On The Wings Of Immortals - a series: I love K.M. Weiland!

On The Wings Of Immortals - a series: I love K.M. Weiland!: I love K.M. Weiland! You want some real and excellent advice on writing; in my opinion, she is one of the gurus. I relate to: "For...

I love K.M. Weiland!

I love K.M. Weiland! You want some real and excellent advice on writing; in my opinion, she is one of the gurus.

I relate to: "For example, I hate revisions. Let me say that again: I hate, hate, hate revisions."

A MUST read: 

How to Create the Perfect Writing Process for You

https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/how-to-create-the-perfect-writing-process-for-you/ Player

A MUST listen to audio:

 Got to the site of the article and Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Helping Writers Become Authors podcast in iTunes).

On The Wings Of Immortals - a series: NOVEL TO SCRIPT REVIEWERS COMMENTS

On The Wings Of Immortals - a series: NOVEL TO SCRIPT REVIEWERS COMMENTS: I submitted my screenplay adaptation to TableReadMyScreenplay.com   and received a six (6) page evaluation with detailed information on wha...

NOVEL TO SCRIPT REVIEWERS COMMENTS

I submitted my screenplay adaptation to TableReadMyScreenplay.com  and received a six (6) page evaluation with detailed information on what is good or needs to change and improve.

For the screenplay, I had in mind a movie like AVATAR. 

Was going to publish the entire evaluation however it is six pages (6) long but decided it would be a bit much. So, to give those interested a sample of what reviewers provided I am posting the first paragraph, two middle ones, and final comments.

I am willing to share the entire document but for that please put a request on comments.  

Title: The Sylph's Tale AKA Ayekah the Damned Writer: Marta Weeks Genre: Fantasy

(First paragraph)

The Sylph's Tale made for a most unusual read. It's very rare for a script to try something quite as experimental as this. The choice to format the story more as a series of vignettes from a creation myth than as a linear narrative made for an attention-grabbing opening. There is a certain charm to the way much of its dialogue and description is handled, as well as a lot of potential in the underlying themes of the story. Fallen angels appear in many stories, but it's far less common to see through the angels' own eyes.

(Two middle paragraphs)

The script rarely seems aware of the potential advantages offered by a film script, and so it also loses many of the opportunities for efficiency afforded by a script. Unlike conventional prose writing, the script never makes it to the audience in a direct sense. Description, for example, insists on referring to real-world locations in abstract terms when it could simply describe them as what they are. Since the audience won't ever see any of the material in the descriptions anyway, "ancient Egypt" can be referred to as such. This would free up more space for The Sylph's Tale to pick one of these locations, in particular, to ground key moments-- Ayekah's heartbroken flight around the world while carrying Haya's forever-preserved corpse, for example.

This compounds worse issues, such as the Salamander sequence. The idea in itself is a strong one, but it's repeated so many times that it loses all semblance of impact. And while it does provide some background on Ayekah's initiation into human lusts and desires, it's impossible to justify this when so many of the script's components are underdeveloped. The ideas of the salamander and the river are present nowhere in the later script. Thematic abstract imagery can work without directly fueling the plot's later events, but this is usually done in much more focused, personal stories. Ayekah and Haya's story should ideally convey this, but it doesn't. Aside from the many stylistic concerns mentioned above, much of this comes down to characterization.

(Final comments)

There's plenty to love in The Sylph's Tale. It's marvelously inventive with small touches, has strong ideas to work with, and strives to present a little-used humanizing take on the old idea of the Nephilim. This script has the potential to go to fascinating places, but it needs a lot of fine-tuning, refocusing and careful adjustment for film industry conventions before it's ready to take wing.


Here's the information for Table Read My Screenplay

www.tablereadmyscreenplay.com

info@tablereadmyscreenplay.com

I can also be contacted on my Facebook author page: martacweeks.com

I truly appreciate your support!!!

