The Alan Rickman B-sides

Many of his fans are mourning Alan Rickman today.  I've loved him since I was a kid.  If you are looking to enjoy some of his work this weekend in remembrance of his wonderful career, why not check out some of his more obscure films?  We've all already seen and adore Die Hard and Robin Hood and Harry Potter.  Here are some of my favorites from the Alan Rickman B-sides.

Blow Dry
Alan Rickman plays a hairdresser preparing for an important competition.  His ex-wife (played by Natasha Richardson, and also a hairdresser) is dealing with cancer.  Did I mention he has a tattoo of scissors on his foot?  I know it sounds faintly ridiculous, but the result is amazing.

Truly, Madly, Deeply
This one seems especially poignant this week, as Rickman plays a ghost trying to help his grieving lover recover from his death.  It's a beautiful film from the early days of his movie career.

Michael Collins
This isn't an obscure movie, but it is sometimes seen more as a Liam Neeson film, as Neeson plays the title character.  In my opinion, however, Rickman's portrayal of Eamon de Valera makes the film.

Excerpt from "She Fears the Darkness" from the collection She Sees in Her Sleep

The following is an excerpt from my short story collection She Sees in Her Sleep, now available on Amazon Kindle for $0.99.  The collection serves to provide some background knowledge about your favorite characters from She Dies at the End, as well as to ease your November Snow withdrawal as I finish up the sequel.  Enjoy!

***

The line was long, but Zinnia claimed she was okay with waiting, so she and Pine entered the queue.  They had been waiting for about ten minutes when they heard a child scream.  Now, this is not exactly an unusual sound at Disneyland, as anyone who has been there can vouch for its meltdown-inducing properties.  This sound, however, was one of fear and pain rather than frustration.

Before Pine could stop her, Zinnia had ducked below the chains and through the crowd in the direction of the cry, running just a little faster than was prudent when observable by mortals.  Pine ran after her as quickly as he dared.

By the time he caught up, Zinnia was sitting on the ground, holding hands with a crying preschooler, surrounded by his frantic parents and a park employee, who was speaking urgently into her radio.  The boy was clutching his arm.

Zinnia was trying to comfort him.  “It’s going to be okay,” she said quite maternally.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and a moment later, the boy’s cries became less frantic.  They were now more indignant than pained.

“Come on, Zinnia,” Pine urged.  “Let’s let them take care of him, okay?”  He reached out his hand, and his expression urged her to take it quickly.

“You have a very sweet little girl,” the mother called out after them.

“Thanks,” Pine said with a bit of a pang.  He’d always wanted a little girl, but alas, he and his ex-wife had only experienced one crushing disappointment after another.

Once they were out of sight, Pine sat Zinnia down on a bench and knelt in front of her.

“What in the world were you thinking?” he scolded.  “Did you heal that little boy's broken arm?”

“Maybe a little?” she admitted, her eyes beginning to fill with blue tears at his disapproval.  “I’m sorry.  I couldn’t help it.  I could feel how much it hurt from over in the line and I just . . . I couldn’t not help him.”  She then began to weep ostentatiously, as only a 6-year-old can.

Pine softened slightly and hugged her as she cried.  “That was very kind of you, sweetheart, but it is dangerous for us to draw attention like that.  And you’re too young to be healing, anyway.  You’re going to be so hungry now.  I know your particular gift is a difficult one.  It is hard to ignore other people’s pain.  But it’s something you’re going to have to learn to manage.”

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, sniffling.

“No, honey.  I just need you to be more careful.”

“Okay,” she agreed as Pine wiped her face.  “I’ll try.”

“Come on.  We’ve got more fun to have,” Pine urged, managing a smile.  The smile disappeared as he looked over Zinnia’s head and saw hostile eyes staring back from a bearded face a dozen yards away.

Excerpt from "She Forges a Peace" from the collection She Sees in Her Sleep

The following is an excerpt from my short story collection She Sees in Her Sleep, now available on Amazon Kindle for $0.99.  The collection serves to provide some background knowledge about your favorite characters from She Dies at the End, as well as to ease your November Snow withdrawal as I finish up the sequel.  Enjoy!

***

She entered the tent alone, her dozen guards waiting warily outside with their vampire counterparts.  That had been the agreement. Her fellow monarch was to enter similarly unprotected, but he had little need for guards in the dead of night. There were no creatures of the dark who could challenge his strength, unless they came in great numbers, and great numbers would lack the necessary stealth. Of course, all knew that a betrayal at this juncture would mean destruction on an epic scale. No one wanted that, not any longer.

