Tales of Weirderland: The Collected Volumes – Book Excerpt

Happy Friday, friend! Welcome to an interview with author Kyle Steenblik about his book, Tales of Weirderland: The Collected Volumes. Kyle was kind enough to send me a copy for my Little Free Library and I am excited to report that it has been borrowed. 🙂 Let’s welcome Kyle and learn from him about this Children’s Fantasy story collection.

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Get to know the author: Kyle Steenblik

Welcome Kyle! Tell me and my readers a bit about yourself!

This is a question that has never gotten easier to answer despite all the times I have been asked. I suspect my familiarity with the subject is to blame. I suppose it all began in the 1980s with two people who made at least one questionable decision that resulted in my birth. I could say I wasn’t like other little boys, but I was, in fact, much like other boys. That is, at least, if I disregard the rampaging ADHD that made childhood and education a chaotic affair. As a result, or possibly as an early coping mechanism, I escaped into comics, science-fiction, and fantasy. This would be where I believe my lifelong love for the arts, literature, and film began. 

The preceding 25 years were a melange of unfocused education, struggles with mental health, and understanding and acceptance of my pansexuality. During this time, I ran headfirst into an impressive variety of trial careers, which was the ideal prelude to a career in the IT industry. This was around the time I met a girl who became my wife, and we began our adventures in parenting. A few years into that challenge, I had the opportunity to start writing for a small online media blog. Reviewing a variety of movies, television programs, books, and comics proved to be the creative outlet I didn’t know I needed. 

My hobby, which I took as seriously as I could, led to a thrilling journey of meeting and working with people I had long admired. All the while, my ADHD-riddled and neuro-divergent mind craved more while simultaneously recoiling. But when my wife had the opportunity to pursue one of her dreams, I stepped away from my media-journalist adventures. To be more present at home and more equitably share the responsibility of getting our two children to and from school.

There is naturally a flea market’s worth of tragedy, trauma, passions, and misadventures over these 40-plus years. Some have been life-altering and formative; many remain amusing or melancholy anecdotes, none of which fit into this particular nutshell. I am equally hungry for and afraid of success and compliments. Large crowds are frightening to me, but I have loved every moment on the stage. In the end, I am a slightly weird, geeky, queer, neuro-divergent, middle-aged, happily married parent who is sometimes compelled to do something that scares me. 

What inspired you to write this book?

The short and uninteresting answer is simply my two children. But there is always more to the story. A series of events culminated in my decision to write this book. The stories began when my children were very young, and they were growing bored of the rotation of bedtime books. In my heart, I am a storyteller, so I started by asking questions. They wanted to see themselves on adventures, as a prince and princess, with dragons and mermaids. I would improvise short, silly bedtime stories, intent on making them laugh. I would incorporate wild ideas and characters they would suggest. It was reminiscent of a comedy improv show with an audience of one four-year-old and one six-year-old. 

Over the years, they started to outgrow being told bedtime stories or having their favorite books read to them. This was around the time they were learning to read for themselves. To preserve some of those memories and gift them something they could re-read on their own, I began extracting some of my favorite pieces and writing them down. 

I inexpertly assembled three stories, put them to paper, and then clumsily printed and bound them by hand as Christmas gifts. One story a year, and soon, they were sharing these stories with cousins and friends. That is when it first occurred to me that these stories could become an actual book. With the encouragement of friends I have, who are legitimate writers, I made a decision to try. 

While it was an honest attempt, I still only had the objective to create for an audience of two. It was my dad that gave me the final push. A man that I had only known to read a dozen books in my life told me he read my stories and thought it would be a great book that I should share. It was not long after that we lost him, and hearing my oldest child sit beside his hospice bed reading these stories over the persistent sound of his ventilator ignited a fire in me.

I consumed myself with this goal and listened to friends who were seasoned writers and authors. In the end, I released a volume of three short stories. For the next several years, I struggled to find a kernel to create more stories, but the harder I tried, the more I returned to my kids. I watched them walk through the grief I was struggling with and grow more interesting and complicated. That is when I realized the next set of stories needed to be about them, what they were going through, and how I saw them growing. One story about the loss of their grandfather, one about the struggles of adolescent ADHD, and one about discovering and embracing a new gender identity. Meanwhile, I realized the first volume of three stories was incomplete, so I also rewrote them. Growing three into six, I evolved from whimsical childhood stories to whimsical reflections of my children as they have grown.

