Congratulations to Layla | The Fiction Forager for having their following short story chosen for publication on Blank Canvas Post. The short story that follows is a truly wonderful exploration of destiny, faith, and carving a path into the unknown. Please read the follow conversation between us at Blank Canvas Post and Layla | The Fiction Forager to understand more about the writer and the context for this brilliant short story.
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Writer Spotlight: Layla Dawson
Originally from the USA, Layla | The Fiction Forager has been writing for forever.
What was it that made you start writing?
I started at too young an age to remember.
What experiences have you had that have shaped the writer you are today?
My relationships, failed and successful, I think are really what have shaped me the most. Familial, platonic, romantic. They drive & inspire my best work.
What genres are you writing at the moment? What genres do you enjoy writing?
For the public: sci-fi, fantasy, and now nonfiction on Substack. Privately I also write some poetry.
What inspires you to write? Where do you take your inspiration from?
Questions and problems I want to solve within my own life as well as stories from others. I’m a huge film nerd & I also studied dance so my sources tend to be fairly eclectic.
What does your writing process look like (e.g., environment, tools, setting)?
I like to just let my imagination flow when I feel inspired. So much of my process is in my head.
What do you envisage when you are writing something new? Are you writing with the intention of sharing your work, or are you simply writing to write, for example?
I write for myself, but inevitably I always find the itch to share my work. I have a pretty healthy ego when it comes to my writing, so I’m always excited by the fantasy that other people will read my work and feel whatever message I’m trying to convey. Recently I’ve wanted to put a little bit of brightness out into the world. I believe that feeling good is incredible medicine and often underrated.
Why do you think community is important for writers and creative people?
Community is incredibly important to feel seen and learn how to communicate what you want to communicate. My confidence has been built from years of mentorships and interacting with other creatives. That, and I’m constantly inspired by my peers to think differently about the world.
Where do you currently share you work?
My fiction is split up on a couple platforms (testing the waters on each to see what feels best): Royal Road & Fictra. Currently my Substack is dedicated to nonfiction essays but I’m toying with the idea of posting some fiction there as well.
Why did you submit your work to Blank Canvas Post? What drew you to our publication?
I was drawn to Blank Canvas Post primarily because it’s a newer/smaller publication which made it less intimidating to submit. I also liked the themes requested for submission & the communal aspect.
About the Short Story: Auspicious Moons
Regarding Auspicious Moons, what inspired you to write this piece?
It was part of a much larger sci-fi space opera I had envisioned at one point but never quite got around to completing.
What is the context for this piece? What is the main feeling or message behind it?
I wrote it at a time when I felt a lot of external pressure shaping my actions and personal pursuits. I wanted to explore that experience of navigating the expectations of others while carving your own path. A lot of times it’s not as simple as defying expectations. There can be a lot of nuance to the outcome.
What was the process of writing this piece like for you? What did this process look like?
Initially it was kind of like a fever dream writing Auspicious Moons. It was intended as an epilogue for a book I never wrote. I wrote it all in one sitting a couple years ago and only recently went back to edit it. I thought it was perfect when I first wrote it and I am just as satisfied now that I’ve reworked it.
Why did you choose to submit this piece specifically to Blank Canvas Post?
The call for submissions seemed in line thematically with my story and it just felt like a natural fit.
So, without further ado, here is Auspicious Moons, a short story written by Layla | The Fiction Forager.
Auspicious Moons, by Layla Dawson
I was told that I was born to be courageous, under the alignment of auspicious moons. I trusted that they knew what that meant, even if I didn’t. I was told that courage meant that you kept going no matter what. And so I kept going no matter what. Plus, I was auspicious, although auspicious was about as clear to me as courage was, like fish hidden in the murky depths of a pond.
The first time I climbed to the outlook I thought maybe that was auspicious. The climb was steep and I lost my footing several times in the dense grasses, grabbing hold of rough barked trees to keep myself upright, my hands scraping and needles poking at my face. The strange orange building that met me was made of angular blocks, streaked with rusty red and burnt to brown at the base.
