tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35572874217106248442024-03-12T18:23:38.985-04:00CND Jewelry Tales - My Year of JewelryEvery piece has its own story . . . that's why it's called Jewelry Tales.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.comBlogger205125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-47724171504534971612013-11-05T10:40:00.000-05:002013-11-05T12:12:55.089-05:00Western Sky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ellen leaned back in the saddle and stretched the kinks out of her back and legs; until now, she hadn't realized just how blue the sky was, up here on the mountain. It seemed as if they'd been climbing forever; she knew her horse was feeling it, too. Time to make camp.<br />
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She smiled as she pulled the saddle off; she watched her horse shake off the sweat with a satisfied grunt. As tired as she was, she took care of her horse first; a cooling walk, a brisk curry with the sweat scraper and then they could both have something to eat and a good rest.<br />
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In the morning, when the sun rose, they'd continue; there were many more mountains ahead of them.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">© 2013 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-9074755006142888752013-06-03T21:58:00.000-04:002013-06-04T12:34:38.807-04:00Rivers of Time<img src=" " /><br />
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Eugenia was game for most anything, but even she had to admit that this proposition gave her pause. Did she really want to wear an exact copy of her life, a record of all her thoughts, hopes, and deeds, on her wrist for all to see? (Even worse was the idea that this copy would be created and the original scanned by the cutest pair of puppy-dog eyes she'd ever seen, on top of the nicest..."Scratch that, Geni," she warned herself; "if you go through with this, he'll see that, too.")<br />
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Realizing that this wasn't the first time those thoughts had appeared in her mind, she grinned and let herself dwell on them again. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, she thought; the chances of anyone thinking her the least bit lamb-like were somewhere between slim and none.<br />
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Given the trouble she'd found herself in recently, it wasn't a bad idea to have a copy of her life on file. There was a pretty good chance that she might need to reboot herself one of these days. Her journey hadn't exactly been ordinary; neither were her thoughts. But still, there were some things that she'd kept private, and she wasn't sure she wanted to give that up. Of course, if the alternative was that her life might disappear as if it had never been, and there would be no way to recall her to this sphere, well, maybe it would be worth the risk.<br />
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As it turned out, she needn't have worried. As quickly as the fabric of her life was woven, it pleated itself; the bracelet became as embellished as her own life; and, in a fraction of a second, even she didn't know what was true and what she'd invented.<br />
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<i>If you'd like to read the previous adventures of Eugenia, check out <a href="http://jewelrytales.blogspot.com/2009/05/flight-of-fancy.html" target="_blank">Flight of Fancy</a>, <a href="http://jewelrytales.blogspot.com/2009/06/time-and-tides.html" target="_blank">Time and Tides</a> and <a href="http://jewelrytales.blogspot.com/2012/12/as-it-turned-out-eugenia-had-enough.html" target="_blank">Out the Other Side</a>.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">© 2013 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel, modeled by Maria Daniel</span>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-43756024174954416202012-12-29T19:58:00.002-05:002013-06-04T12:33:40.611-04:00Out the Other Side<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As it turned out, Eugenia had enough time to relive every moment spent with the inventor of the bubble, and quite a lot of time left over to imagine their next meeting. And the one after that. His bubble may have saved her from a watery grave, but it took its own sweet time delivering her back to dry land. But deliver her it did, and she reckoned that she'd used the time pleasantly enough.<br />
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Still and all, she wasn't above teasing him a bit when they finally did meet up again; she couldn't help asking if there were other things about him that were designed to take just as long. The look he gave her told her that there just might be a thing or two; good thing Bronwyn wasn't anywhere around or she'd never hear the end of it.<br />
