Wednesday, January 23, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

“Stay back!” Pastor Steven said, grabbing both of the younger boys.

“The hell I will!” Killian said.

“Son, language!”

“Really, that’s your concern right now?” Killian grabbed his younger brother. “Stay here. You hear me?”

Davey, eyes wide with fear, nodded.

I headed toward the door until Killian stopped me.

“You may want to stay back.”

I smiled. “I don’t think so.” I stepped around him faster than he could stop me.

“Well then, by all means, my lady,” Killian muttered under his breath.

“I can hear you.”

“Great. Bionic ears, too. Just great,” he said, sarcasm thick in his tone.

I arrived at the doors in time to put an arm in front of Pastor Steven. “Wait. Do not leave the holy ground of the church.”

Pastor Steven turned to me. “What? Why?”

“Trust me, just stay inside,” I clarified, my voice a whisper.

I scanned the area outside area. We appeared to be at the end of a dead-end dirt road and the only building around, tucked away in the corner of the woods on a hill. Leading from the front doors to a small gravel parking lot to the right, which contained only two vehicles, were stepping-stones. Surrounding us like a cozy blanket were tall trees, primarily pine, and they stretched as far as I could see.

Silence filled the air, the only sound was Killian's breathing as he stepped up to my other side. “I don’t understand,” he said quietly, “there’s not a thing on fire out here. Nothing blew up.”

“The blast wasn’t made of matter,” I said. “Stay inside no matter what happens to me.”

“What?” both Killian and the pastor said, their tones identical, expressing disbelief.

Ignoring them, I stepped outside, and lifted my voice, “Come forth, in the name of the Most Holy, our Father the Most High.”

An elegant dark haired man wearing a black, button up shirt and dress slacks, appeared as if yanked against his will, from the ether. “Now, now, there’s no need to get pushy. I’d have come out.”

“I don’t like to play games. What is your business here, eternally damned one?”

“We are brethren, you and I.”

“No, we are not. You made your choices. I made mine.”

“Yet, here you are, on the battleground. My master felt the balance change, for he rules this plane.”

“Not fully.”

Temporarily I wondered what the others saw. Seeing as they weren't screaming, I assumed they saw the man as I did, not the demon. However, they could not sense the demon like I could. I entertained calling him forth to reveal his true self. But with no idea what he looked like or how large he was, I decided it was best he stay in human form.

The demon laughed. “You have no authority here.”

One of the corners of my mouth ticked up. “Want to make a bet? Now leave this family alone. Go back where you came from."

The demon took out a cigarette and lit it. With a deep inhale, he let the silence envelope us, me standing between him and the family inside, he waiting for something. As he exhaled smoke, I placed my right hand on my left arm, more specifically, on the hilt of Esther. I was about to begin the chant of banishment and exorcism when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Soup's ready. What is going on over here?” Patricia said from inside.

Without turning my back on the demon, I stepped to the side so I could keep the door in my peripheral view. Doing so, I kept my eyes on the man in black.

“Charles, what are you doing here?” Patricia asked, and before we could stop her, she strode out the front door.

Then everything went to hell. Literally.

Friday, January 18, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

Once alone, I glanced about the room. It was a simple room with a white board at the front of the room. Surrounding the room were children’s drawings depicting a story from the Bible. These specifically was of the miracle where Jesus fed the four thousand on seven loaves of bread and a few fish. This miracle, other than the resurrection, is the only miracle to show up in all four of the gospels in the New Testament and the children had noted the different scriptures on the drawings.

I smiled, letting my fingers glide along each one as I passed by. As I reached the end, one sparked under my touch. I noticed the signature of the artist was Davis MacGregor. Wasn’t that the last name Killian had said? Davey’s real name was Davis. I thought how that would very likely fit him when he was older and grew into the prominent cheekbones his brother had.

The window here drew my attention. Like the other building, this was stained glass, but in a modern setting. The picture of this window was simply the face of Jesus. Or rather, what man had decided Jesus looked like, which wasn’t close at all. However, the meaning was what mattered. That meaning caused my heart felt heavy. I knelt before the window and fell prostrate, arms stretched forward. “Oh Father, why am I here? Why have you banished me? What have I done to deserve this frail, human body? To be bound on this earth?” Tears slid down my face as I lifted my face to the window.

Sun suddenly shone through the clouds outside, hitting the window, projecting the face of the Son onto my face. In that moment I felt His love, arms around me, as the words on the white board at the front of the room caught my eye. They said, “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. –Psalm 46:10.”

Raising up on my knees, I spread my arms and wings wide. With my head tilted back, eyes closed, I let the sun warm me. I tried to still my spirit to remove the fear and pain I felt. Once calmness steadied me, I said, “Dear Heavenly Father, I will calm my spirit so you may show me what I need to know. For thou are the Lord my God, all knowing, and all loving. Help me exalt you on the earth.”

In the moments that passed, I let the silence of the room settle me. With no idea how long it had been, I heard a gasp in the hallway. Turning my head, I saw a pretty woman in her early forties with green eyes and blonde hair that fell to her shoulders.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t answer when I knocked. I…”

Pulling my wings into my body to make room to move, I turned to face her. “That is my error. I was meditating for guidance. Please, come in. You are Pastor Steven’s wife.”