I am so grateful for the support of each of you who have signed up for my website and follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Linked In, and all other SMs!  


To be an aging emerging author in a world where most my age have published tons of books can be discouraging. So I like reading about "late starters." Those whose plates were so full they couldn't add a crumb unless it added to the support of their family. I'm not saying most authors don't have it rough; they just accept that the road is crowded for slow walkers.

In 2017, I published The Sylph's Tale, the first book of my fantasy/paranormal-based mythology and history series. I wanted to do a screenplay rendition and did; it won a third-place ISSA award, and just in the last few days, I got the comments from Table Read My Screenplay, and they are so good I will post the entire six (6) pages on my website by next week.

I am still working on editing and revising The Sylph's Tale, so please don't buy it until I re-publish it, most likely under the name Ayekah The Damned.

In Memory

Time To Let Time    

It's the seventh day

Of your passing 

And the third day of your interment

In my heart and mind

I see your smile

For in our tears and fears

We feel the God of our understanding

Not just on a cross 

Or memorialized in pages 

In churches, temples or synagogues

For human greed and need 

But the spirit surrounding us

Welcoming you

As you and we cannot; yet must

Let ourselves be in the light 

Tethered by love

Not strung by regrets 

Around what’s left on earth 

In the turmoil of tears

Flooding into and out of us

An ocean of love and pain

You can’t feel anymore

And we

Feel so much more 

For soon it will be time to let go 

As memories keep all 

Let good remember to forget bad

Beyond this earth 

Find meaning to warm feelings 

In the words of embraces

From someone no longer here 

But is always there

Where we are one.

Ayekah The Damned, a screenplay version.

The "analysis" of my screenplay is amazing and 6 pages long! It will help me with the novel and screenplay re-writes. I would love to share it with those who let me know they are interested. The email says:

Dear Marta,
"Attached is your script analysis for Ayekah the Damned aka The Sylph's Tale. We thank you for your patience on delivery. Please remember this insight is the professional perspective of one person and is written with the best intentions for moving your script forward. We hope you find the attached assessment useful and thank you again for requesting it!
Sincerely,
Table Read My Screenplay

Considering Smashwords for next publication

On "Welcome to my annual publishing predictions" by Mark Coker.  The article is very informative and it "feels' sincere. Main points I liked: 

“The world is full of kings and queens who blind your eyes and steal your dreams.”
~ Black Sabbath

Coker goes on "The answer is complicated.  I think at the root of the challenge, as I’ve discussed here on the blog for several years now, is that the supply of ebooks is growing faster than the supply of readers." 

I recommend reading all of it. Here is the site and my comment to Smashwords on this "2019 Book Industry Predictions: The Butterflies Wi...": article

Thank you for a thorough and truthful article.

I am an emerging author. One of those who, after working at times two jobs to support my family, is now putting works on paper. In 2017 published the first book of my fantasy/ paranormal - based on mythology and history series - as a novella because I wanted to do a screenplay rendition and did; it won a third place award and from it, I got some good comments that I will implement.

The novella was published as an ebook on Amazon and D2D missing 4 chapters, yes, incomplete. I engaged the services of a publishing assistant that states it was submitted complete. No sense in blaming and arguing. The book got great reviews even though incomplete. 

Now, as I make lemonade out of lemons I am including three chapters from the beginning of the sequel and getting ready to republish. Your article is very appropriate for me and I will look into Smashwords.

Note: Wish you all a HAPPY 2019!!!

Firefly tree, set me free,

Hi friends and family! 

I wish you all a very prosperous 2019! May you be healthy, happy and free.

As I look and accept my path I see how that my life is inspired by a higher power. As I fulfill my desire to write after a life of work and hopefully service I want my words and pages to carry a message that discomfort is necessary to open doors of possibilities. Good and hard times, miracles and trials, as is bitter and sweet, part of life and living. 

