing they make sure their adversaries do however.  Yesterday I got hit with some “Kryptonite” yesterday, it left me feeling rather helpless actually.    What every writer has dancing around in the back of their heads but it’s never really uttered out loud.   Ever thought “If anyone is  really reading your stuff?” well that fear got confirmed yesterday rather haphazardly  and unintentionally by a friend  on the ye old FB page.   It’s common knowledge within my inner circle I have a blog,  that I am writing my first-ever Fantasy novel, and that I write oodles of poetry.  I post links to just about everything I write,  I mean here I am  wondering if I may post too much about it.  On the contrary obviously I don’t post enough about what I do on spare time.

Yesterday I was going to break one of the cardinal rules of writing.  I was going to stop writing completely.  Yes that’s right throw away my bardic quill and try some suburban gig of existence.  Something called fear crawled up my womb and gave birth to many little  monsters.  I never felt so emotionally paralyzed but there I was yesterday completely unable to have a rational thought process after coming to a tragic conclusion.  What if all this time and after countless years that no one has bothered to read my work?  Have I been donning some Jester’s hat all this time?  Has the joke really been on me?

You see Boys & Girls, Madams & Gents, Cool Cats &  even Cooler Kittens.  (pick a variance)  I am a writer.   I am a single candle among all the other candles.  There are different colors, shapes, sizes, and daresay molds.  My voice is a single flame and I want it to reach the masses, I want my flame to rise  above, so that it can be seen.  So that my voice can be heard whether it be blog, novel, poem, or if intoxicated and I feel like doing a limerick.  I want my voice by  my pen the sword to be heard.  What writer doesn’t?  So the very concept of what seems that even friends are not paying attention.  Yeah its a gut-punch well to the gut.  No other way to describe it.

So after hours of seething and self-loathing.  I pulled up my big-girl britches and realized I like what I do.  As a writer I have chosen to display myself to tough crowds.  If they don’t understand or want to know my “voice” then that is up to them.  I cannot simply find the “off-switch” and stop doing this.  But a snake can shed its skin for a brighter skin one that’s a little more tough and durable.  So I’m skin-shedding and rediscovering why I have chosen to do this.  The writing will continue meanwhile.

My single flame is still burning perhaps evermore brightly  🙂


Serpentine Tragedienne (Bone Mamma Belle)

Possible Upside to FanFiction?

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I know there are those out there that are leery of Fan Fiction.  Don’t like it.  Won’t write it.  Won’t read it.  Basically they wouldn’t touch it  with a ten foot quill or the area that surrounds it.   For those that are not familiar with it.   You are probably wondering what the heck is it?  Is it fiction from a fan of something?  Why yes that’s absolutely correct!  By George you’re spot on with the guessing.

In accordance to Webster’s Dictionary the official *definition* of Fan Fiction is as follows:

Definition of FAN FICTION

: stories involving popular fictional characters that are written by fans and often posted on the Internet —called also fan fic,
Now I don’t write fan-fiction myself because I like to think my originality should be displayed anywhere and everywhere.  But I have read the fan fic works of other writers and given input .  I suppose guilty as charged?   With that in  mind I have seen some series have some amazing fan fiction where the creativity  was so in sync with the original writer.  You almost couldn’t tell the difference between fan and author.  There is also the downward cycle of fan fiction where the writing made you question not only sanity but you wonder if ever printed how much damage it could do to the actual series.  Like any form of creative media fan fiction has it good sides and bad sides.  There are those out there that feel that Fan Fiction is not original work and that someone out there is copying an existing idea.  Piggy backing off an Author’s hard work basically.    Which is a valid argument to an extent.  But who hasn’t written a short story about their favorite thing?  Are we not all fans of something?  Fan Fiction may not be an original story but original ideas do come forth.   Think of it this way.  For Authors that  take part of those anthologies that handle the retelling or creating their own version of a “Myth” or “Fairy Tale”.   Is that not a form of fan fiction in of itself?  Food for the thought process.   This is all just my personal sixpence on the subject.  Before we knock fan fiction, I think we as Authors need to look back to our own orgin.  We all had to start from somewhere at Point Zero.  Who knows perhaps when my novel is successfully published I may be concerned if I see “Human Skin” fan fiction pop-up.  But knowing how hard it was to get on “Writer’s Row” I will at least look at it with an open mind and a humbled heart.
Bone Mamma Belle

The Journey Thus Far

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Today was Epic…

That’s simply describing of currently a thousand different emotions that flooding through my entire being.  I’m scared, weepy, happy, excited, hyper, you name it Hero is feeling it.  Why you may ask?  Well today the first ever caricature of my main character was officially drawn.  And not to toot my own horn or anything but my Krysanthe came out simply stunning.