How long did it take you to write this book, from the first idea to the last edit?

The earnest bulk of work on this book was completed over 9 months, with another two spent in refinement and revision. The seeds of this book, these stories, were planted 14 years ago but developed over the last 10 to twelve years in fits and starts. In these past eight years, there have been countless events and other projects that have caused me to put this incomplete book on a shelf. Most of the time, the delays were my own inability to confront previous failures and the realization I wasn’t ready to complete the stories I needed. 

What makes your book unique?

I may have a bias, but of all the children’s books and stories I have read over the years, I haven’t seen a set of stories that grow and develop like mine. I can’t honestly know if my attempt at crafting two sets of stories that progressed in reading level and matured in theme was successful. I am too close to the trees to know the answer to that question. But I can say I believe it is unique in that respect. I also hope it is unique, or at least among other rare birds, in confronting the themes it does for this age demographic. But I am simply the author, and any author likes to imagine they have crafted stories unlike any other. 

Did you bring any of your experiences into this book?

A great many of my own experiences are on each page, along with my wife’s and our children’s. They have all been exaggerated and turned into allegories or metaphors. Still, in a way, everything in these stories begins with the truth. From the fantastical characters to the absurd events, something or someone real is behind the inspiration.

Are there 2-3 stories from this collection that you are particularly proud of?

I am proud of the final three stories, The Hopeless Quest, The Luck of the Eyelash, and The Nameless Quest. They are all three deeply personal, but I am absolutely the proudest of The Luck of the Eyelash and The Nameless Quest. The two stories that I sincerely hope leave my children feeling seen, known, and loved.

Who would enjoy reading your book? 

I very much hope that everyone will enjoy reading my book, but I imagine that is not a very different hope than all authors hold. Specifically, I believe children from 8 to 12 look out a window and wonder what might be just out of sight. And the parents of those same children, I think, would enjoy what I hope is a glimpse through those eyes. 

What’s something you hope readers would take away from it?

I would say there are a few different lessons or morals that I hope readers may find. 

In most cases, the answer is kindness. Meeting adversity head-on with kindness is rarely going to be the wrong choice. 

Asking for help may be one of the bravest things any of us can do; too often, we are afraid to ask for help. Fear of embarrassment, of appearing vulnerable or incapable, stops many of us from asking. As such, when help is requested, it should be met with enthusiastic empathy. 

Parents, your kids are far stronger and more resilient than you know. It is okay to trust them to solve some problems and figure things out on their own.

Life is ridiculous and should be treated accordingly. If you have not done or said something silly at least once a day, you may be taking life more seriously than it takes you. 

Do you have a favourite quote or chapter or story in the book that you find yourself going back to?

I absolutely have favorite parts and chapters of each story.

For some, they are the parts I spent a lot of time attempting to get right, and it was a struggle to find the right words in the right places to form the correct image. For others, it’s the parts that came easily because I just had to think about that person or event serving as inspiration. 

The two epilogues are favorites of mine, which feels a little like saying the frame is your favorite part of a painting. They take a small step out of the fantasy and offer a knowing wink to reality. They invoke the feeling of looking back at a difficult path when you’ve reached the end when I read them. But my utmost favorite is chapter 7 of The Nameless Quest. It is the second-to-last chapter in the book, so I can’t say much about it without potentially spoiling the fun. I will say, of that chapter I am the fondest of a scene that is just a family catching up and checking in with each other over tea in the kitchen. 

What’s the best piece of advice you have received related to writing?

Over the years, I have received a lot of great advice when it comes to writing. But not all of it worked for me, at least not at first. What ended up being the absolute best advice I ever received was that all writers approach this craft differently. What works for one may not work for another; there is no one right way or best way, just your way. 

With that in mind, here are a few of the notes I keep around my desk as reminders.

• Write something you want to read and stop when you reach the end. 
• There is nothing ever written that everyone loves, so get a second and third opinion.
• Start with a plan and stick to it, but don’t be afraid to change the plan if it serves the story.
• When you get stuck, move on to something else; you’ll figure it out when you stop thinking about it.
• Take a break, drink water, and get some sleep. 

Where can readers find you on the Internet?