Looking back I see how hardness taught me tenderness and lies forced me to find truth. That self righteousness is for the weak and when I feel anger or fear towards those who are different to remember that an apple is not a grape as a tree is not the sea; yet all is divine energy. 

Will continue to write and try not compare myself with those who have published tons or best selling books. My path must beone breath at a time. So very short is time on earth. Why we chose to be born as we are is revealed one day at a time. 

Firefly tree, set me free, free to be me.  

The Sylph's Tale, first three chapters

Hi readers and friends,

I pray for peace and goodwill to all and sincerely wish you and your loved ones a blessed Holiday Season.

As a gift from me to you here are the first three chapters of The Sylph's Tale, book one of Immortals- the series. 

Please send me a comment with your thoughts. 

Marta 

THE SYLPH’S TALE

By

Marta C. Weeks

Warning: This story contains sexual elements that might not sit well with the average reader.

Copyrightã2017 by Marta C Weeks

Fate Awaits

 

I shouldn't have returned to Earth after, like a salamander, I slid into a river between a man and a virgin. Her screams and his grunts stirred in me new thoughts: What must it be to feel flesh on bones? The idea jolted me back to the sky. 

~~~ 

To explain how it all came to be is like trying to hold time still as it expands and contracts. Every culture and experience intermingles with the reality and fantasy of what is and is not. Every living thing comes to be with memories of how it was before and was not. 

Eons before the present, or what I now call the First Age, The Almighty released multitudes of Celestials, supernatural and timeless spirits to witness the diverse processes of Earth’s evolution. A hallmark of angel hierarchy is brilliance. I, Archangel of Light, was the brightest of all spirits. We all are invisible and eternal, can take on the form of seraphs, winged heavenly messengers or any living creature, but we are not glorified human beings. Not male or female and cannot reproduce as humankind does. 

From times unknown, we witnessed oceans recede giving way to land. Energy flowed and chaos became order. Random matter transformed, leaving mere traces of what had preceded. Surviving matter continued the reproductive processes.

Overcome with reverence and wonder we watched The Almighty impart humans with ethereal substance: a soul, self-awareness, reason, and autonomy. Humanity rose in splendor and fell many times. In each era, from primitive beginnings, humans evolved in a manner, unlike any other living thing. Yoked with passions, humans strove for selfhood and lived, truly lived, to love, to work, to create, to war, and to ruin. They engorged the Tree of Life with pleasure and pain, sensations not experienced by Celestials.

In this First Age, in spirit, I roamed Earth. Stopped caring how other celestials reacted to mankind’s use of The Almighty's gifts. Humans enthralled me. Like a shadow or a breeze, I mingled amongst people in the throes of passions and struggles for survival. I became bored with the heavenly and consumed with human endeavors. Under the pretext of angelic observation, I watched men and women copulate, spellbound by all its aspects. 

It was not long after I slid as a salamander in a shallow river between a man and a virgin that for the first time a thought came in as a whisper as if to nudge me to do, to be, to become-how must it feel to be a human. It jolted me like thunder, and I fled to Heaven's Gate, to the protection of The Almighty’s Eternal City, but I did not enter. Like a thief, I held onto my thought. Not wanting to have what I had experienced taken from me. I remained outside. 

"Why did I think that? Did I feel envy?" I asked, in the safety of heaven’s harbor. 

I cannot deny I was harvesting sparks of jealousy. However, I continued to veil a growing desire for humanity with the argument: Celestials have no judgment. We can empathize with humans, and sway events by inspiring ideas within them, but we do not feel. Yet, like a squirrel running from a hawk's shadow, I felt the heart of fear. 

Not daring to enter the Eternal City, I pleaded to The Almighty Vision, “In You, I take refuge. Deliver me from illusions. I beg to appear before You. I want to serve You. Have I offended You? Almighty, am I envious? I long to see You.” For the first time ever, I was not summoned. No one came from behind the eternal gates. 

