"Dragon Lightning" by J.S. Burke: Drakor's Sword.

     Drakor nodded. “When we toss titanium into a lightning shaft, it glows black and sparkles like diamonds. Black lightning isss special.” 
     Arak snapped his tail. “Should I feel honored that an ice dragon attacked us with black lightning?” 
     Drakor shrugged his wings. “Probably. They wanted to drive the point home.” 
     Arak stared at the charred wood on his skiff, feeling an inner storm of anger. Then he laughed. “Definitely driven home.” 
     Drakor clouted Arak on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Now I will teach you to gather lightning with no storm. First, stand tall. It helps to be higher in the sky.”
     Arak stretched taller. 
     “Tilt your claws toward a sparkle in the clouds. Feel the tingle.” Drakor gestured with his claws. “Gather charges of energy. A small energy ball in your claws pulls in more energy. It isss like a snowball rolling down a hill. The snowball gathers more and more snow. Soon you have enough energy to make a lightning bolt.” 
     Arak tilted his copper claws and concentrated. Nothing happened. “Drakor, you’re right. Gathering sky energy to make lightning is very different from focusing body energy to make sparks.” He tried again. And again. Late in the evening, Arak finally held a tiny pearl of fire. He wore a happy/proud/exhausted expression on his face. 
     Scree’s eyes twinkled. “You look just like a dragon-lady gazing at her first egg.” 
     Arak gathered more energy and the fire pearl grew. “It’s like holding a star.” 
     Scree watched closely. “I can’t see magnetic lines, but I can feel energy. I want to hold a star.” 
     Drakor nodded to Arak. “That isss good. Let the lightning ball grow bigger. Then we will learn to find wrinkles so you can hit a target. This turns the bolt into a lightning sword.” 
     Arak looked up from his star. “What?” 
     “Wrinkles are wiggly magnetic lines. They attract lightning. I use my inner sight to find a magnetic wrinkle near the target. Wrinkles are small and do not hold still. When the wrinkle isss on top of the target I toss the bolt. The wrinkle will attract the lightning bolt and I will hit my target.” 
     “That would be more accurate than the way we toss lightning bolts onto the beach,” Taron said, frowning at the shadowed corridor between floating ice-mountains. 
     Arak followed his gaze. “Dorali, grab that pole. We may need it.” 
     Drakor eyed the channel and stood taller. “Why do you hit sand?” 
     Taron adjusted the tiller, carefully guiding the skiff down the middle. “The sand melts and makes glass rods. Octopi love them and trade us beautiful pearls, seaweed, even oyster spat.”
     Drakor grimaced. “Spat?” 
     Arak laughed, but his eyes were glued to the ice-mountains. “Spat is oyster seed, to grow oysters. They’re tasty, and oysters make a strong reef. The tsunami tore up our shore under the sea. We put oyster spat on rope nets and placed them on the dead sand, weighted with rocks. This has grown into an oyster reef.” 
     Taron added, “Octopi planted new eelgrass below the waves. This and the oysters helped bring back the fish, and our undersea shore is alive again.” 
     Thick, blue-gray shadows filled the channel like dense smoke. Pale afternoon light slid along the knife-sharp edges of ice.  Arak laid his ears back instinctively as he faced this menace. “How do you find magnetic wrinkles?” he asked, almost as an after-thought. The ice danger sucked him in as surely as a bog of quicksand. 
     “The same way I gather sky energy: I concentrate.” Drakor flicked his claws out and a bright pearl appeared. It quickly grew into a glowing, twisting ball. “Magnetic wrinkles are small, and they wriggle.” 
     Arak glanced at the energy pearl for just a moment. “I watch sparkles in the magnetic field to judge the strength of storms. I follow curved magnetic lines to find land. But I can’t see wrinkles . . . yet.” He stared at the towering walls of ice as they entered the narrow channel.
     Taron carefully adjusted the tiller, steering the dragon-skiff down the center. 
An ice-mountain tilted, creating a powerful whirlpool that sucked them into the ice.
     Taron lifted the wood pole and stared hopelessly at the falling giant. Time slowed. The sky disappeared. Dragons stretched their wings to fly. Orm and Scree flowed to the edge of the skiff, ready to drop into the sea. All too late. 
     The air grew heavier as the mountain rolled over, crushing down. 
     A ball of blinding white light flew to the ice, stretching, growing into a lightning sword. The tip gouged deep into a crack, boiling the ice from within. The iceberg shattered. Ice chunks rained down and skittered across the deck as the skiff slipped past to safety. 
     Everyone stared at Drakor.
     He flicked ice off the deck with his long tail. “This isss good practice for the ice game Slam.” Chunks flew overboard, skimming just above the rail, one after another. It was a precision drill. 
     “You knew that ice-mountain would fall?” Arak asked. 
     Drakor shrugged his wings. “Not sure. The ice-mountain was old, worn on top, so I was watching. Old, white mountains are more likely to flip over. After it flips, the ice isss blue like the sea.” 
     Arak clapped him on the shoulder. “So that’s why some are blue. That was a useful lightning bolt.”  
     Drakor grinned. “I make lots of lightning swords to practice for the games.” 
   Taron hit ice chunks with his tail, but they merely slid beneath the rail. “How do you play games with lightning swords?”  
     “Many ice targets are put on a field. Then the drum beats slowly. Each player has one turn. There are ten drumbeats to hit targets with lightning swords. The winner isss the dragon who hits the most targets in the least drumbeats.” Drakor’s eyes glowed.  
     Dorali wiped cold sea spray off her face. “Have you won?” 
     Drakor studied his sharp claws in silence. He flicked them out and started growing a new lightning sword. “Yes.”
 