The wonderful artist Samantha Cannon breathed life into what so far  existed only in my head.  Remember her name folks she’s going to be famous soon enough most likely.

You see for the last 12 months I have devoted all of my free time into my novel (tenatively titled) “Human Skin”.  Yeah sure its been planned in my head and executed onto paper but to a drawing of your character where so far you’ve only used words to describe her 38,772 words and counting (28 Chapters) to be exact.   The feeling is overwhelming.  I’m sure fellow writers can nod in acknowledgement of what I speak as if to say “Been there”.

This has been a very emotional journey for me writing this novel.  There have been up & downs in both professional and personal life,  major health crises , a major surgery etc.  I have walked down the path of hell and so far little redemption but today was a defining moment for me.

It’s official I’m writing a novel.  And not just any old Novel, a Fantasy Novel.  An Epic Borderlining Steampunk Fantasy novel.  I come from the school of  Tolkien hard knocks, I’m following the formula to hopeful success,  we have the Hero, The Villains, Supporting Cast of Misfits, and one pretty interesting Quest on the horizon. The world of Aerith is as complex as “A Song of Ice & Fire” but much more simplified because I’m sure as hell no George R. R. Martin of awesomeness.

But Human Skin is definite something unique…

I look forward to end of this journey and I hope the world enjoys it with me.



What Exactly is “Human Skin”?

Tragedienne Omnibus in foro S.P.D.

The burning question everyone wants to know.  Been cooking in the cauldron since May of 2012, my novel-in-progress is exactly that.  “A Novel-In-Progress.”  Now I understand that I may be doing this somewhat in a backwards fashion.  Posting an excerpt before explaining what the heck it actually is, but who says the way I roll ever resembles any form of order?  I was pursued to write a novel because a very close friend of mine thought I had what it takes to do so.  At first I was very reluctant, writing poetry and articles is no big thing after doing it for more than a decade.  Writing a novel is an entirely different ball of wax, and after writing 21 Chapters, I can say it’s easy to boast but hard to actually accomplish.

Out of the ashes came the voice of the main character “Krysanthe” and it burned so strong I could not resist to form the web of her early storyline.

“Human Skin” is the story of “Krysanthe Starflower” a human 22 year old who was raised among the Fey folk.  In her world she is considered an outcast, although her family are the ruling family of her town.  Even in her family she’s the definite “Black Sheep”,  Krysanthe was living a dull life and doing what was expected from her.  Until one day she is informed she is being “relocated” to a human settlement in another city far away.  This changes everything for our heroine,  which triggers some would say a “midlife crisis”.  Nothing is the same for Krysanthe, and everything she was taught to believe will come into question, because nothing is as what it appears to be.

Krysanthe’s world is set in 2212 A.D. 200 years after the Ice Age came and went.  So I am playing along the lines of the End World did happen in 2012, exception it wasn’t the end of the world just an unforseen Ice Age.  Those who survived were a special group of humans called the Otherkin, those who believe they share traits of animals (i.e. Wolves, Tigers, etc), and magical races (Fey, Vampire, etc ).  That’s describing the Otherkin in a nutshell to describe it fully would make one’s head hurt trust me when I say this. There are humans that survived but the ratio is 10:1, ten otherkins to one human.  The world is technology based but they are starting over, so it isn’t futuristic nor is it completely medieval either.

Some would say that “Human Skin” is a Urban Fantasy Quest, some will say it could be the Urban Fantasy Coming-Of-Age for the 20-30 something crowd. I would say that it could be a little of both.  You will come to love Krysanthe or you will dislike her, my goal is make you the readers want to not stop reading about her period.

Lets hope the mission gets accomplished.


