Meredith Harmon
Bio
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
Achievements (21)
Stories (426)
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The Manacled Magician
He woke up screaming again. The bracelets locked on his wrists burned like iced iron, and he could feel the spell tapped into his magic channels like hot needles under the skin. Every time he moved, the sensations shifted - now at his fingertips, now at his knees, wherever his thoughts and focus strayed, the pain followed. Like a viper attached to his thoughts, it would bite wherever his mind's eye looked.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
Goose Chase
I found the first cypher in a dry-as-Sahara treatise on Victorian table settings. By the time I'd found the third, I'd scoured all the public libraries in the city, and was now methodically combing through each and every private library in each doge's residence - that is, their summer palace, their winter palace, and also their spring cottages and country camps and hunting lodges. And mistress' flats, and even some servants' quarters.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
Braids and Coils
The gathering was small this year. Many tribes stayed home, or very close to home, to defend and rebuild. Many, many people were taken by the raids from the outsiders. Most should be buried with their ancestors now...well, those that could be found. Many younglings were missing as well. It did not bode well, though the outsiders had now been quiet for the last few months.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
The Back Room
It had never occurred to me before, really. I've had blind spots like this my entire life, plus, I'm not really one to peek and pry into corners, or behind Employees Only doors. Everyone is entitled to places where they're not on display for my personal benefit, so why should I go where I don't belong?
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Petlife
The Wells of Gems
I'd been finding sparkly rocks for as long as I can remember. My mother hated me for it. No matter where I went, down to the brook or up the path to visit Granny or into town, I'd come back with a bit of stone that flashed light in my eyes as I walked. I kept them in the bottom of the bed box - who would care but me what I slept on? I cleaned out the rushes regularly and kept it tidy, so why should she care? But she threw out my rocks twice. I found them all the first time, since she just tossed them at the edge of the meadow. The second time she had to fish me out of the brook, many times, screaming. Father had to holler at her something fierce because she kept dragging me back to the house, and I'd leave to fetch more of my pretties, and he finally threatened to tie her to something and let me be. If I was hurting no one, and it didn't dirty the house, what was her problem?
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Fiction
The Long Journey
I have empty nest syndrome. I miss my little flutters. Last year, during the pandemic lockdown, I spent more and more time in my garden. I graduated college with a biology degree, though my career has more focused on geology and metallurgy than the organics in the system. Walking among the plants three generations of my family planted gave me a good respite from the constant reminders of mortality.
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Petlife
Linen Versus Cotton
I know you want an edge-of-the-seat page turner for this challenge, but I cannot. I've only told that story a few times, and I've always lost that friendship because inevitably they come to believe that it's so fantastic that I must be making it up. Sorry, I'm not putting myself out there on the interwebs with that track record. So, instead, a hopepunk story - brew up a cup of a warm toasty beverage for this one:
By Meredith Harmon4 years ago in Lifehack