 *FIND DRAGON LIGHTNING HERE* 
​     Kindle: http://authl.it/B01MA1ZOJ6?d
     e-Books: www.books2read.com/u/3k0nOn​
     Paperback: www.relinks.me/0996042563                                                                           

Once upon a time, there was a fierce winter. Snow drifts towered above me like white storm waves . . . cold, soft mountains I could tunnel into or slide down.

I was a young child when my family drove from the east coast to northern North Dakota. We gathered with relatives at my grandfather’s farm for Christmas.
 
There were no kids near my age, so I explored this new world on my own. “Winter’s Child”, my new book, has roots in this experience. 
          "She played in deep snowdrifts as tall as her head,
           And flew down the hills on her small wooden sled.
        "HOW CAN ONE CHILD                        She built snow castles with icicle towers.
END THE LONG, FIERCE WINTER?"           She played all alone for hours and hours."

​Next, the illustrations! A chance to experiment and gnash my teeth in frustration.

The fanciful flakes looked lost on a page;
they needed frames to hold them.
I drew boxes, printed the book,
and studied the empty frame above each poem.

What would capture the essence?
I wanted stylized pix with a feel of
stained glass windows.
​
​ *DOLPHIN & JAGUAR FLAKES*             

“Winter’s Child” is an upbeat, original fairytale
​in rhyming verse with fanciful illustrations.

It’s a story of the power of friendships,
which truly do change the world.
I hope you enjoy this book as much as it challenged me
​to properly complete my “once upon a time.”    

Thanks to all who helped. Thanks for stopping by!

Find WINTER'S CHILD here:
PAPERBACK: http://www.authl.it/B09K21BLLX?d
KINDLE: http://www.authl.it/B09KZZX9TQ?d   

Once upon a time, when I was 13, I wanted a bicycle. I worked to earn the money. Then, instead of a bike, I received a lesson in power. 

I grew up in a small house. We raised much of our food in a nearby plot, which was undoubtedly  healthier than most store options. If I wanted money, I earned it. I wanted a bicycle, so I babysat and sold excess produce door-to-door.

When I joined a 4-H club, I learned that I could also earn money with entries in the 4-H fair. Money was based on points. There were more points for winning a blue ribbon (best) than a red (good) or white (fair).

Points also varied by category; sewing a dress earned more points than growing a flower. I checked through the categories and chose entries that I could make or grow. 

Then I planned a campaign to win enough money to buy my bike. 

I worked on my entries during the entire year. I practiced to make perfectly even stitches. I sewed a dress, skirt, robe, doll (my own pattern), and more. I tried new recipes and tweaked them. Then I baked and froze a dozen types of cookies. I improved my drawing skills. I collected tree samples, pressed leaves, and made a fancy tree identification book that included detailed pen-and-ink illustrations.

I grew flowers, pinching off side buds to get the biggest blooms. I learned more about composition and lighting, and then took photos. I got scrap wood to make a lamp. I completed all the paperwork to enter my items in the county fair.

I really, really wanted a bike.

I had thirty entries. After the judging, I had won more than twenty blue ribbons. I knew that ribbons were just a symbol, soon forgotten by everyone. I had learned useful skills to make these entries, which I’m sure was the intent. 

But, what I really wanted was a bicycle, and now I had won enough money. I eagerly awaited my check.

An official envelope arrived with a check for much less money than I won. An official letter explained that there was a dollar limit. I felt betrayed. There was no written rule stating a limit. So, they changed the rules after the judging to deny me my prize. I wondered what they did with the money they saved by not paying these awards.

Apparently, the officials never expected one person to win so much. But they had no idea how much I wanted a bicycle. 

I worked hard and followed the rules. Then the people with power changed the rules to suppress a person without power. This was a potent lesson in abuse of power. 

I never forgot this lesson. It was not a tragedy. People suffer far worse every day.   

But it wasn't fair. ​I was a child, and I couldn't change what happened. So I decided that, in time, I would be able to change what happened to others. 

I found alternate routes to power, beyond age and wealth. I learned the power of the pen and well written letters.  

I’ve written letters to city and state organizations, to Representatives and Senators. I’ve organized successful letter campaigns. I’ve helped change communities, cities, and even state facilities. There's no money in this, no fame, but it provides quiet satisfaction.    

Any person can use the power of the pen. And we change the world every time we interact with another person or being, every time we recycle or pre-cycle.

Scree, a shape-shifter in The Dragon Dreamer, says, “What will be, will be. And then I’ll fix it.” She tells Arak, a dragon misfit, “Change is seldom easy. But the ripples from a single stone can cross the sea.”

And my bicycle? I kept working until I could afford one. Then I rode miles through the countryside, alone. I learned the wildflowers and birds along old, seldom used roads. I pedaled to other cities and back again. This was Freedom. 

POSTS ON MAKING CHANGES:
Use the Illusion of Power: http://www.jennysburke.com/blog/make-a-difference-with-the-illusion-of-power
Planning for Change: http://www.jennysburke.com/blog/speak-up-you-could-save-many-lives

Thanks for visiting!
​
The Dragon Dreamer series is Science Fantasy Adventure for young adults 9 to 99.