She nodded. “Patrice.”

“I’m Amelie. Will you help me out of this dress? I’m sure there are scrapes on my back I cannot reach.”

“Of course.” Patricia shut the door and walked toward me, her square heels, that matched her skirt and blouse in a way that said she’d been at a church function, clacked on the floor as she approached me with only a slight hesitation.

“Your help is much appreciated. I am not accustomed to human clothing.”

“I can imagine.”

She helped me out of the dress and cleaned wounds I could not see while explaining human, female undergarments to me. At which point she assisted in picking out a bra and underwear that fit me. Following which, she selected a pair of drawstring pants, a long sleeved t-shirt, and some small white, lace up shoes. After helping me to heal area’s I couldn’t see, she asked about cutting holes in the shirt.

“No need. At least, I don’t think so. I need some time to be alone.”

“Of course.” With a backwards glance, her green eyes once again taking in my form, she left. Through the shut door, she said, “There’s a mirror in the ladies room next door. If you care to see the outfit before you leave.”

Curiosity piqued, I waited a moment, wrapped my wings around me, gathered the clothes, and quickly moved next door into the ladies room. Once there, I found a full length mirror and looked over my human body. I was rather fascinated. From what I remembered, I didn’t exactly look like this in heaven, but this was the human form of me. It was pale, not overly tall nor short, slender but with some curves and muscle tone. I had sex organs, which I found interesting seeing as I didn’t have them in heaven.

Turning to look at my wings, I decided to attempt to close them into my skin. I knew this would hurt. I remembered that. Laying them perfectly down my back I pulled them in tight while imagining my skin moving out to pull them inside. The tender human flesh began to burn and I let out a tiny yelp of pain as the skin seared with a burning sensation. I gripped the counter and watched my blue eyes, the dark rings inside them appearing to swirl like a kaleidoscope. The minute focused on that, the pain subsided a bit. Then, with the feeling as if someone slammed a door into my tender backside, the pain vanished.

Now as I turned so my back reflected into the mirror, my wings were bound, inside my flesh. The only remnants of their existence were the black outlining of each feather on my back, in the shape of my wings. I was surprised that they didn’t travel down my buttocks, since when my wings lay flat to my back they easily covered that. Instead, it looked like what I remember human’s calling a tattoo.

I tugged on the underwear and bra, noting the sizes that fit me so as to somehow get more. Thankfully, the bra, though it lay over the wings tattoo, it did not hit the area where the wings attached to me. If I was careful, I should be able to pull them out from my skin without undoing the bra. I slide on the shirt and drawstring pants, which were short on me, but she called them capris. Said they were supposed to be short. With a shrug, I picked up on the shoes that said “Keds” on the back, and pulled them on. Staring into the mirror again, I dragged a hand through my hair, and exited the ladies room.

Intent on collecting up the clothes Killian had left for me, in case any others fit, I stepped back into the Sunday School room. I came up short when I saw Patrice standing there, holding one of my feathers.

Her face smoothed out and she lay it on the pile of clothes. “I brought you a few more things your size and this duffle bag. I found this on the floor.”

“Thank you,” I put my hand out for the feather.

Patrice placed it in my open palm. “Come, my husband would like to speak with you.”

I put the feather into the bag and zipped it closed. “Of course.”

Noting the bag had a strap, I slung it over my shoulder and followed her out. As we headed down the glass hallway, she reached out to me, a round piece of wrinkled material in her hand.

“For your hair.”


She imitated how to pull it through, called it a scrunch-ee, and handed it back. Walking back into the beautiful sanctuary, I did as she’d done and pulled my long curls back from my face with the scrunch-ee-thingy and almost giggled when Killian, at the sight of me, popped up faster than a groundhog from his hole.

“Wow!” Davey said. “What did you do with your wings?”

I knelt by him and said, “I hid them. Did I do a good job?”

He nodded emphatically.


Killian stepped forward. “I went back for your sword, but it wasn’t there.”

I set the duffle bag down on one of the steps to the pulpit platform and sighed. “She’s being cheeky.” I put my hand out, palm up. “Esther, it’s not nice to toy with the humans. Come.”

In a flash of light, I felt the grip of my hand and a half long sword nestle into my hand before the brightness of the weapon dimmed to see it.

“Holy sh…tuff!” Killian blurted.

“Wow!” Davey said.

“You can just call it like that?” Killian asked.

“It’s a she, and yes, I can, she is my star. She belongs to me and I to her. She is with me always.” To prove my point, I lay her hilt along the top of my left forearm. In another flash, this one painful like the binding of my wings, Esther sunk into my flesh. Her black outline now shone, running from my wrist to up my arm, an exact replica of her elegance, but smaller.

“Wicked tat,” Killian said, his grin infectious, making both Davey and I smile in return.

“I always thought so.”

Pastor Steven approached now. “Are you hungry? Do you eat?”

I thought on that for a moment. “I would assume that seeing as I have all the plumbing required to be human and female, I must eat to give this body energy to function.”

“Do you eat in heaven?” Davey asked, his brown eyes full of wonder and sincerity.