Nobody told me to go there. Nobody ever told me to go anywhere. I was told to find my own path and that the gods would guide me.
I could never decide whether my favourite god was Materna or Protea. Protea seemed the obvious choice - she watched over travellers. But there was something about Materna’s kind face that drew me in. Materna’s hands, one made of bones and one of starlight, were always open and welcoming, inviting an embrace. I imagined that hugging Materna would be like hugging someone with a firm pillow in between us; her round pregnant belly would be a place to rest my head as she held me in bone and starlight.
Nobody had told me to go to the outlook. It was the gleaming obelisk that had drawn my attention. And nobody had told me not to go. When I got to the rocky field at the top of the hill, I was so tired I wanted to lie down, but my curiosity pushed me forward. The obelisk sat at a tilt, propped up by lichen covered rocks, taller than the orange building behind it. From a distance it had looked slender, but up close it was wider than I had expected - wide enough that 20 adults could hold hands around the outside. Three huge metallic barrels were attached at the base and a fourth similar barrel was attached halfway up. I thought maybe it was a statue, though I wasn’t sure what of. Smaller, worn down statues of the gods were spread throughout the field around it, marking this spot as a place of forgotten importance. I recognised the forms of Protea, a couple of Axeus, and one that had toppled over that I thought might be Materna because of the animal skull that was tied to her head. I wove through the god statues wondering who had put them there. I hadn’t heard anyone talk about this place before, even though it had been easy for me to find.
I found a door to the rusty, soot streaked, maybe not so orange building. It was off its hinges and sideways, blocking the doorway, stuck firmly in place. I was small enough that I could squeeze past it into the musty hallway beyond. The darkness was inconsistent here, broken walls and dirty shattered windows allowing sunlight to stream through, but in a dim sort of way.
Turning on my flashlight, I saw footprints indented into a layer of dry crust that coated the ground, a crust that crumbled dustily at my own footfall. I followed the footprints halfway up a wide staircase before I came to a missing step. I eyed the gap nervously, unsure if I could make the leap. But I had been taught that courage meant that you kept going no matter what. So I jumped. And I missed.
Fear coated me like oil as my body fell through the air for what felt like an eternity. I tensed and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the force of the concrete punching into my body. It was my first taste of death, a concept not fully formed in my young mind before then.
I stopped falling, but there was no pain, no breaking of my body. As I opened my eyes, I knew then what it was to be auspicious. The gods had seen me and had decided that was not my fate to fall. I stood on the staircase, both feet grounded securely on the other side of leap, not a single bruise on my body. The missing step was behind me, and looked now to be a trivial distance to cross. I wasn’t sure why I had been so scared in the first place. I took a deep breath, pulling at my shirt collar so that my neck could fully open and allow sweet air and sugars to course into my veins.
The footprints led me to a box, reflective like the metallic statue outside. It had a simple latch that lifted smoothly when I pulled, the lid as light as a leaf. Inside were books and a portable computer that flickered for a second before refusing to turn on. I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it all, so I picked the book with a photograph of the night sky on the cover. There were bold yellow letters on the front, but I couldn’t read them yet. This book was the first treasure that I took, the rest to be brought home later, one by one.
When I sought advice on the book, I was met with confusion. I was asked if I had stolen it and there was doubt when I spoke about the building on the hill. I told them I could show them the place but they said no, it was not for them to make new paths. Eventually it was concluded that there was no reason that I couldn’t be courageous and auspicious and scientific. I would be taught science and would continue to learn the stories of the gods.
My favourite stories of the gods were ones where Protea would become the thing that someone wanted most. I loved that Protea could be anything: a child, an elder, a bird, a fish, a stream, a flower, fully and truly anything. If I could become anything I would have changed into someone else. The child I was told I could never be. Or maybe I would turn into an elder and declare that we could eat sweet jam every day and not just on Worship Days. Or I would turn into a fish and follow the river all the way to the ocean where I would find the other fish and we could just swim around and wouldn’t have to do stupid human things like be courageous.