I’m not overly active on social media these days, but I do actively lurk and respond.

https://linktr.ee/kylesteenblik

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Book Excerpt from
Tales of Weirderland

Chapter 1 – A Break In The Woods
From The Luck of the Eyelash

It was a pleasant and temperate afternoon in Weirderland; the sun was warming the fields, and the breeze was cooling the trees. It was absolutely perfect weather for a long walk along the edge of the woods. Cael Wilding, Prince of Weirderland, stretched his gangly, approaching 14-year-old legs. The hint of sunset red had all but faded from his shaggy, long wheat-blond hair, but his blue-gray eyes remained as bright as ever. He was walking River, the miniature dragon, not only because it was his turn but because it afforded him the opportunity to explore the woods. Cael walked along the forest’s edge, playing a game called ‘retrieve the stick’ with River. The game was somewhat one-sided. He would toss a stick, and River would fly to retrieve it. However, River never returned the stick to Cael, which frustrated him. Fortunately, along the edge of the woods, there was a near-infinite supply of sticks, so it was not really a problem. 

As Cael tossed sticks, he slowly started throwing them into the woods to coax River to fly in the direction he wanted to explore. It took time, but slowly, Cael was able to direct the stubborn dragon into the woods for a round of woodland exploration. Cael knew these woods well, having spent time among the fairies that inhabit and protect this forest. He did have their permission and an open invitation to enter, of course, with the understanding he would do no intentional harm. Exploration was a generally harmless activity, and sometimes Cael would bump into some of the fairies he and his sibling Iris had befriended, and they would help him explore. 

When the urge to explore the woods faded, Cael liked to build things using fallen trees and branches. To do so, he first asked permission from the fairy guardians of the forest. He was granted that because of the great service he and Iris had done for the fairy kingdom, on the condition he harmed no living tree. Over time, Cael built a rough-scale replica of his castle out of fallen trees and branches, which was almost complete. Today, Cael intended to complete the western tower, but first, he needed his dragon to cooperate.

River, the dragon, had no intention of cooperating today, which was starting to irritate Cael. Instead, she was intent on chasing chipmunks and ignoring Cael’s plea to leave them alone. This chaotic game of ‘chase the chipmunk’ was beginning to seriously bother Cael. Because of this, it took Cael far longer to reach his scale log castle replica than it should have. They had arrived at Cael’s hand-built log castle when the worst possible thing happened.

The chipmunk River was chasing sought shelter inside the wooden castle, hiding from its hunter. River the dragon had no patience for this tactic and decided to charge recklessly after the chipmunk. She plowed through the sticks and branches that formed the castle walls and straight through the side of one of the towers. The crash of logs and branches was horrifyingly impressive, and the collapse of the entire structure was spectacular. Logs and branches crashed to the ground, cracking and splitting as they collided. Chipmunks, squirrels, and birds quickly evacuated the area. River slowly crawled out from under the fallen logs and branches, looking embarrassed and a little hurt. 

After quickly verifying that River was all right, Cael briefly surveyed the damage. The castle he had spent so much time building was entirely destroyed. Cael was furious but concerned that the collapse had hurt River, and the opposing emotional response exploded inside him. While deep down, Cael knew this castle would never be permanent. It would have eventually collapsed, but he had at least hoped to finish it before that happened. He also knew that River did not intend to destroy his hard work; she was just a dragon with a limited understanding of structural engineering. Neither of those facts could temper the feelings of irrational rage coursing through Cael’s veins at the moment.

“You stupid dragon, do you have any idea how long it took me to build it and how hard it was? On top of that, you could have been hurt. What were you planning to do if you caught that chipmunk? Eat it? You don’t like eating chipmunks. They taste like pinecones, don’t you remember? You were only terrifying that unfortunate thing for fun. I told you to stop. You know better than that. Are you even listening to me? Don’t act like you don’t understand exactly what I’m saying. I know you do. What do you have to say for yourself, River?” Cael shouted, the miniature dragon now cowering under a fallen log. Cael had never shouted at her like this before.

“I sorry. Small stripey squirrel runs, I have to chase. No eat, don’t like. Didn’t want to crash. I hurt wing. Can fix?” River, the miniature dragon, replied as apologetically as a miniature dragon could. 

“I am so furious with you, River, I can’t even think. I’m glad you are not hurt too badly. We can fix your wing, but I have to take you home to do that, and I really didn’t want to go home yet. I wanted to finish my castle, and you ruined it. This is so unbelievably frustrating,” Cael yelled while picking through the smaller logs and branches. He picked up a palm-sized stone and threw it as hard as possible into the woods. “Come out of there and just sit by a tree, out of my way for a few minutes, and I will carry you home as soon as I feel a little less furious.”