“Have my thoughts offended You? Please do not deny me Your presence. Please do not forsake me.” 

How can I, an Angel of Light, feel forsaken? I am of The Divine. “If I have wronged You by enjoying Your miracles in the land of the living, forgive me, but please do not forsake me!” 

Silence enveloped me with emptiness. 

For centuries, I did not return to Earth but hid in a black hole. Although celestials do not feel, best I can explain it is that I violated Holy Creeds and that realization exploded in me engulfed me in defeat, and, shriveling with loss, I vowed, defying my purpose, never to return to earth. But, I already was linked to human feelings. 

The Almighty remained silent, not because I, the Archangel of Light, was created free of error, but because The Almighty had abandoned me to my own choices, my own will. 

Millennia passed until a command came, "Abandon your exile. Look down to earth. Your fate awaits. Have faith, for I give you the world." 

Hearing The Almighty’s voice, I whimpered, “Is this Your command? Finally, You speak to me. How can I serve You? Have mercy on me.”

Countless Celestials cried out, “Have you lost all faith?”

“Why me?” I screamed. “Why? Am I doomed, an outcast? What will become of me?”

“Why not you?” The response froze in me. 

“Go, enjoy the land of the living. Now your function is to prepare the way for the Celestials of the World. You are the most brilliant Angel, one of the few that can enter The Eternal City.”

Is the human ego rising inside of me, taking over, saying what I want to hear? “If it’s not Your will, Almighty, please stop me, now,” I said.

“You are chosen to glorify creation,” the wind screamed across the sky as it pushed me into the clouds. “You must do as The Almighty demands."

“But my mandate is to witness without intervening.”

Virgins of Caves

When I returned to earth, after flying in delight, I came to the summit of a mountain ten thousand feet above a canyon. The hill I now claim as my cliff.

From there I feasted on the spectacle of massive mountains, blackened by lava that rose over boulders formed by eruptions. Meltwater thundered over rocky ravines to the ocean, where blueprints of life lapped ashore in foaming waves.

Across three or four miles further was a small hill. Midway down, under terraced overhangs of colored volcanic rhyolite, tuff, and basalt, like large pigeonholes, around the entrance to caves and in the valley below were people. Tall, muscular and energetic, most with black or brownish hair, and dark to a light copper toned skin. Women wore short sleeve tunics from collar to knee and braids, coiled around the back of the neck or on top of the head. Male’s tunics were sleeveless and tied at the waist with a string, hair gathered at the back. Children wore half tunics.

Everyone but children had marks. Males had markings of hunting weapons and animals. Three men, with gray thinning hair, eyes glazed over and skin wrinkled, had marks on fingers. The women's tattoos were cross-shaped. Young women with a newborn in a sack tied to their waist and chest had one marking as if showing one child.

Days were long and sunny. Under shade, women made clothing from strips of fibers and bark, carved wood, bone, and rocks into utensils, and tended root crops. Males cleared land, tended animals, made tools and weapons. From a river that crossed over the valley at the end of the cliffs women and children caught fish with nets and men used spears made of wood with bone tips.

Women and children had private bathing sites behind a crop of bushes and everyone bathed each day before the sun disappeared behind the cliffs.

On one full moon, in front of a large cave at the center of it all, men sat around the fire. They played flutes made from bird bones and beat on drums made of animal skins stretched tight over hollowed wood or gourds of different sizes. Women cooked, served food and fermented beverages, with sad, downcast eyes and slow movements. Children took care of babies; despite the merriment, there was a whine of fear in their voices.

Silence fell over everything as three women with the most tattoos and saddest eyes forced out three girls from a cavern with the narrowest opening. Covered only by a pelt from waistline to mid-thigh, eyes with fear of caged lambs, downcast faces. Curvy bodies showed they had come to childbearing age. 

Virgins of caves, I realized.