In Protea’s stories she was always leading people into dangerous situations. Sometimes the person would realise in time that Protea wasn’t really what they wanted, or they knew it was Protea and trusted the god to guide them. Sometimes Protea would leave the person stranded and Materna would come to them. Like the sailor when Protea turned into a song a lured him to the middle of a storm. Axeus was angry that day and the water threw the sailor’s boat back and forth without mercy. But Materna stepped in and created a bubble of stardust around the boat and tied a string to it to lead the sailor home.
It took me years to unravel the mysteries of the gleaming statue on the hill and to really understand the contents of the matching box. I came to learn that it wasn’t a statue at all, but a spaceship waiting for a new captain. The books I had found told me about the stars and about gravity. The computer, once charged, gave me logs and charts and coordinates. There were pictures of sickly pale people that looked not quite human, no healthy green glow to their skin. And there was a notebook full of spindly handwriting that told the story of an explorer from many years ago who had stayed here on Earth, leaving behind a family in the stars.
Then came the day when I had learned everything that I could. I felt Protea calling to me, pushing my feet forward one step further than I had ever dared to take alone. I did not want to go. I wanted to stay and eat sweets on Worship Days, listen to stories of the gods and set out through the tall grasses to explore. But I was born to be courageous under the alignment of auspicious moons. There was no option to turn back.
The spaceship greeted me with the strong reflection of sunlight from a cloudless blue sky; Axeus had blessed me with good weather. I circled to the door that had once seemed so hidden from me and entered the code that allowed me inside. I climbed up to the living pod and secured myself in the pilot’s chair. I pulled at my collar to breath better and then let my first set of eyelids slide into place. It wasn’t necessary, but it made me feel better as I pressed the button that would wake the machine. I checked my notes, but there wasn’t a place on the dashboard to put in coordinates like there should have been. Only the word “Launch” was illuminated before me, waiting for a decision. Courage meant that you kept going no matter what.
When I pressed the launch button, a great groaning started from within, ancient machinery stretching to relearn its origins. Then a quiet ticking noise as the lights before me flickered, any remnants of my confidence flickering too. The engines turned on with a coughing start, rattling the entire compartment before building to a steady shaking. I knew this was coming, had memorised the sequence of events that would propel me upward, but I had never thought about what it would feel like, or what it would sound like. The noise was louder than anything I had ever heard, and even though I clamped my hands over my ears, there was no blocking a rumble this loud.
As the spaceship fought gravity to lift itself, a slick, oily panic built in my chest. My body was tossed back and forth, barely held in place by the safety straps as I curled into the tightest ball I could manage. There were no rough barked trees to hold on to here. Nothing to do but pray to Protea that I might be guided quickly to my destination, wherever that was.
There was a shift in the air, a rolling heat, and I thought I might pass out, but something was holding me in in my body. I had no water for tears so instead I screamed out for it to stop, or maybe for death to take me, I’m not sure the difference. And then it did. It stopped.
The launch had felt both like a lifetime and no time at all and now the sudden silence hurt my ears as much as the deafening rumble of the engines had. I was weightless here in space and it felt… peaceful.
A great calm settled over me despite the gravely thirst that was tearing at my throat. There would be time for water later. The living pod had detached from the engines and settled into a gentle spin. I unhooked myself from the safety straps and pushed off the wall to look out the small window at the other side. Space looked so endless here, a million pinpricks of light visible that I had never seen while I was on the ground.
A worry tugged at my heart: In an ocean so big, would Materna be able to find me? Had Protea led me astray? I pushed the thought from my head. Of course Materna would find me. Here I was in my ship in the sky. I had done my part. I had been courageous and auspicious and even scientific. All that was left was to wait for the welcoming hands of bone and starlight.
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