“No. Our heavenly bodies do not require it. We live on God’s breath and word alone.”

Patricia didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, so she said, “How about I make us some soup back in the kitchen?”

“That would be lovely, Patti,” Pastor Steven said.

With a nod but no affection I could see, Patricia walked away without a second glance at anyone other than me. The pastor, however, his eyes watched her until she couldn’t be seen anymore, and even then lingered on the closed door. I was beginning to understand the stress of this family unit. I wondered if I was here to help mend it.

I was pondering that thought when an explosion outside slammed into the double doors of the church, blowing them inward with such force, that one came off its hinges while the other cracked in half.

Thursday, January 17, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

As I woke up, I realized I must have been dreaming, which is something angels aren’t capable of since our holy bodies do not require sleep. It was an unusual sensation. To have believed I was in one place, have that fall away, and then be in another place. In fact, at first I wondered if I was still dreaming. However, when I recognized two of the three around me, I realized I was awake.

With the pain subsided, I could see clearly, and as I opened my eyes I noted Davey was holding my hand while Killian washed my feet. An older gentleman, in his late forties I guessed, with dark hair and brown eyes, wiped each cut with a wet cloth as his lips moved in prayer. I knew this because the man wore the collar of a priest with his button down shirt and jeans and I could feel God’s presence. As the wet cloth touched each cut or bruise I felt them heal, telling me the cloth was soaked with holy water.

“She’s waking up,” Davey whispered.

Everyone stopped at that moment and looked up at my face and I understood the human expression, a bug under glass. I wiggled, uncomfortable with both the stare as well as the feel of my human body, for that is what it was. My angel spirit contained inside a human body. This didn’t happen often. I’m sure these men had never seen one, let alone believed it was possible.

“Amelie, this is Pastor Steven. He’s been treating your wounds as you requested,” Killian said, his eyes on mine a she dried my feet. Seeing my stare he continued, “Your feet weren’t just dirty, they were cut and bruised as well, as if you’d fallen onto those rocks feet first. They’re healed now, like your side.”

I went to sit up and Pastor Steven gently touched my shoulder. “One moment, lady. I am almost finished with your hand.”

I watched as he carefully wiped holy water under each fingernail and then finished with my palm.

“We’ve washed you anywhere we could get to while you were dressed, the side wound our main concern. You are welcome to go into the other room, disrobe, wash any place we cannot see and put on the clothes Killian has lain in there for you. I have no idea if they will fit as they were donated by the people of the town for the poor. But there are a few things in there he thought might fit you.

I raised an eyebrow at Killian.

Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he gave me a nervous yet charming smile. “Sold clothes at The Gap for the past two summers.”

“I don’t think that she understands what that is Killi,” Davey said, playfully smacking his brother.

Killian lifted one shoulder in a shrug and lazily walked over to plop into the front pew of the sanctuary. I found his movements interesting. He sat, legs spread, arms wide, resting on the back of the pew. It seemed as if it was done to make him look aloof or uncaring. Yet, his eyes were too attentive for that. It piqued my curiosity but I let it go, opting instead to attempt to sit up.

With the Pastor’s help, I sat up to notice they had laid me on the stage area of the church, next to the pulpit. The church, or chapel as seemed to fit it better, was old and beautiful. Exposed, wooden beams that arched up from the sides to center, with stained glass windows both on the sides as well as a large, intricate piece behind the pulpit which depicted Jesus crucified on the cross.

Tears teamed my eyes but I blinked them away. I glanced at Pastor Steven, “Thank you. Show me where?”

“Right this way.”

Like many old churches, the entrance was at the back of the sanctuary, with a raised area up front, and a door in the front, far right corner. Pastor Steven took me through that door and we maneuvered down a narrow hall that held two doors on the left. Instead of going through a third door at the end of the hall, we made a sharp right turn. This hallway was hundreds of years older than the main building. This hall, with glass walls, led us to newer building. Once there, the Pastor stopped at an open door, the bowl of holy water and handkerchief in one hand.

“This is one of their Sunday School rooms. Killian laid the clothes there, on the desk. The women’s room is here next door. My wife is on her way. She’ll be in a moment to help you with any cuts on your back.”

For no reason I could pinpoint, I turned to take the holy water bowl, dipped my finger in, and before he could stop me, put a cross of it on his forehead. “Thank you.”

“My wife will have scissors to make room for…for your wings.”

I touched his shoulder as he’d done to me, understanding it was a sign of affection. I was about to thank him again, but an overwhelming feeling of emotional anguish hit me. “You are a good man. Don’t let the pain in your heart eat at you, Son of the Most High.”

With that, I took the bowl and stepped into the room, and with a nod, closed it, but not before I saw tears touch his eyes.

Friday, January 11, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

I often blame my rash behavior on my red hair. Humans were always saying redheaded children were hotheaded. I’d decided that applied to angels as well. Seeing as God made both creatures, I saw no reason why one reality couldn’t apply to two realms. However, they are just excuses really. So hence, once I saw who my “attackers” were, and knew I’d overreacted, I blamed my hair.
There were two of them. My gaze drawn first to a pair of warm brown eyes. They belonged to a small, fair-haired human boy, no more than seven years of age. He pointed at me while his jaw continued to open and close without a single sound escaping his lips.