They danced to what started as a soft, slow melody of flutes. Flowers crowning unbraided hair. Moonglow and firelight reflected rays of gold and reddish waves on locks that spilled over their backs and sides, barely hiding budding breasts. Eyes lined in black and crimson painted lips as if to conceal the innocence of adolescent bodies unmarked by tattoos.

When drums joined, the tone grew heavier and faster. Tears leaked from the girl's in black streaks. When the music paused, the three oldest men took them into the large cave

Did I want to intervene? YES. I wanted to set them on flames. As if my existence depended on this moment, I craved to swoop the maidens away and kill the old men. 

Others waited in sullen silence. Food and drink service stopped. Mothers clung to offspring. Males made a circle and talked around three young men.

At daybreak, as the sun crept into the heaven in a fiery blast of red, the elders brought out the girls, bedraggled and weeping, pushed them towards three young men, gesturing to grow their bellies and make lots of babies.

Months later, as torrential rains threatened to engulf everything, the entire clan rushed to harvest all that grew. Males gathered the animals and sheltered in pens below the caves. Before snow blanketed the whole valley floor, and men put rocks over the openings, women took refuge in the large cave. Just before the men followed, a girl child ran outdoors.

I stared at the little one. She was peering up at me. She can't possibly see me I thought. I have not taken a mortal form of any kind. Yet, she stares at me. Her eyes are open wide as if to show me the forests of the earth in her green pupils. She waves at me with a tiny hand, a smile fills her face before her mother looks up and takes her into the big cavern.

As the hole got covered from the inside, my wings spread, prepared for flight, but the sound of a waterfall and chirping of birds in a marsh, below the underside of the cliff, caught my attention. 

My Cross

The marsh I now call ‘our’ marsh, hemmed by jagged cliffs, is where on the first chirps of spring, I basked at the lip of a meadow. An eagle fluttered over me, spread out its wings, and from its pinions, a seed dropped on melting snow.

Some time passed and the seed sprouted a shoot. 

The seed will scorch in summer or freeze in winter. 

But, to my delight, in a few seasons, it grew into a small tree with stipules extending to veined leaves covered by fine protective down. Eventually, it reached a hundred feet toward the sun, over rich ferns and moss, two of its branches arching like arms to the sky. 

On a hot day under that very tree, I sat while delicate solar rays penetrated its massive canopy and three triangular red seeds dropped on the fertile soil. 

My living cross, my tree, as if from the tree that thought came to me. 

I accelerated time. The seeds merged. From their axis sprouted a shoot that split into three branches. Each branch snaked under the earth to root. 

The sacred geometry of nativity, interconnected with the essence of truth, matter, and mind . . . origin of life, genetic base, ready to affect life's evolutionary trajectory.

 From the stem of the rooted branches, three shoots emerged and flowered instantly. Inspired, I appeared as a winged seraph. A youngster with white eagle wings, hair, and skin in shades of honey, eyes like the sky, muscular body enfolded in pale moon robes. 

“My Eden” I shouted and looked around.

Jewels of creation sprouted: a gold lotus with dark green leathery leaves; delicate cupped flowers; water lilies along the water's edge; large clumps of slender spidery orchids over rocks. Even on dry, parched soil beyond the marsh roses bloomed. 

It was a day of new beginnings.

If human, a thought slipped into me. I focused on water from the top of a cliff falling between rocks.

If human, the thought came alive; I could stick my tongue in water and sip thirst away. However, we Eternals don’t need food, drink, shelter, or sleep. 

A soft rumble from within the earth interrupted my reverie. As night descended, from the rumble a play unfolded. No choreographer, scientist, believer, skeptic, clergy, or holy soothsayer was needed. In synchronized broods, as if from the roots of my tree with mighty universal forces of divinity, thousands of Magi-Cicadas emerged from their 17-year-long burials. Twitching, contracting, and palpitating they expelled innards that trickled over their hard shells, softening their skeletons and freeing their bodies. 