The stone Cael threw bounced off a nearby tree and crashed into a bush, from which there was a loud, startling shout of surprise and pain. From behind the bush hobbled a figure in an ancient loosely woven and threadbare hooded cloak. The cloak draped over the figure, ending inches above the ground, leaving well-worn boots visible. The cloaked and hooded figure held a large, gnarled staff in a calloused and weather-worn hand while every other feature was entirely concealed.

“You hit me with that stone, you know, it hurt quite a bit,” The mysterious figure said forcefully with a tinge of malice. 

“AH! From which hells did you come?” Cael shouted, jumping backward, startled, and stumbling over the castle ruins. “I don’t know who you are, why you are here, or what idiotic lunacy brought you here, but I have neither the time nor the temperance to deal with witless pathetic travelers or Mephistophelian hags.”

“I think you need to calm down, son, I am called Thökk, and I believe you now owe me two apologies,” Thökk said, drawing back their hood to reveal a vaguely feminine but androgynous face that may have seen centuries pass with long onyx black hair loosely gathered and tied back. 

“Calm down? Oh, of course. Those are just ‘the’ magic words. I’m sure your vast experience from whichever pig farm you were obviously born and raised has revealed to you the one phrase that never fails to defuse a situation. Do you not think that is precisely what I was attempting to do when you showed up with a face that could disgust blind gnolls and trolls. You have absolutely no business here; what were you thinking? Were you looking to live in my log castle uninvited? Now that I can see you, I wish I had known you were there sooner. I would have aimed that stone more deliberately and directly at you. Get out of here now and leave me alone. Go back to the hellish cesspit from whence you came.”

“I think I should give you one last chance, Cael Wilding, Prince of Weirderland. You now owe me many apologies for the injury and offense you have caused,” Thökk said calmly but with absolute malice. “You are young and upset but are about to cross a line. Perhaps you should invite me to accompany you home and offer me something to eat as recompense.”

“You have no idea who you are dealing with,” Cael snapped back, oblivious to Thökk’s use of his full name and title. “You couldn’t possibly ever be less invited into my home. I would offer you the pointy end of my sword sooner than a portion of stale bread. I’ve met rocks with more sense and intelligence, seen festering refuse more pleasing to the eye and nose, and heard voices of demented beasts more pleasing to the ear. Get far away from me and never come back before I actually lose my temper.”

“Oh, Cael. I think perhaps you must learn a lesson the hard way. I believe my patience has just been exhausted,” Thökk stated with a resonant, authoritative voice, standing upright and growing at least a foot in height. Holding their staff out in front of them with one hand, they plucked a single eyelash from their eye and blew it from their fingers toward Cael. “In the coming days, may you have the Luck of the Eyelash, and think about what you have done and said here. Go home, Cael, and learn your lesson. Seek me when you are ready for the answers to the questions you have yet to ask. Go. Now. Before I relinquish my benevolent restraint and show you who you are dealing with.”

“Come on, River, it’s time to leave. This hag makes me sick,” Cael said defiantly in a futile attempt to reclaim the decision to leave. 

Cael picked River, the miniature dragon, up with less care than she deserved, causing her to whimper softly when he carelessly gripped her bruised wing. Tucking her under his arm, he stomped out of the woods, taking the time to kick an innocent toadstool, but his foot hit a large rock instead. Muttering curses under his breath, kicking stones from his path, causing them to rebound off nearby trees into his shins. Each stick he stomped on snapped back on him, causing mild scrapes and bruises. He left the woods in a smoldering tantrum, continuing his near-inaudible tirade on the entire walk home. 

He did not greet the castle guards as he stormed into the open gates of his home, which inexplicably began to close on him, jarring his shoulder. He did not speak to the royal animal caretaker when he delivered the injured miniature dragon to be healed. Cael did not seek out his parents, King Joseph and Queen Elspeth, nor did he look for his Sibling, Princess Iris. He charged directly to his bed chamber and found his door failed to yield because his outstretched hand was unable to find the handle before his toe crashed into the door. Cursing again under his breath, he found the door handle. He deliberately opened the door, retreating from the world for the rest of the day.

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Interested?

FindTales of Weirderland on Goodreads, Indie Story Geek, The Story Graph, Amazon, Barns & Noble.

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