Quickly my eyes darted to the second human, who squatted down and put an arm protectively around the small, blonde boy’s chest. This young man, for he was more along the lines of sixteen or seventeen, had eyes the color of summer leaves and hair as black as a crow’s feather. A quick sniff brought their scents to me. Siblings. My head tilted in interest since they looked so terribly different. Then I saw it, in the shape of the eyes and the narrowness of the nose. The older of the two boys stared back into my eyes, causing me to realize they both could see me. Something to worry about later.

All of five seconds had past but I knew I wasn’t in danger and that I must look rather frightening. I slowly lowered my sword and wings half way. The movement caused a wave of pain to roll over me, and for a moment, I saw four boys. I blinked and my vision cleared.

Letting go of my bleeding side, I held out my hand, palm up, to signal that I wasn’t going to advance on them. The scent of fear left the air, changing to what I interpreted as empathy. It came from both, but it was the older boy’s eyes that grew wide at the sight of the blood on my hand and side. He stepped forward, using the same gesture I had. But where I’d only motioned, he spoke, as humans tend to do.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice soft and husky, yet not deep, as he was not a man yet. It reminded me of the comfort of a cat’s purr.

“Can you hear me?” I asked.

He exuded one chuff of laughter and said, “Ma’am, I’m not deaf.”

“That’s not what I meant, I—” I broke off as concern hit me. I lifted my sword again with a grimace on my face. “You need to run, hide. Get away from me. It’s not safe. Take your brother and run.”

“Whoa, lady, I don’t know where you got the get up or how you ended up out here, but you are injured and I can help you.”

“The ones who did this to me, they might be near. Go. Leave.”

“No one is within a mile of here except us.” He turned to his brother. “Go back to the four-wheeler and get the first aid kit, okay?”

The blond boy nodded, gave me a look, and then ran off, up the hill.

Stepping closer to me, the older brother said, “Now, if you’ll sit down, take those things off, we can lie you down on the grass and look at that wound before we get you back to town.”

“Take what off?” I snapped, clutching my dress.

“Oh! Nooooo. No no no…I didn’t mean your clothes. The wings. I know Halloween is around the corner, and I don’t know what party you were at, but it’ll be easier to treat you if you take them off.”

I blinked a few times, brow furrowed, examining him. Humans like to joke. This must be his sense of humor. Therefore, I smiled, and attempted to laugh. Pain ripped up my side, causing me to feel both nauseous and weak in the knees. With fear I’d pass out, I lowered myself to sit on the stones, leaning my back against a large rock and my sword across my lap.

“Damn it, he needs to hurry up.” He looked around for what I assumed was his brother. When he didn’t see him he called out, “Hustle your ass, Davey!”

I sniffed the air and listened, hand on the ground. “He is coming. Short legs.”

He laughed and I was unclear as to why. I raised an eyebrow at him.

He stopped by clearing his throat, and said, “Don’t let him hear you say that. Now, off with the costume,” he said, stepping toward me.

I pulled away, my wings shrinking inward, tight against my back.

He stopped moving. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?”

The boy huffed out a breath in frustration. Opening his mouth to say something, he stopped, now able to hear his brother as well. We both turned to see Davey bound down the embankment, a white box with red X on it and a handle in his hand. He was repeating the words, “I’m coming,” under his breath. However, he paused about ten feet from me and stared.

My vision blurred again and I saw Davey in triplicate. I blinked a few times and shook my head and he was a single entity again. “I will not hurt you, son of Adam.”

“Our dad’s name isn’t Adam,” the older boy started to explain, a tone of query in his voice as he looked at the blonde child and made a circle motion near his ear.

Pain rocked me hard and I lay down with my injured side up. Through the pain I said, “I need holy water.”

“Sure you do. Ok. Enough of this. Davey, help me get these wings off of her and let’s have a look at this wound.”

My eyes wanted to close. I felt warm and cold at the same time. Shivering, I muttered, “They don’t come off.”

“What? Did you sew them into the dress?”

“Killi? I don’t think they’re fake,” Davey said, his voice quiet but strong, as he slowly came closer.

“Of course they are, now we just need to—”

Unable to move away from him due to the pain, the older boy was able to carefully grab my shoulder and peer around to my back. The motion stabbed pain into me yet again, and I let out a cry.

Swallowing hard, I said the words again, “Holy water. The wound needs to be cleaned with holy water.”

The young man’s hands caressed my back, gliding a hand over a wing gently. “Impossible,” he whispered.

“I told you there was an angel in the river.”

The older boy sighed. Give me the gauze, scissors, and tape.”

“That won’t—” I started to say.

“It’ll keep you from bleeding out until we get you to the church in town.”

I could hear him fussing with the items in the white box. Finally he asked, What’s your name?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know.

“Fine. I’m going to have to touch you and cut some of the dress away. All right?”

When I didn’t answer again, letting darkness begin to take me, his gentle hands touched my face, brushing my hair away. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “Eyes of summer you have.”

“Great, now she's Yoda,” he muttered. “Stay with me…stay with me now.”