They are releasing the waters of their own baptism. I like a poet waited.

Male cicadas walked up to my tree, calling and jostling each other as in a cithara symphony of earsplitting love songs. Female cicadas, mythology's adolescent nymphs, unfolded their translucent wings, their stout bodies swirling. In their joyous rebirth and resurrection, the cicada drama ceded life's stage to a thunder of wildlife and firefly sparkles. 

It was then that a slender girl ran towards me. I was certain she could not see me but her pupils in her large translucent green eyes widened in recognition.

Her long black hair flowed over her budding breasts and only a pelt covered her femaleness, her skin, the soft brown of earth, glistening with perspiration. She was a virgin, but not for long. She was sixteen. Some petals, from what had been a flower crown fell over her unbraided hair, covering her breasts. Her eyes smudged with black streaks and her lips in red. The single pelt revealed a body unmarked by tattoos. 

She shivered, aware that males scaling the rocks were closer. 

Most likely, she is a prize for their elders. 

She looked over her shoulder. 

I had seen men in her clan take females at the onset of womanhood.

She has run away. Doesn't care if beasts ravage her.In her mind are thoughts of her mother. 

She wanted a child, but not by force. Shrouded in the dark of night, she sought refuge beneath my tree. Under ferns, she squatted on cool moss. 

Her pursuers will find her by her scent. 

She is helpless. 

I wanted to protect her, yet her beauty aroused in me a burning desire to love her. In her eyes, I saw the forests of earth.

Soft breezes swirled leaves, and in the eddy, a voice hissed, “Do you feel carnal love, Angel? Do you want carnal love?”

“Is it Your sweet voice, my Almighty? Is it possible for an angel to feel, to want? It cannot be . . .” I said in spirit, on my knees, eyes to the sky.

There was no answer. As in a spell, a seething desire to feel, a longing to love pushed in me. 

Am I beyond my Maker’s reach, no longer a Celestial, but filled with humanity, not able to abstain?

In a soft rustle of spring grass, a spontaneous whisper sprang from me, “I beseech You, Almighty to save me. Clean me. Or let me be born into flesh, though it means knowing pain and death.” 

Nothing came. 

I cried, “Your will be done!”

The Almighty thundered, a voice into my mind, "You, Celestial of Light, so quick to forsake your grace! You have lost sight of your purpose. You are denied a soul and the flesh you so zealously relish."

How could I have asked for humanity, for flesh? “Please forgive me. Almighty I clearly do not know what I say or do.”

Deafened by The Almighty’s silent rage, I fled with wings folded around me and hid between clouds, shivering as a butterfly might when pupating, undergoing their final transformation. What is happening to me? I was unaware that humanness was birthing in me.

“On this day, you crossed to the other side. Purity is lost to you” a voice said. I didn't recognize but it sounded familiar.

“Almighty, do you not care that I perish?" 

A violent wind forced me down to earth.

“You have woken. Why are you so terrified? Have you no faith?"

About plot and character

Don't you just love when you come across information that unlocks the door to clarity in your writing? That's how I feel about these articles by K.M. Weiland on plot and character so I'm sharing them:  "How to Choose Your Story’s Plot Points" can be applied to practically any story, but mainly to a lengthy and complex one. And, if you continue reading, click on: "4 Ways to Choose a Better Theme for Your Book."

For me, both articles made clear how the heart of a story is not in the plot but in the main protagonist. Here is how I answered her questions regarding theme as they apply to my book The Sylph's Tale:

1. What is it your protagonist brings to this particular conflict that no other character does?
    The Archangel of Light saves a pubescent girl from her ancient tribe's rite of passage. He is dammed for eternity to be Ayekah, a being without a soul.

2. Why is this his conflict and plot—and not anyone else’s in the story?
    Even thought Haya is equally essential it is Ayekah who tells the story of his falling and their love, and it is he who loses all he was for her.

3. What is your protagonist’s greatest virtue?