She was sanguine. She knew this peace would hold for centuries and more. She'd had glimpses of the future, a future in which vampire and fairy fortunes were interwoven, a future in which the old wars would be, if not exactly forgotten, put aside in the pursuit of prosperity as well as safety from the lycanthropes.

In truth, it was the fairy who needed the peace more urgently, which fact they had taken great pains to conceal. It was easy to make new vampires. A single sire could make a dozen in one night if he wished. Not that that would be wise, but it could be done. Fairies took time to grow, far too much time at the rate they had been dying of late.  

Weakened though they were, they did have much to offer the vampires. Daytime protection would be a boon, especially in those lands rife with wolves and human witch-hunters. Fairy magic was their other currency. Some vampires had abilities, of course. Queen Marisha was a gifted empath, and the Scourge could all but move mountains without raising more than an eyebrow.  

But gifts were rare among their people, and abundant among Lilje's. Every fairy could do something amazing. And some fairies . . . some fairies could cast spells affecting hundreds, or thousands . . . or maybe just one very crucial person at a very crucial moment. Her husband, Gul, could hide whole armies. That gift, along with her own clairvoyance, was the only thing that had allowed them to hold out long enough to broker this accord, which promised peace in most of Europe, the Middle East, and Northern Africa. Lilje had seen that the rest of the world would follow their lead, once they saw these lands bloom with the prosperity that would come with peace.

It helped that Marisha was a reasonable creature, herself weary of constant warfare. Lilje wondered how the vampire queen had convinced her husband. The Scourge seemed to thrive on leading men and women to their doom. Perhaps that was an act, meant to sow fear in his enemies. Either way, Ilyn's reputation was such that Lilje felt a little shiver of apprehension as he pulled back the fabric and entered the tent from the opposite side.

"Ilyn," she greeted him with squinting eyes. His sprinkling of silver hair amidst the black glittered in the candlelight as he bent to offer her a shallow bow. The scar across his cheek twitched as he unfolded back to his full, imposing height. She had heard a number of tales of how that mark had been made.  The only commonality between the legends was that a fairy had been the culprit.

"Lilje," he replied blandly. 

Excerpt from "He Worships His Queen" from the collection She Sees in Her Sleep

The following is an excerpt from my short story collection She Sees in Her Sleep, now available on Amazon Kindle for $0.99.  The collection serves to provide some background knowledge about your favorite characters from She Dies at the End, as well as to ease your November Snow withdrawal as I finish up the sequel.  Enjoy!

***

“He’s a waste of food."

He’s our son,” the woman argued, careful to stay out of arm’s reach.

“You waited to see if he would improve. He didn’t. You should have left him to the elements when he was born. If I hadn’t been gone to war, and you hadn’t been a foolish woman, it wouldn’t be a problem now.”

The woman began to weep.

“You have two babes at the breast now and not enough milk. Healthy sons, who will be able to run the woods with our people when they are men. You need more to eat. You know the moon does not call the children like him. He will never shift. He will never howl. He is not one of us. He will be doubly outcast.  And who will feed him, when we are gone? He cannot farm. He cannot hunt. He cannot learn a trade. Will he go to the city to beg? To be killed by a stronger beggar? Kinder to put him out of his misery now. You bade me wait to see if the babies would deliver safe, and they have.  It’s time.”

“Hush, he’ll hear you,” his wife begged him.

“He’ll figure it out quick enough when I leave him in the snow,” came the heartless reply.

***

He had managed to pull himself through the brush to the edge of the path, where there was some small chance of being seen by a traveler. His meager clothes were now soaked through by snow and torn by thorns.  He was grateful that he was beginning to feel warm again, unknowing at the age of four that this false warmth was a symptom of hypothermia. He sang softly to himself, hoping his mother would come, knowing she would not. He was a very bright child.  

The priest nearly passed him by, taking him for a pile of rags. He pulled up short and leapt off his mule when he realized the pile was breathing. The situation made itself clear to him when he picked up the child and noticed his withered legs. He was debating with himself what best to do, when the child threw strong arms around his neck.

“He’s young enough to teach, I suppose. I could use a new apprentice, now Jeremy has died,” he said softly to himself. "You don't need legs to write."

“I’ll be good,” the boy piped up, nearly startling the old man into dropping him. “I already know my letters. I learnt from our priest who died in summer. He had a bad leg, too.”

The old man shook his head and climbed back onto the mule, setting the small boy in front of him.  “Will I ever learn to just keep walking?” he muttered as he wrapped his cloak around the child.  "I am Brother Paulo.  What is your name?"

"My name is Luka," came his clear little voice.