I felt him cut around the wound, removed the material, and wash it with water. Patting it dry he said, “Gauze.”

“Gauze,” Davey repeated and I felt something dry cover my wound.


“Tape,” Davey repeated again, then said, “Scissors.”

After a moment of laying tape on me lightly, the older boy leaned down and touched my forehead, his hand cool on me. “I’m going to have to press down to make it stick. Try not to pass out.”

All I could do was hum an agreement. That hum turned into a wail as he pressed down on the tape over my skin, and in the process, the wound as well. Pain surged through me, causing my eyes to fly open as I screamed out.

“Done! Done! I’m done. Breathe slower…easy breaths.”

Quietly I lay there, panting, tears streaming down my cheeks with one question on my mind. “Why has God forsaken me?”

“What?” the boy asked. Seeing my tears, the young man knelt by my head and leaned down. A hand reached toward my cheek but stopped. “Shhh…we’ll get you to some holy water. I promise. Can you sit up?”

I knew I couldn’t, so I didn’t answer him. It felt like too much effort to even try.

“She’s unresponsive, we got to move her. How the hell…I mean heck…do I carry her with those things?”

I had no idea what Davey did, but I heard the elder boy said, “You’re no help.” With a sigh, he ordered Davey to clean up the supplies while he walked around me, his feet making a lot of noise on the stones.

“Fireman’s hold. That’s all I can think of.” Again he knelt by my head. “I’m going to gently put you over my shoulder and carry you. It’s probably going to hurt like…like the dickens…but it’s the only way to get you to holy water. Okay?”

I forced out one syllable, “Yes.”

“I promise to keep my hands in appropriate places as best as possible.” With a loud sigh he added, “Well, here goes nothing.”

Carefully he slid his arms around me, running into difficulty when he hit my wings. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

With my last bit of energy, I lifted them up so he could get his arm under them and across my back. Once he had a good grasp, he braced himself, and lifted me up into his arms. I think I whimpered. I know I cried. I know I specifically cried out for God. When I did, I remembered something. It was something small and I knew nothing else to go with it, but just this small memory made me think that maybe God hadn’t abandoned me all together.

“Amelie,” I whispered.

“What?” he paused before walking again.

“My name is Amelie.”

I felt him nod. “My name is Killian. Killian MacGregor. Hold on, Amelie. I need to get you to the church on time.”

It was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


© Tamsin L. Silver 2013

As I came to, I heard the sound of rushing water and felt the speed of it flowing past me, blanketing one of my arms, its cool temperature a caress to my skin. With conscious effort, I fought against the oppressive air that surrounded me, pushing up from where I lay. I barely rose three inches off the ground when pain like I’d never known shot through my being. I heard a gasp, followed by the clatter of stones knocking into one another as I dropped back down. The clicking of the stones ceased and the reverberation of the ground faded into the distance.

Unclear if the gasp came from me or someone nearby, I resisted the weight of my eyelids, and with a calming breath, lifted them. They fluttered against the sunlight before opening fully and adjusting, bringing the world around me into focus. I found that I was lying on the edge of a wide river that tumbled over smooth stones of black and silver, the water itself was clear but not blue, and surrounded by tall, old trees.

In this moment, three things were utterly clear to me. One, I was on Earth, hence the heaviness. Two, I had no memory of how I’d gotten here, which very likely was important. And three, I had no clue who I was. On the bright side, I knew what I was. Sadly, that wasn’t the bigger issue. Not in my book. How and why I was lying on Earth was a much scarier notion.

My gaze slid down my arm, pale as moonlight, which lay in the water, a striking contrast to the black stones of the river. Under the water, at the tip of my fingers, lay my sword. This both calmed and worried me. If I wasn’t in trouble, it wouldn’t have followed me here.

Once again, I attempted to pull myself to a sitting position. Succeeding on the third try, I wiped the sandy grit from where my face had lay at the edge of the water, fairly certain the imprints of rocks would have indented my face like pillowcase folds. I noted a small waterfall to my left and understood the loud rushing sound that had woken me. But what of the gasp? Had that been me? No one else was around so it had to be, right?

I cleared my throat and was astounded that it made noise. Testing a theory, I said, “Where am I?” aloud and heard myself not just in my mind, but through my ears. If I was on Earth, my kind didn’t tend to make sound here, unless of course—

I shuddered and put that idea out of my mind.

Bending to the water, I sniffed. It was clean. Using my hands, I cupped some to drink. Leaning forward, the wide curls of my long, red hair cascaded about my face, getting in the way, as usual. Shoving the curls aside, I drank a few handfuls. Once satiated, I used my wet hands to shove and settle my hair out of my face before I began to examine my body.

Nothing felt broken but my blue gown was bloody and torn. There were bruises and cuts here and there, the two worst were a bang to my head and an immense gash on my side that had been lying on the stones. Both ached and wept blood still, which was a cause for some concern. If I was on Earth, they shouldn’t even be there, let alone bleeding. Something was definitely wrong.