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He handed her a box with a sly smile, saying how much he appreciated her testing his bubble (and not breaking it), and wondering out loud if she'd ever thought about venturing into a hotter sphere. She briefly considered throwing the box at him, unopened, but remembering how well his bubble had worked, and, given that her Flights of Fancy had been mighty erratic lately, she decided to keep it.<br />
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Slipping the ring on her finger she looked up at him and said, "Can you guarantee that things will heat up if I wear it?"<br />
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<i>If you'd like to read the previous adventures of Eugenia, check out <a href="http://jewelrytales.blogspot.com/2009/05/flight-of-fancy.html" target="_blank">Flight of Fancy</a> and <a href="http://jewelrytales.blogspot.com/2009/06/time-and-tides.html" target="_blank">Time and Tides</a>.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">© 2012 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-75529326684649026292012-04-11T11:52:00.006-04:002012-04-11T12:03:41.657-04:00Surfer Girl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P-olUF3ddhU/T4WpEv8tyII/AAAAAAAAAv8/mH6sa9zNL1w/s1600/Long%2BMagatama%2BBlack_011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 364px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P-olUF3ddhU/T4WpEv8tyII/AAAAAAAAAv8/mH6sa9zNL1w/s400/Long%2BMagatama%2BBlack_011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730171999954520194" /></a><br /><br />Jenna twisted her hair into a knot and tied it back, out of her eyes. Ends stuck out at odd angles, but she couldn't be bothered with that; as long as it couldn't get in her face, she was happy. Her hair was waist length, blonde, and full of split ends, but it suited her. It was easy, and she liked things like hair to be easy.<br /><br />She kicked off her flip flops, stripped off her jeans and t-shirt and pulled on her wetsuit. Waving to friends who were just arriving, she picked up her board and walked toward the ocean, leaving her stuff in a pile on the sand. It would be there when she got back; it always was, and if someone needed those jeans enough to take them, that was okay, too.<br /><br />She waded in, dropped her board, and paddled out to wait for a wave.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2012 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> focal bead by <a href="http://www.lisapetersart.com/" target="blank">Lisa Peters ART</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-27239082847558514132011-12-06T12:30:00.007-05:002011-12-06T12:46:52.301-05:00Dance 'til dawn<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-avYcgJb2Tc4/Tt5RjAABmCI/AAAAAAAAAtA/RDXNrUNMRRI/s1600/Cynthia%2BNewcomer%2BDaniel%2B01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-avYcgJb2Tc4/Tt5RjAABmCI/AAAAAAAAAtA/RDXNrUNMRRI/s400/Cynthia%2BNewcomer%2BDaniel%2B01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683069441525520418" /></a> <br /><br />Analisa smiled as she pulled the zipper up the last few inches and fastened the hook at the top. She spun around, feeling the silk of her skirt swish and swirl around her thighs, gently caressing her skin. Holding her arms as if the man of her dreams were in them, she danced around the room; the walls fell away and candlelight replaced the harsh overhead lighting in her bedroom. <br /><br />The dress was magic. <br /><br />She slipped on her shoes, and fastened a bracelet around her wrist. Tonight was her night to shine; the dress promised romance, and she believed. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-85330280624546896392011-06-17T23:13:00.004-04:002011-06-17T23:27:00.612-04:00Tribangle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jyVXSI2kJkw/TfwYgPfBpnI/AAAAAAAAAnA/8KeQCpobR8E/s1600/Tribangle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jyVXSI2kJkw/TfwYgPfBpnI/AAAAAAAAAnA/8KeQCpobR8E/s400/Tribangle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619393377243080306" /></a><br /><br />Emilyanne loved to dance. <br /><br />She loved to throw her head back, close her eyes and feel the music moving through her, wild and free. She made up the steps as she went along; she moved as though her muscles were a viscous liquid beneath her skin. Her arms were stringed instruments; her feet, percussive.<br /><br />There was no difference between sound and movement when Emilyanne danced; she was the music given shape, she was the dance given voice. There was no beginning, there was no end; there was only now, right now. <br /><br />She never wanted to stop.