Bone Mamma Belle

Excerpt From the” Franken Monster”

From my upcoming novel “Human Skin” .  Will post more of a detailed explanation after some R.E.M. that means sleep for you normal folk 😛

Chapter II (Where the Garden is Forever Winter)

She had been coming to this place since before she could remember.  And it had never changed in its desolate beauty.   Where the  grass looks as if kissed by frost, the lake deep and crystal blue, flowers that bloomed in the colors of only snow white and bluish hues.  The only sound that could be heard was the songs of the Swans that occupied the lake, as they sang to one another in their own mysterious language.  Most gardens usually aren’t built with a lake, however this was no ordinary garden. This was the sanctuary of her Father, and like everything else in the Northern Realm, this too was shaped to his own will.

Her father often referred to this place as his “Nightmare Heaven”, a  phrase which Krysanthe herself never understood.  How can something so beautiful ever could be a nightmare?  How can a nightmare be considered a heaven? Its two worlds colliding that made no sense, unless the view is something so beautiful could transform into a nightmare.  Ye gods even the garden she didn’t want to leave.

StarShire was the only home Krysanthe had ever known.   Every nook, cranny, and even the gloomy garden of her father’s sanctuary was considered “Home.”  Why her parents decided to have her relocated to a human settlement still set fire to her veins and a wrath that could not be easy quelled.

Case in point speaking of parents.  Krysanthe walked ahead of the sentry guards who escorted Krysanthe  to her Sire and pushed away her angry thoughts.  For her lord Father had requested a private audience with her, such request considered a rarity for Krysanthe in all of her twenty-five years of existence.  So with annoyance she pushed away thoughts of anger and revenge, and made room for clarity instead.   There in the throne-like gazebo awaited her father and not alone.  With him were Briony & Zinna   his twin concubines,  so much alike they were in appearance with their long ice blonde hair and matching violet eyes.  It was true what Jareth the wolf prince had teased, the fey-kin had no problems having several lovers.  No qualms even if married even if you happen to be the ruling family.  Not that it bothered her mother of her father’s debauchery,  Kryanthe’s  mother often boasted that it had taken two women to replace her.   And the fact that it was common knowledge Lady Starflower had a lover or two of her own didn’t hurt such said situation either.

The guards as customary announced her arrival and as customary she prepared  to curtsey.

“Lord Taliesin “Caesarion” Starflower, Keeper of the Northern Realm presented to you the Lady Cymbeline “Krysanthe” Starflower.” The guard had said for there were no other titles to add to Krysanthe’s name.

Krysanthe promptly curtsied.

“Salve, Father.” Krysanthe said aloud.

“Salve, Daughter.” Lord Caesarion replied.

It was customary to use Latin greetings in the Northern Realm, after the Ice Age and the rise of Otherkin many books on Roman History were discovered and considered treasures.  The Romans were a great people and Krysanthe’s ancestors looked up to them oddly enough.  And before another word could be spoken Krysanthe said farewell to all mental clarity.

“How could you do this to me?!?” Krysanthe screamed in rage.

Krysanthe stopped herself realizing what she had did, it was basically the ultimate sin.  She had screamed at her father, and even worse in front of witnesses.  She wondered who would be killed first, her for screaming at him or the witnesses for having had the unforeseen circumstance of witnessing her doing it.  As it was apparent that fortune was not in her favor as of late,  most likely Krysanthe who would not be leaving the garden alive.  The air took on a more silent aura, the guards stared at her pure disbelief.  The “twins” Briony & Zinna stared at her in pure horror.

“Did you just scream at your Father?” Briony asked.


“I’m not answering her, I’m not answering her, I’m not answering her .”  Krysanthe chanted inside her head.

“If you’re done being impetuous.  Perhaps you’ll see the reasons that are right in front of your face.” Lord Caesarion stated.

“You’re being cryptic as always Father.”  Krysanthe replied.

“Someone is being very brave today.”  Zinna said snarkily.

With much swiftness her hand reached up and grabbed Zinna by her beautiful ice blonde hair.  Forcing the captured maiden to look up at Krysanthe, what Zinna had saw was cold rage and nothing less.