I knelt in the water and cleaned all of my wounds as best as I could without disrobing. I began to consider doing just that when I felt the reverberation of the ground again. This time, it was not fading into the distance. It was advancing upon my location. Fear gripped me. Humans couldn’t see my kind, but what if the person who gave me this gash was returning to finish me off?

I held onto my injured side with my one arm and snagged my sword from the water with the other. With a grunt, I stood up, and swayed slightly before finding my center. Turning to face my attackers, I extended my wings fully, five feet in each direction, to give me greater balance as well as the battle options. As they burst from the bushes coming toward me, I lifted my sword, a battle cry in my throat.


*Note: You can also find this at my Tumblr account.
Please feel free to repost and get Amelie some followers to her story.

Quick Note about AMELIE

OK...I'm about ready to post the first part of AMELIE. Just a few things I'm going to mention now....

A) All work is © Tamsin L. Silver 2013

B) None of it has seen an editor so enjoy the story for what it is and know there will be errors and get over it. :)

C) I will be throwing this up on my Tumblr. Please head over there and repost to yours if you would be so kind, but be sure to give me credit.

D) I will attempt to put up a section of the story each week...maybe more than once a week...who knows. At least by noon on Fridays.

E) This is for enjoy and tell your friends if you do. We are aiming for more blog traffic so I can do cool things like give-aways and such.

Ok. That's it. Let me prep the first section for you....


Tamsin :)

Tuesday, January 8, 2013


What do you do when you wake up on Earth, injured,
with no evidence of how you got there, no clue of your past...
and no idea why God kicked you out of heaven?

Announcing...a Tamsin Silver Blog Only Event...


an Urban Fantasy series by Tamsin L. Silver

Coming Soon!

Monday, January 7, 2013

I once had long red hair...see?

With all the talk of my new, red-headed protagonist in AMELIE, the guys over at Sanctuary Radio were curious when I said that I used to be a red-head.

These pics were maybe 5-7 years ago (and a few pounds ago...grrr) but here is proof that I had been a red-head once upon a time. :)

The lovely gentleman above is Cedric Jones, who I graduated college with. He's a published poet and playwright. The pretty lady below with me is Brit actress, Rachel Grundy, who is reading for the WINDFIRE Audiobooks.

I may go back to red someday...but for now, I'm staying black. But it's fun to look back. I've had MANY hair colors. My parents can attest to that. LOL! Oh how family photos of all the cousins of my family through the years is funny. I'm always the one with a new hair color/cut and wearing black. :)

And yes, that rosey glow to my face above is liquor. It was my birthday party so sue me. LOL!

Cheers! -Tamsin

Les Miserables - Let's talk about this movie, shall we?

There have been so many reviews of Les Miserables that we totally don't need another one. I am...and I'm gonna yap about it. Why? Oh, cause I want to. My blog. My rules. =)

I'm not even going to yap about sets, costumes, make-up, or anything technical...cause, let's face it, it's beautiful and well done and etc etc etc...I want to talk about other things....the singing, acting, the effect of singing live, etc.

Now, for those of you who do not know...I used to be a professional singer/performer...paid for it and all that nonsense...before I got pneumonia and developed vocal nodes. I had a 4-octave range. I sang everything from church music to opera. And my dream role was....of course, Eponine, from Les Miserables. Sure, I'd worked up to hitting that high note Christine sings in Phantom of the Opera...but I preferred my lower range (which is handy since that's all that's left now...though I do not sing anymore) as it was just easier.

So...for an ex-pro-performer, singer, director, producer, who hold a degree in performance/directing/education.....what did I think of this movie?


The question now is WHY...right?

I would guess it is because I'm a HUGE fan of casting actors who can sing vs. singers who can kinda act. Nothing bores me to tears more than an emotional show with actors that sing like a dream but could be reciting the telephone book for all the emotion they show us.

Before we continue I'll cop to some of the negative things out there and comment on them. Here's a hint to my biggest disappointment...

That are the FIVE things that are being they are, with my thoughts...

1. Yes, Jackman sounds a bit nasal from time to time.
    Comment: It's not all the time and he's always in key and hits all the great notes with such fervor, who the hell cares if he's nasal from time to time? I know I didn't. You'll get past it. It fits the character, actually.
2. Yes, Seyfried's voice is a bit trilly (yeah, I made up that word, deal with it)
    Comment: Funny thing is, the segment in the preview has her trilly and then in the movie, that section wasn't. Plus, she hits all the big, long, high notes w/o the trilly vibrato, and emotionally she gives us something in Cozette we don't get in the play. So I forgive her "trilly" soprano sound. You will too.
3. Yes, the singing is affected by crying, snot, emotion, and so on as it is sung live.
    Comment: It's a sad f*cking story. They cry. If they didn't it would be bad acting. If their voices weren't affected by the crying it wouldn't be deal with it. You want singing to be perfect with less acting, go see Phantom.
4. Yes, Crowe sorta sucked.
    Comment: *sigh* He's such a passionate actor...I just don't understand why his version of Javert has no "fire" to him. None. Nada. He's mush-mouthed and the passion of Javert is just there, under the surface...but it never touches his eyes. So sad...especially when he's an actor that CAN be on fire. I was very disappointed with him. BUT...that could have been a director's choice. We must keep that in mind. So forgive and just enjoy everyone else. That's my motto.
5. Yes, the director's choices weren't always...shall we say...optimum.
    Comment: All these amazing sets and he barely uses the crane for us to see it. The shots are UBER close up all the time. Mind you, that could just be the trend these days...have you seen the latest Twilight flick? I went and it felt like I was sitting on their laps most of the time.