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br />Lampwork beads by <a href="http://www.artfire.com/modules.php?name=Shop&seller_id=14722" target="blank">Melissa Vess</a>, Seed beads, bead-woven.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-40008214859119671192011-05-31T15:33:00.005-04:002011-05-31T15:49:11.205-04:00Flowers from a friend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-60yQLbtg76M/TeVCx34vj7I/AAAAAAAAAls/sjt8_8-HWdQ/s1600/Cynthia%2BNewcomer%2BDaniel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-60yQLbtg76M/TeVCx34vj7I/AAAAAAAAAls/sjt8_8-HWdQ/s320/Cynthia%2BNewcomer%2BDaniel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612965935170162610" /></a><br /><br />Eleanor opened her eyes and took stock; she was still here. Not that here was a bad place to be; all in all, she was glad to be here, she just couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment with her life that had been plaguing her lately. It wasn't anything she could put her finger on; nothing was wrong, exactly, it just wasn't quite right, either. <br /><br />She sighed. <br /><br />She couldn't even do depression right these days. That was it in a nutshell; she just didn't feel right about things any more. Everything was just a little bit off; not enough off to make it worthwhile to call attention to it and do something about it, but just enough off to make her sigh instead of smile. <br /><br />She just wished that someone would notice her; she realized with a start that she desperately needed flowers from a friend. Since she couldn't make someone else send them to her, she decided to send flowers to someone else who might want them, and, perhaps, make their day. With a wry grin, Eleanor launched herself out of bed and arranged delivery. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br />Polymer Clay bead by Ivy Koehn of <a href="http://www.ikandiclay.com/" target="blank">iKandiClay</a>. Beadwoven.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-18267253594342625302011-03-02T14:48:00.001-05:002011-03-02T19:28:42.703-05:00Toroidal Space<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HdXMPPf_ACU/TW7HQGjwSCI/AAAAAAAAAfo/Uwetdi5uScs/s1600/Toroidal%2BSpace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 335px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HdXMPPf_ACU/TW7HQGjwSCI/AAAAAAAAAfo/Uwetdi5uScs/s400/Toroidal%2BSpace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579616067811035170" /></a><br /><br />As long as she didn't try to make sense of it, Donna was fascinated by mathematics. It boggled the mind, actually; she was quite sure that it was really an elaborate fraud perpetuated by mathematicians; they all just pretended to understand it and laughed over jello shots in bars whose entrances were designed with fractal geometry and were therefore invisible to the rest of the world. <br /><br />Donna had lots of interesting theories. <br /><br />True, her eyes glazed over at the mere mention of statistical anomalies; she wouldn't know a standard deviation from a non-standard one. But she felt things. Deeply. She was a true mathematician, in a non-linear way. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> based on the Ionic Polyhedra Cube by <a href="http://beadinfinitum.com/Kits/index.html#Ionic_Polyhedra" target="blank">beAd Infinitum</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-61587784309726969562011-02-15T16:41:00.010-05:002011-02-16T18:33:49.010-05:00Fairy Ladder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-17Uq_GKxigc/TVrzY2KKN2I/AAAAAAAAAeI/tqYE28G5i6k/s1600/Fairy%2BLadder.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 356px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-17Uq_GKxigc/TVrzY2KKN2I/AAAAAAAAAeI/tqYE28G5i6k/s400/Fairy%2BLadder.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574035097004947298" /></a><br /><br />Once upon a time, when the world was young, and Ireland was populated only by Celts, five little fairies were sent out into the world to gather dew for the queen's breakfast. They were each given a little white cup, and they promised faithfully, on their honor, to return at dawn with their cups full. <br /><br />They left early (as fairies never know what will happen en route) and, as luck would have it, they arrived with plenty of time to spare. They tied their cups to a blade of grass and frolicked in the field, having a grand time. They were quite little girls, and none of them had any idea how to tell time, so of course, they played too long. <br /><br />Suddenly, the sun appeared in the eastern sky in all his glory, and the fairies rushed back to collect their cups. Alas, the cups were stuck fast to the blade of grass, and no matter how hard they pulled, they could not break them free. Luckily for the little fairies, they had a godmother who loved them, and she brought each of them a new cup before the dew dried, and tied a big green leaf to the blade of grass to hide the cups that were stuck fast. <br /><br />The little cups on the blade of grass looked like a ladder to the little girls, and they could not resist coming back, night after night, to play on it; climbing up the ladder and sliding down the great, green leaf. Sadly, after a couple of weeks, the little cups fell off the blade of grass and their game was over. <br /><br />Until next spring, when the entire field was magically filled with lilies of the valley, just waiting for the littlest fairies to come and play. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> The pattern for this bangle is available in my <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/JewelryTales">Jewelry Tales shops</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-85739071802351741582011-01-25T22:11:00.007-05:002011-01-25T22:33:13.236-05:00Twelve Bar Blues<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TT-RP-7azWI/AAAAAAAAAb0/yRBcxntMHr8/s1600/Twelve%2BBar%2BBlues.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 296px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TT-RP-7azWI/AAAAAAAAAb0/yRBcxntMHr8/s400/Twelve%2BBar%2BBlues.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566327368229506402" /></a>Derry picked up her guitar and ran her fingers over the strings, feeling the frets under her fingertips, picking out a melody she'd known most of her life. She didn't have to be down to play the blues; but it helped. The music took the place of tears; it always had. <br /><br />In her own mind she heard the rest of the band; the bass pulling the rhythm, the harp like a train in the distance, and her on the guitar. It had been years since she'd been on stage, years since they'd played together, but they were always together in her head. In a voice as rough and as nicotined-stained as her fingers, Derry sang the blues. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br />Lampwork beads by <a href="http://www.artfire.com/modules.php?name=Shop&seller_id=14722" target="blank">Melissa Vess</a>. Bead woven.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-2214361075672208552011-01-18T17:59:00.008-05:002011-01-18T22:04:49.259-05:00Hugs and Kisses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTYcJE-ti_I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/pZ-M8721V-U/s1600/Hugs%2Band%2BKisses%2B2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 228px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTYcJE-ti_I/AAAAAAAAAbQ/pZ-M8721V-U/s400/Hugs%2Band%2BKisses%2B2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563665331944000498" /></a>When her children were small, she loved to stroke their cheeks and kiss them on the tops of their heads; their hair smelled so sweet, and their skin was softer than she thought anything could be. As they grew up, she reveled in sticky kisses and exuberant hugs; even the ones that nearly knocked the wind out of her and prompted her to remind them to be gentle, telling them that mothers can break if they're not careful. <div><br /></div><div>She missed grabbing them as they ran by and swinging them into her arms; she missed their childish laughter and shrieks of delight. When they were little, they were part of her; affectionate gestures came as easily and as naturally as breathing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now that they're grown, she has to think before she hugs; she has to judge their moods, and wait for invitations. Someday, she hopes, they'll have children of their own; children whose heads she can kiss, instead of just remembering.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span><br />Lampwork beads by <a href="http://www.artfire.com/modules.php?name=Shop&seller_id=14722" target="blank">Melissa Vess</a>. Bead woven bangle; pattern available in my <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/JewelryTales" target="blank">ArtFire</a> and <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/JewelryTales" target="blank">Etsy</a> Shops.</div>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-53784877197772340552011-01-14T15:42:00.004-05:002011-01-14T15:57:18.751-05:00Balancing Act<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTC2FoX9mpI/AAAAAAAAAYs/CxXmV6gpQjY/s1600/Balancing%2BAct.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 246px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTC2FoX9mpI/AAAAAAAAAYs/CxXmV6gpQjY/s400/Balancing%2BAct.