As of this date, I am not sure yet what approach and what “person” I will be writing in. I feel as if the story needs to be two separate types of books. The main Phantammeron tale is a vast mytho-poetic work in third person, that moves through a mythology based on a vast array of characters and events. But I have also been contemplating a much more intimate style and story that builds as a mini-tale inserted into last part of the bigger tale. What I love about both approaches – the larger mythology and saga, and the simpler more personal character story – is each brings a different perspective. The second approach might just be a way to help me humanize the story and connect the reader to a female protagonist that forms the basis for the Maome story. Ultimately, it’s the story of a little girl that like Alice in Wonderland, gets trapped in a bizarre place and time, and who must untangle the plot and her purpose for being there. Through her eyes I can explore all the monsters, beasties, characters, and conflict that are behind the bigger saga. I like the idea and it also might allow me to get a book out there much faster while I work on the larger novel. Here is a sample excerpt from what would be part of the beginning first person view of this new story. This is originating from Maome, after she arrives into Dreamland and Gallaia. After she arrived, she fell in with a crowd of creatures and young children who were new to Gallaia. She is recalling one person she met after she first arrived.

I remember the day, so many years ago, when I first set foot on that mossy doorstep. The lonely little vine-covered cottage, so quaint, so welcoming, warm and glowing in the glade. In a lonesome little copse in the wooded lowlands of Kelevon, sat the home. It appeared old and aged yet well kept, as if a carpenters careful work and loving hand of the gardener had carefully managed the estate such that it remained a homely little living quarters for the residents within. In those olden days I will never forget the site. To my old and weary eyes now, its darkened rooms and Ms Haverty, bless her soul, now departed, have left an indelible impression on me and I cannot bear to see it as it is now. But then it was a white bricked glory, covered in vines and with a roof made of heavy straw and everlander brush. A simple but thick door on it front welcomed the traveler. And a bush garden filled with hollyhocks and lavendar and cucumbers and cantaloupe surrounded it on all sides. A well-traveled footpath rose at the base of the dark and twisted forest and carried one into the garden, past the water well, and into the living room where rested a sweet and elderly lady…..Ms. Haverly. You see, in those days, children who had crossed over from the dark and very real world of the living (Ermann), found their way as children to the shores of Kelevon. And they remained as little people forever. Yet, they were mortal, and aged. But in a slower sense. Ms Haverty had been here many ages, brought here by the hand of others I dare not speak of. But like many, she flourished here. But she chose to plant her home in the hills and vales overlooking the not too distant road of new travelers, so that they would find a safe and secure place of comfort for them in their new world. The land of dreams is what Gallaia is about. And those who come here in their dreams remained in this fantastic world. But even those who sought adventure and exploration in this fantastic place longed for family, for loved ones long ago lost in time. Such a child was I when I first came here….alone, parent-less, afraid, confused. But it was Ms Haverty I thank so much for the comfort and love I so desperately needed. He warm embrace, soft crystal gray eyes and tears shed on my behalf when frightened or alone, connected my heart with hers in a way even my own parents had not fully shared. It was as if my cup was filled that had yet ever been filled. In the adventurous days of my life unfolding in Gallia, as I traveled west into the Faerie lands and beyond, I would hold a special place for her. She too had traveled but she knew I would return someday to her….her welcoming arms, and the embrace of someone, possibly the last someone in this tumultuous wild place, that loved me truly.