Ok, those are out in the open and done. Let's talk about WHY this thing rocked!

It comes down to one thing for was as real as it can be on screen. This is a piece of literature and theater that needs to be lived in. Three comments in an interview hit me the hardest:

1) Hugh Jackman: "Les has to feel real. It has to feel immediate."
2) Eddie Redmayne: "You get the fragility of the voice which matches the emotions of what the character is saying."
3) Anne Hathaway: "There seemed to be something...selfish about going for the pretty version. She's (Fantine) I decided to just apply the truth to the melody and see what would happen."

What happens is the best 3-minutes of acting you've see all year on my personal opinion. I don't care if you're a fan of Anne Hathaway or not, she nails this role so hard your heart will break and you will actually care about Fantine...where as in the stage production she's a character who sings a sad song and has a bad turn of events that lead us to our story of Cozette/Jean Valjean. You feel for her, but not like you do in this movie.

One of the biggest beefs I hear about (other than the fact that, "Yee gads, they sing the whole damn thing!") is that the singing isn't perfect. That's true. If you are someone who feels these songs should sound perfect...songs sung so perfect they sound like your soundtrack...this is not the movie for you. Go see Phantom of the Opera and revel in your perfect opera or listen to soundtracks and please, don't go see live theatre. Now, if you want characters whose singing is as emotionally powerful as the words, then you will "get" this piece of art.

For it is art. It holds the pain, love, beauty, and the ugliness of life. It evokes emotion like a painting or a dance...that's how majestic the realness of the singing is to me because the characters are real, they're "lived in," and they're fragile. But then again, I absolutely despise recorded tracks to sound "pretty" for the sake of "pretty"...and though it works for some musicals on film...I believe it would not have worked for this in the same way. The gritty feel of this is what takes you on the journey, evokes the tears, grabs your soul and drags it through the mud with them. Yet, you come out of it lighter than you went come out of the theater feeling empowered in a way only this musical can do. If you don't want to stand and sing the last song of the film (please don't, though) then I'd be surprised.

FACT: If you are not a fan of in, you hate all of them. Yeah, don't go. You'll hate it. Almost every word is sung. The "plot" is sorta week (he stole a loaf of bread and Javert is determined he be treated as a rapist.......two people see each other across the street and "fall in love"........a girl on the street can find a convict in hiding but a seasoned officer of the law can't......etc etc etc....) but the emotional journey is worth the $15 ticket.

In closing I want to mention two more things the movie gave me that the play did not. I've already mentioned how I felt a real connection to Fantine I didn't before. The first this was the character of Enjolras (the leader of the revolution), played by Aaron Tveit (he will knock your socks off with the power he exudes as well as his voice)  is absolutely first I wondered why he wasn't Marius, he was so powerful. Then I remembered...Marius has to be softer. He has to love. He has to care more about life than "the cause" or the story doesn't work.

Secondly, the relationship between Marius and Cozette. It's so farfetched we never really care...but we get a bit more of it in the film...we see faces, we see the connection between them...and though "love at first sight without talking" is utter bullshit to us all, we find we can accept it, but watching the performances of Eddie Redmayne and Amanda Seyfried. In fact, two of the most heart wrenching moments for me in the movie version is the end of Empty Chairs and Empty Tables (sung by Redmayne) and the reaction on Seyfriend's face when Jean ValJean dies.

Oh, and the role of Gavroche, played by Daniel Huttlestone, is slap-in-your-face perfect! This role is meant to be innocence and bravado all in one. You love him. You think he's got guts. You only sadly realized how bad that is in this scenario a bit too late. And as I refuse to ruin anything for you...I won't say what it is, but there's a moment concerning him with Javert that will rip tears from your already bleeding heart. That's all I'm sayin'.

What a wonderful emotional journey this piece of art is. Do see it. And cry if you want to cry. Everyone else is. Me personally? I can't wait to own a copy of this on Blue Ray so I can weep loud and proud at home when I watch it. Ya can't do that in the theater without disrupting the experience of others...but at home...only the dog will look at me crazy...and that's okay by me.

And btw...there's a new original song shoved in there. If you are a Les Miz'll notice cause you won't know the words. But honestly, you may miss it. It fits in that well.

5 out of 5 stars....even with Crowe ruining his two big songs...
Tamsin :)

P.S. I add this as a side not because they ARE a side note in the story...but Carter and Cohen as the Thenardier's (Eponine's parents) are hilarious and the comedy bits that the story needs. Some say it was misplaced in a sad story....I say it's needed in the story to keep it from being TOO heavy. My question is, is this really acting for the two of them? ;) LOL!

Friday, January 4, 2013

Small Revelations

Welcome to 2013! I hope your holidays were wonderful and that you are starting 2013 with a bang! This blog has done that. Seems our news about the audiobook has grabbed attention! YAY! (scroll down to next post for info on the audiobook if you haven't heard the news yet) I meet with Rachel tonight to begin work...but that's not what this post is about. It mildly relates to New Years.......let me explain.