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562145747656088210" /></a><br />She caught her handbag as it plummeted off her shoulder before the cup of coffee she was holding spilled all over her new suit. It was going to be a good day; that was the best omen she knew, even better than arriving in front of the elevator bank and finding an empty car waiting for her. <br /><br />She set her cup down on her desk and put her kamikaze purse into her bottom drawer. She lowered herself gratefully into her chair and kicked off her shoes; they were gorgeous, but they pinched. Thank heavens for desks that hid everything from the waist down; her feet could recover while she checked her messages. <br /><br />She dealt with her email swiftly; the delete key was her friend. Phone messages were a bit stickier; if people actually bothered to call, they usually needed some sort of a response. She was in a race against time to clear them out; her next meeting started in less than an hour. Leaving them for later was not an option. Later, there would be more. <div><br /></div><div>Downing her coffee before it went cold, she set to work.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2011 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span> <div><br /></div><div> <a href="http://www.artfire.com/modules.php?name=Shop&op=listing&product_id=2730315">Personal Use</a> and <a href="http://www.artfire.com/modules.php?name=Shop&op=listing&product_id=2730339">Teacher's Editions</a> Tutorials are available in my <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/JewelryTales">ArtFire Shop</a>.</div></div>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-14999089845136698632010-12-19T14:36:00.004-05:002011-01-14T21:44:44.424-05:00There's a light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TQ5fKn67aSI/AAAAAAAAAXA/4ZGMAMrsGpA/s1600/there%2527s%2Ba%2Blight.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 292px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TQ5fKn67aSI/AAAAAAAAAXA/4ZGMAMrsGpA/s400/there%2527s%2Ba%2Blight.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552480026713876770" /></a><br />Helene raised her lantern as high as she could, feeling (rather foolishly) like a girl in a gothic novel. <br /><br />The fog had swept up through the canyon on the back of the wind, and it took very little imagination to turn their campsite in the California hills into a windswept moor in Victorian England.<br /><br />"Heathcliff?" she whispered, and was startled to hear an answering, "Cathy?"<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel<br />Trellis Series rope tutorial by <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/NEDbeads" target="blank">NED Beads Artisan Jewelry</a>, Ionic Polyhedra beaded beads pattern by<a href="http://beadinfinitum.com/Kits/index.html#Ionic_Polyhedra" target="blank"> beAd Infinitum</a>. Hand fabricated.</span>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-31228046131462714452010-12-09T08:15:00.000-05:002010-12-09T08:15:00.159-05:00Times Squared<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TP_46EYIQhI/AAAAAAAAAVc/7TJWLoSXlak/s1600/Times%2BSquared.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TP_46EYIQhI/AAAAAAAAAVc/7TJWLoSXlak/s400/Times%2BSquared.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548426942434787858" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">She thought about Sylvia Plath </span> as she walked from the subway to her office. Not for the usual reasons; she wasn't a poetry groupie or the sort of person who identified with tortured souls. <br /><br />No, her thoughts of Plath were purely practical. <br /><br />As a teenager, she'd read <span style="font-style:italic;">The Bell Jar</span> and remembered only one thing from it; the image of the heroine walking across New York City, late at night, counting the blocks across the grid of Manhattan to her destination. She counted them, too. And worked them into math problems. <br /><br />She called then her Plath patterns. <br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span> lIonic Polyhedra beaded bead designed by <a href="http://beadinfinitum.com/Kits/index.html#Ionic_Polyhedra" target="blank">beAd Infinitum</a>. Snake Chain designed by <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/GoodQuillHunting" target="blank">Good Quill Hunting</a> Hand fabricated.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-81577719561286287292010-11-26T19:21:00.011-05:002011-01-14T22:08:29.648-05:00Skaði<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TPBPTdxBeAI/AAAAAAAAAU0/M52frg1hB4k/s1600/Ska%25C3%25B0i.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 385px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TPBPTdxBeAI/AAAAAAAAAU0/M52frg1hB4k/s400/Ska%25C3%25B0i.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544018337119434754" /></a><br /><br /><font size="3">She cupped her hands </font> and gently blew over her palms; the children saw only the snow, falling from her fingers. She was tall, very tall, and slim as an icicle. Her skis flew down the mountain she loved; straight as the path of an arrow, and twice as fast. <br /><br />She loved winter; she was never cold, never tired of snow and ice. Her mother had known her name in the womb; Skaði, Skaði, Skaði she whispered, sending chills down her mother's spine.