Born Under a Bad Star ( a Trixi of the Fenidadd story )

Little bit of background: Trixi is the central character of several stories I've begun writing and discarded over the years. Her people have been called many things from Little People to Breen and now Fenidadd. Her companions have, excepting a few spelling adjustments, remained the same stalwart fellows over the years (Cuz, Caspian, Kate & Phil). Essentially they are Pixie sized forest people living on a temperate island. They have no family but each other, and they get it loads of trouble, usually because Trixi is bored and something dangerous and possibly stupid sounds like fun. They have fought giants, pirates, sorcerers, bigotry, and now a blood thirsty water cult.

The story of Trixi&co is very dear to my heart. I first hatched the shape of the idea in fifth grade when I ran around at recess with a gang of friends I wanted to help me explore ideas for a series of short fantasy adventure tales. I wrote the first complete draft of The War of the Giants, and surrounding events when I was in sixth grade (It received second at the ACSI Young Author's fair) and was the longest thing I'd ever written (If I remember correctly it was about 30/40 double spaced typed pages so I'd estimate about 10k words).

The second draft of War of the Giants was written my sophomore year in high school over the course of my thanksgiving break in a last ditch effort to finish nanowrimo in 5 days (I got to 16k before I ran out of time). That remains, in my mind the best week of my literary career. I was ecstatically proud of those 16k words. I had never been up to then or since, so prolific.

Of all the stories in my head, Trixi's is one that I genuinely wish I could figure out how to tell completely and share with others.

This latest incarnation draws more heavily on scotch gaelic/celtic and less on Sir Barrie/the Caribbean.

The coille shelters many things. The stature of the Fénidadd may be short but their memory is long and as far back as the elders of their people now remember, they have made their homes along the southern edge of the coille, the great forest. It is the mother of all, providing shelter, food, and inspiration.  

On the banks of the River Àrsainn just below where it breaks the first mountain ridge before running into the wide sea beyond their ken, here they make their homes and homesteads, amongst the bowls of the ancient birch and oak trees. Here where there would be precious little space for any other people, they make their diminutive farms; grow, mill, and brew an easy if superstitious existence.

But the forest hides many secrets and many creatures besides the Fénidadd, and they are not all so pleasant. Lean times show that nothing is so good at exposing the nature of things as hardship and desperation. There exists now a growing understanding of the first, the second may soon follow.