     Not sure if it's that Ayekah continues to be righteous and ask for forgiveness until The Almighty tries to destroy his descendants; or that he stays with Haya even after she abandons him for her clan.

4. Greatest flaw?
     As the Archangel of Light, he violated his purpose as a watcher and not interfere with humans. This caused him to become both anguished over his choice and enraged with the Almighty for damning him.

5. How do this virtue and this flaw directly influence the plot—and what do they say about both the plot and the character himself?
It is because Ayekah has the power to be more than any human and can change Haya's life and the live's of all women in her clan.

I plan to continue refining the above points as they apply to my story and characters and hope you find them helpful.

Ep. 6: Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth -- 'Masks of Eternity' | BillMoyers.com

Ep. 6: Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth -- 'Masks of Eternity' | BillMoyers.com: Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell discuss the common experience of God across cultures.

Hi, you have my ear-salamander-ring keeping in touch

Your information, experience, strength, advice, books, promotions, art, and comments are all welcomed on my webpage. I am a new author, last year I published the first book of my series, The Sylph's Tale, as a novella base on mythology I wanted to do a screenplay rendition and did and it won an award. The book itself has great reviews despite that it was published missing four chapters! Imagine my despair! However, as the saying, when you get lemons make lemonade, I will soon republish with the four missing chapters PLUS two additional chapters not edited before the initial publication. Bad, because buyers have a book missing four chapters, however, Amazon and D2D tell me they will notify those buyers and offer a free revised copy. I encourage you to share your writing and reading adventures and to subscribe so I can also send you a free copy of the revised book.

The site with screenplay rendition of The Sylph's Tale, alternate tile, Ayekah The Dammed Articles I wrote as a freelancer for CBS Arts&Ent

Characters are more important than plot!

When asked about the single biggest factor that defines a great screenplay, he emphatically responded “characters.” This is what drives his passion; exciting characters. The plot is secondary.
Here is the entire article: https://creativescreenwriting.com/savvy-follow-heart-filmmaker-phil-volkens-ode-screenwriters/

The Sylph's Tale is loosely based on Mythology

Hi, and thanks to those who have asked if The Sylph's Tale, the first book of Immortals-the series, is based on Mythology; the answer is yes, my favorite subjects in college were Anthropology and History.

Here is a document with pictures and links that demonstrate how The Sylph's Tale is loosely based on Mythology. The reason I say loosely is that Ayekah is not a demon and Haya is not evil but they have been taken over by dark powers.

Also, since I will republish The Sylph's Tale — published by Amazon and D2D with four missing chapters, they received an incorrect file - I will include, in the new publication, this information plus the first two chapters of VIRGINS. 

Thank you for your patience and sorry for the mistake, please remember that if you bought it already let me know I will send you a revised version for free.

THE ANGEL AND VIRGIN JOURNEYand caves are loosely based on Mesoamerican caves and nine levels of the underworld as found in Mayan and Aztec history. Sources of information include Rites in the Underworld: Rites and caves as Sacred Space in Mesoamerica.

amazon.comLilith The Mother of all Dark Creatures: E. R. Vernor: 9781511701877: Amazon.com: Books

HAYA, THE INNOCENT GIRL, is loosely based on Lilith. In one account she is Samael's counterpart and a mother of demons and can be seen seducing the fallen angels as Naamah; after the fall, they had daughters: Nashiym, the Lilim, the Lilith who seduced the watchers. “Wholly new in the Kabbalistic concept of Lilith is her appearance as the permanent partner of Samael, queen of the realm of the forces of evil (the Sitra Ahra).” 

AYEKAH, IS LOOSELY BASED ON SAMAEL, the fallen angel myth, often referenced as the "watchers, holy ones". Also as Enoch, watchers that "fell" after they became "enamored" with human women.” and in “the Greek transcription as Grigori.^[17] including 1 Enoch (10.4),^[18] link the angel's transgression with the great deluge.^[19]””