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> Glass icicle by <a href="http://stores.ebay.com/Glass-Icicles-by-Glasswich?_rdc=1" target="blank"> Glasswich</a>. Beadwoven from seed beads; embellished with quartz chips, angora rovings and vintage glass.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-53549261935792437402010-11-24T14:46:00.010-05:002011-01-14T22:09:41.113-05:00Darkness into light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TO1wLlfLOjI/AAAAAAAAAUg/cPoXZBU6jEI/s1600/Darkness%2Binto%2Blight%2BCND.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 201px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TO1wLlfLOjI/AAAAAAAAAUg/cPoXZBU6jEI/s400/Darkness%2Binto%2Blight%2BCND.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543210060706691634" /></a><br /><br /><font size="3">She rolled over </font> and squinted at the clock. 3: 04. Wide awake, she'd hoped it was later than that. The light from the neighbor's yard made it look like dawn in her bedroom, even through her shades.<br /><br />Groaning, she turned her face resolutely to the wall and tried to go back to sleep. It's not morning, she told herself; not even close. If I get up now, I'll be ready for bed at 7:00 tonight.<br /><br />Click. The light turned itself off automatically. It was night again.<br /><br />At least until the next raccoon wandered by.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel <br />Time Machine Beaded Bead Pattern by Gwen Fisher and Florence Turnour of <a href="http://www.beadinfinitum.com/Kits/index.html#Time_Machine" target="blank"> beAd Infinitum</a>. </font>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-49128749424046638302010-11-13T12:27:00.003-05:002011-01-14T22:47:55.098-05:00Ice Queen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TN7K0PJ905I/AAAAAAAAATg/_dP5dloDbo4/s1600/Ice%2BQueen%2Bblog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TN7K0PJ905I/AAAAAAAAATg/_dP5dloDbo4/s400/Ice%2BQueen%2Bblog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539087590482629522" /></a><br /><font size="3">It was snowing outside </font> but she knew she'd never feel the cold. She would be whisked from her penthouse apartment into a heated car so fast that she wouldn't even need a wrap. <br /><br />She hadn't always been rich; deep in her consciousness was a visceral memory of cold and hunger; of nearly freezing to death on nights like these. She'd hungered for everything in those days; she'd dreamed of living warm and protected. She smiled, graciously acknowledging her host and benefactor.<br /><br />It was a different kind of cold.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel.</font> Swarovski crystals and seed beads. Pattern available in my <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/JewelryTales">Artfire</a> and <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/JewelryTales">Etsy</a> Shops.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-24246672545227139712010-10-12T12:32:00.005-04:002011-01-14T22:49:51.305-05:00Exposed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEZQsqEMbI/AAAAAAAAAZE/BIQGRWld2bQ/s1600/Exposed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEZQsqEMbI/AAAAAAAAAZE/BIQGRWld2bQ/s400/Exposed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562254789435470258" /></a><br /><br /><br />She dressed carefully, making sure that everything she wanted covered was hidden. Her makeup ritual was set in stone; she knew exactly what to use, and how to use it, in order to create her trademark flawlessly natural look.<br /><br />Ditto for her clothes. The seemed to reveal all; but in the privacy of her dressing room, she was a very different creature. She was not above taping her anatomy into the contours her skin no longer assumed on their own; one did what one had to do at her age. Surgery could only go so far; there was a limit on how many times one could go under the knife without it becoming painfully obvious. She'd seen far too many horrible before-and-after photos of her contemporaries splashed across the pages of the tabloids to risk that.<br /><br />They'd uncover her secrets someday; but she hoped she wouldn't live to see it.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> seed beads, bead-woven.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-26793485142448150992010-10-04T19:24:00.007-04:002011-01-14T22:50:40.478-05:00Darkness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TKplAP7V-0I/AAAAAAAAANg/9Bs29zjbH8g/s1600/Darkness.