Every now and agian someone will say something to you that you really hear and take to heart. It could be in could be in could be just an observation...but these are moments that affect you.

I had one happen the other day. On New Years Day of all things. Go figure.

A friend I've not seen in a few years (because she moved to Chicago...and moved back cause it wasn't for her) had dinner with me on New Years Day and we were just swapping stories of "catch up" and she said to me that I looked happy.

I thought it a funny comment at first as I was still quit ill and I know I looked a bit under the weather. But she continued, basically stating that since knowing me (which is since 2004), doing many shows together, this was the most happy she'd ever seen me.

She may not have known how this hit me, seeing as that I brushed it off, mildly embarrassed, saying something about lowering my stress by not doing theatre and changing jobs. But let's be honest...I still have stress. Being a writer who is trying to get their work seen on their own isn't roses and cupcakes. I don't sell nearly enough to pay my way, yet. My name isn't known to many, yet. But she's right. I'm happy with my new life, my new friends, and the new world that I've created.

Disclaimer: I still love the people from my old theatre life...and miss many of them. Let that be clear. I do not, however, miss the stress of it...which is funny to me in a certain corner of my mind...considering I came to NYC for theatre. Oh the irony.

I think this was the best New Years Day gift I could've been given. To know that what I'm doing is making me happy and that it shows. I didn't know I'd changed along with my choice of 2nd job. I find it interesting.

It's the small revelations that sometimes make the biggest impacts.

I hope that this year you get one also...and if you are not happy...fix that! Life's too short not to.

Have a wonderful 2013 and do what makes you happy! People can tell.


Tamsin :)

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

WINDFIRE Audiobook - Coming Soon!

Written by Tamsin L. Silver
Read by Rachel Grundy
Directed by Alexis M. Hadsall
Edited by Emily Anne Imes

Estimated Audiofile Release Date: April 1, 2013
Estimated Hard Copy Release Date: April 20, 2013

That's asked and you shall receive! As of January, we will begin production for the audiobook of WINDFIRE. If all goes well, the next project will be to record & release Book Two of the WINDFIRE Series, Living Dead Girl, by it's ready for Dragon Con 2013!

I am extremely excited to announce that we have British actress, Rachel Grundy, reading for the audiobooks of The WINDFIRE Series!

When considering an actress for this job, I knew I wanted three things. First, and most importantly, I needed Atlanta to sound strong as well as educated; Ms. Grundy has both of these qualities in spades. She not only has a voice that is dynamic and easy to listen to, but she also holds a degree in English Literature and Drama from a University in the UK. Secondly, I knew I needed an actress who could easily slip from American to British dialect (as there are quite a few characters from across the pond in the series) without it sounding forced on either side. Having seen Ms. Grundy on stage with both accents, I am confident this will be easily accomplished. Thirdly, I needed a fan of the genre. Someone who understood and enjoys YA Fantasy, the world I created, and the characters I'd brought to life. Seeing as that Ms. Grundy is a self-proclaimed "geek," as well as one of three Beta Readers for The WINDFIRE Series (seeing it grow from it's first version to the one that ended up published), she truly fits the bill.

It also is a bonus that Ms. Grundy has worked multiple times with our director, Ms. Hadsall, who in herself has over twenty years of directing under her belt. Plus, our editor, Emily Anne Imes holds a extensive resume with concern to recording and editing for music/radio/spoken word. I'm positive this will be a rewarding project for all involved, as well as a lot of fun. I feel very blessed to have such a talented and amazing team of women on this project.

As you can tell by the dates listed above, we are shooting to have this ready by Boston Comic Con, which is the weekend of April 20-21. I will have these for sale, signed by both myself and Ms. Grundy for purchase. Price TBD.

For those interested in knowing more about Rachel, her bio is below, filled with links to hear her sing and see pictures of her on stage. OR you can just click on her name below to go to her website:


A native Londoner, Rachel has been working in the New York theatre, film, and music scenes since 2003. Relocating permanently here in 2005, she has worked with many indie theatre companies including Dysfunctional Theatre Company, TheatreRats (of which she was Associate Artistic Director), Hudson Warehouse, Inverse Theater, and Zombie Joe’s Underground Theatre. She has made over ten short films, web series, and TV pilots in that time as well and can be (briefly) seen studiously looking at a theatre program in episode 6, season 8, of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

A musician with years of classical training, Rachel performs with blues, rock, and soul band Coyote Love on sax, vocals, and flute, as well as head typo corrector/cat herder on the management side.

Rachel graduated with honours from the University of East Anglia with a BA in English Literature and Drama. In her spare time, she is a youth leader and practising Buddhist with the SGI-USA, a geek who could quote most of the Star Wars trilogy at you and an enthusiastic, if amateur, triathlete.

I hope you are as excited about this as we are! And if you're will be! LOL! Either way, stay tuned! I will try to have snippets for you to hear as we continue to work on the project!


May 2013 be amazing for you, me, and for The WINDFIRE Series!


Tamsin :)