“You think because you have a place in my father’s bed that it protects you.  Guess what it doesn’t if you and your twin don’t mind keep your shallow and vapid thoughts inside your empty heads.  This is between me and Lord Caesarion.”  Krysanthe screamed as she fought off Briony who was trying to hit her.

“Changeling!”  Briony shouted at Krysanthe.

“KRYSANTHE!”  Lord Caesarion roared fiercely as a lion.

Frozen up out of pure fear she released Zinna, but mentally kept note of what Briony called her.  “Changeling” was considered a racial slur these days, what was a term for a baby stolen by faeries is now the word for someone who was human with fey-kin parents.    How she would remember this day and Briony will eventually get hers karma usually was a harsh mistress that way.  What Krysanthe had to worry about now was far scarier than a vapid concubine.

“Krysanthe, let’s take a walk.” Lord Caesarion said coldly.

And as father and daughter walked in tandem rhythm, Krysanthe screamed, wailed, and gave every reason why she should not be relocated to the human settlement.  She even used every reason she could from plots conspired by her mother to not knowing enough about Human History.  Lord Caesarion would not be swayed by his daughter’s reasons.  He stopped suddenly and looked at her, his eyes carried a wonder about them as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

“Krysanthe, you are being given an opportunity to start over somewhere anew.  You cannot even tell me what plans you have for your future.  Because you know there is no future for you here in Wyvren or any part of the Northern Realm for that matter.  You cannot thrive here with the Fey-kin, because you are not Fey-born.  This is being done for your own survival, can you not see that? Or are you that blind?”  Lord Caesarion screamed in equal rage.

His words had stopped Krysanthe dead cold, she had never seen her Father scream.  Lord Caesarion was usually a cold man who never showed emotion, what the ancient Romans would call “stoic”.  It was the truth, and in this case the truth indeed hurt.  It hurt so bad it had paralyzed all of Kryanthe’s logical thought process.

“Father listen to me please , I beg of you.”  Krysanthe whispered.

Lord Caesarion eyed his daughter with ice  “Beg? A Starflower begs to no one.” as he continued.

“You need to be with the humans, because you are human.  You need to be with your own kind.”  Lord Caesarion said quietly and he stalked away his boots crunching on the frostkissed grass.

Krysanthe’s knees fell to the ground  her world dimming more in light.  The wintery garden became shrouded in more darkness.

©2012 Tragedienne Belle Morte  All Rights Reserved

Bring a Smile yet Carry a Shovel

Tragedienne Omnibus S.P.D.

As I am sure that it’s a requirement these days to introduce oneself these days.  The name is Tragedienne (Tragedy-Anne) a cute gothically styled word play for Raggedy-Anne. Is it a alias I go by?  Of course! My real name is rather drab and boring.  It does not bring shivers to the skin nor does it wake the blood. Nothing, zilch, nil, absolutely nada.

Who is Tragedienne?

A 30 something (Early 30-something btw) who is a Gothic Writer/Poet, Fantasy Art Collector, Nightmare Before Christmas Fanatic, Lives on BBC,  Loves Shoes,  A Song of Ice & Fire Fanatic , Canasta Player,  Classical Literature-aholic, The Wayward Offspring of the Celts & Romans,  most importantly always keeping it Spooky the mantra to my life.  The Hero, The Angry Bunny, The White Queen who goes a little Red, Supposed Walking-Chaos, Loveable, Envied, Definitely Fun-Loving, Doom Princess. In a nutshell a very muti-faceted individual.

Residing in the state of the desert sun (Arizona) with a roommate and my cats. Slightly nomadic, a traveler, I see the world not through rose-colored glasses.  But many varying colors that borderline on the “Dark.”

I write, usually poetry and article writer for the YahooVoices Network (although not recently) however I’ve taken up the gig of novel writing. “Human Skin” is my Novel-In-Progress.  After thirteen years of writing I’ve decided that I want to truly “live the dream” as they say.  So I’ll be posting a couple sample chapters, poetry, and other dreamscapes that come from Laboratory.  Stay tuned for the habadashery of good times to be had by all.

Stay tuned, grab a shovel, and come play in the Garden.

Keep it Spooky,

Tragedienne (Keeper of the Bones)