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TKplAP7V-0I/AAAAAAAAANg/9Bs29zjbH8g/s400/Darkness.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524338947873176386" /></a><br /><br /><br /><font size="3">"Never mix, never worry!" </font> Melissa thought ruefully; if that old adage were true, she knew that right about now she should be very worried, indeed. She'd started with champagne; she always started with champagne. Champagne made her happy, and she liked being happy.<br /><br />It was what came later that could be a problem.<br /><br />To be honest, she wasn't really sure what came later. She remembered something sweet, cold, rimmed with sugar and garnished with mint; she suspected she'd had rather a lot of them, whatever they were. Actually she could use another one; or maybe it would be safer if she switched back to wine.<br /><br />No matter. She was still standing, and, as long as she could stand, she could dance.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br /><br />Seed beads, crystals, chain. Pattern available on <a href="http://www.artfire.com/users/JewelryTales">ArtFire</a> and <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/JewelryTales">Etsy</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-45077828180618991802010-08-06T12:47:00.013-04:002011-01-14T22:51:47.202-05:00Lotus<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEZzF9BrEI/AAAAAAAAAZM/pEY_RU5ECRM/s1600/Lotus%2BEarrings.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEZzF9BrEI/AAAAAAAAAZM/pEY_RU5ECRM/s400/Lotus%2BEarrings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562255380341435458" /></a><br /><br /><br /><font size="3">Ariana took a deep breath </font> and handed over her credit card. It was too much; it would take her ages to pay it off, but she didn't care. She was willing to live on pinto beans for years in order to have it. She shuddered; she knew in her heart that she'd gladly have paid twice the amount asked.<br /><br />But wasn't that what money was for? To buy the things that mattered? <br /><br />Ariana signed the slip with a flourish and put her card back in her wallet. It would be a long time before she could take it out again. Although she had just spend more than she made in a month; Ariana did not take debt lightly. It would be paid off before she spent another cent.<br /><br />That is the price of beauty.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br />Seed beads, crystals. Handmade, bead woven earrings. Pattern available in my <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/JewelryTales">Etsy Shop</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-76253728712747401302010-07-10T14:12:00.008-04:002011-01-14T22:52:50.252-05:00Crowning Glory<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEaCCXXaSI/AAAAAAAAAZU/qh19MzEey3s/s1600/Copper%2BLace.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEaCCXXaSI/AAAAAAAAAZU/qh19MzEey3s/s400/Copper%2BLace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562255637076207906" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Anya brushed out her hair </span> slowly and carefully; her dreams had not been kind to it last night. Not that she remembered them; she'd woken up as quietly and calmly as ever. <br /><br />Only her hair gave witness to a restless night. She never remembered her dreams; she had no idea if they'd been bad or good. She only knew that they'd been active; she had the tangles to prove it.<br /><br />Grasping the ends firmly, she wound her hair into a knot and secured it on top of her head. She never wore it down during the day; it got in her way and was hot on her back. <br /><br />She always let it down at night.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span> <br />Lampwork by Vanessa Hearn of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/beadupastorm" target="blank">Bead up a Storm</a>, copper, seed beads, crystals and glass pearls. Bead woven.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-30990469832159027662010-06-25T23:53:00.013-04:002011-01-14T22:53:59.256-05:00Chain Lace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEaUbR0QMI/AAAAAAAAAZc/E5SQoOJGZmc/s1600/Chain%2Blace%2B.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEaUbR0QMI/AAAAAAAAAZc/E5SQoOJGZmc/s400/Chain%2Blace%2B.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562255953001464002" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">The past had a hold on her </span> that she couldn't explain. All she had to do was see a piece of lace; touch an antique locket; pull on a yellowed pair of kidskin gloves and she was lost. Lost in a world of fantasy that felt more like memory; lost in a time where elegance and manners were everything.<br /><br />Hannah lived in the 21st century, but not by choice. She had learned to sew as a small girl; her stitches were even and small and often mistaken for machine stitches. She stitched all of her own clothes, by hand, working quietly at night while the rest of the world slumbered.<br /><br />Each stitch was a statement, a link to a living past.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span><br />Seed beads, crystals. Bead woven bracelet. A pattern for this design is available in my Etsy Shop.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-26347852930179012672010-05-27T22:55:00.007-04:002011-01-14T22:55:06.116-05:00Picante<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEagiBnGqI/AAAAAAAAAZk/V-jy0j2mO0o/s1600/Picante.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEagiBnGqI/AAAAAAAAAZk/V-jy0j2mO0o/s400/Picante.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562256160970971810" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Magdalena loved to dance. </span> All it took was the hint of music and her feet started twitching; even sitting at her desk her feet beat out the rhythm of a hundred songs a day. <div><br /></div><div>She found music in everything; her graceful hands swept through the air like songbirds as she spoke; her hips and shoulders keeping time as she walked.<br /><br />"Magda, Magda," her mother lamented; "¡tan picante!, that one." <br /><br />She was too hot; she was too spicy for her mother's comfort. There was nothing she could do about it; Magdalena was born to dance.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</span> <br />Bead-woven bracelet. <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/JewelryTales">Pattern available.</a></div>Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-86925526271748634722010-05-13T19:00:00.007-04:002011-01-14T22:57:21.193-05:00Slaying Dragons<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEbCKk3qqI/AAAAAAAAAZs/zOrbocTjHFI/s1600/DSC_0673.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEbCKk3qqI/AAAAAAAAAZs/zOrbocTjHFI/s400/DSC_0673.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562256738791959202" /></a><br /><br /><font size="3">Gwennyth hated her name. </font> It was far too romantic and silly, and she was not the type of girl who wanted to be rescued from a fire-breathing dragon by a knight in shining armor. Why couldn't she have been named something sensible and no nonsense, like Jane or Anne?<br /><br />Philip was browsing through on-line profiles when he saw her name. Oddly enough, he didn't find it romantic or silly, though he did shorten it to Gwen after meeting her. She called him Phil, right from the start. Neither of them could believe that no one had ever thought to call them that before. <br /><br />And they lived happily ever after. <br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font> <br />Seed beads, crystals, brass. Hand fabricated, bead-woven necklace.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3557287421710624844.post-59680940174623787602010-05-06T13:45:00.002-04:002011-01-14T22:58:22.017-05:00Rodeo Queen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEbVSMa-SI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/uKlqU046I4k/s1600/Rodeo%2BGirl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_JlvgM1KVOQU/TTEbVSMa-SI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/uKlqU046I4k/s400/Rodeo%2BGirl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562257067254413602" /></a><br /><br /><br /><font size="3">Jess loved barrel racing almost as much </font> as she loved winning. Her adrenaline rose when she made the first mad dash into the arena, and stayed high until she crossed the finish line. She loved getting as close to the barrels as possible, and she knew just how fast and tight her horse could take every turn. They'd been together for awhile now, and she swore that he trusted her more than he trusted himself; he did whatever she asked of him, and never held back. They were a team. They won, more often than not; Jess had superb concentration and handling, and Bullroar had speed and heart. <br /><br />They'd won today, and tonight Jess was celebrating. She played as hard as she worked, and tonight was no exception. Tall, lean, and muscled, she was a match for anyone at the club; unlike her horse, however, she liked her men wild and unpredictable.<br /><br />Jess nearly always got what she wanted.<br /><br /><font size="1">© 2010 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel</font><br /><br /> Seed beads, wooden components, boulder opal, tigers eye, onyx, crystals, czech beads, leather. Hand fabricated, bead woven. Winner, <a href="http://www.thebeadersmuse.com/winners-iv/rodeo-queen-by-cynthia-newcomer-daniel-of-paso-robles-califo/">Best Design Execution, Use the Muse IV</a>.Cynthia Newcomer Danielhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06644821559839047113noreply@blogger.com10