1: The birth of an Alchemist

In a small village of Montblanc, tucked away in the shadows of a dark ancient Woods, there lived young boy named Gargamel and his parents, Aldara & Mortimer. His mother was a high-level alchemist that mostly created heal potions, calming potions, and all other ailment potions. The villagers loved her because no matter what the problem was, she was able to help. Gargamel’s father Mortimer, was a medium level alchemist who always wanted more than he had. They married in the summer and not long after young Gargamel was brought into the world and everything changed. Aldara resigned from making potions for the village, Mortimer had to try to take Aldara’s place, making potions for the town and was often too busy for either Aldara or Gargamel. Aldara tried to teach Mortimer what she knew about the potions she would make, but with his limited knowledge, it was much harder for him to pick up the techniques.

 

When Gargamel was born, Aldara was overjoyed about her son and could not wait to be a mother. While she was looking forward to that moment, she also knew that she would have to step down in her alchemy role to be more of a presence in her son’s life. This will become the turning point in Gargamel’s relationship with his father and the undying love of a mother.

 

Although his childhood was not devoid of the laughter and childhood joy that most children felt, it was only felt in small moments in the comfort and safety of his mother’s love. The remainder of the time he felt gripped by a cold creeping sadness that stemmed from the highly strained relationship with his father. His mother Aldara was a kind and gentle soul, but she was frail and became terribly ill when Gargamel was still a young boy. His father Mortimer, a stern and distant man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, now being the sole provider for the family.

                                     

Mortimer had always been a very intimidating man. Most people in the village only spoke with him when they needed potions for something, there was never any idle conversations to be had. He was a mid-level alchemist that dabbled in a little bit of everything from love potions to prank potions, but never specialized in anything. Mortimer’s trade put distance between him from Aldara & Gargamel. He would be out all hours of the night searching for ingredients that he needed for various potions. Deadly nightshade, river moss, wings of bats, frog lips and other various ingredients from scavenging deep within the forest. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, meandering home to grab random supplies to make it easier for him to stay in the woods longer, increasing his chances of collecting more ingredients for potions.

 

When Mortimer was home, Gargamel would always try to spend time with his father. Gargamel was a curious young child and was always close to his mother, but when it came to his father, the more he attempted to get to close for physical affection or show interest by asking a lot questions, the further Mortimer would pull away or get annoyed. He would try to teach Gargamel about potions and ingredients but would often get frustrated when Gargamel’s young attention span momentarily slipped away from what Mortimer was lecturing on. He was after all just a kid. Gargamel would sit at the workbench and look at all the ingredients in his father’s lab and think about all the times he wasn’t at home because he was gathering them. But when he was home, if Gargamel tried to touch any of the ingredients that Mortimer had collected, he would receive an uproar from his father. Mortimers’ voice was deep and loud, it would fill the lab and make Gargamel cower in fear.

 

“DO NOT TOUCH THAT!”  screamed Mortimer! Gargamel, startled by the outburst from his father, dropped the jar of tiger lashes he was holding. Gargamel’s face turned white and pale as Mortimer yells became more intense and degrading. “Are you stupid? Do you not understand what DO NOT TOUCH means? Damn it Gargamel!” Mortimer stepped back and took a deep breath…. “GET OUT NOW!” Gargamel looked at his father, tears swelling up in his eyes, dropped his head, turned and walked out of the lab,

 

As Gargamel walked out of the lab, he could see his mother sitting in the kitchen, looking at him and smiling. She could tell that Gargamel was upset, she called him to her to find out why.’ “Come here Melly” she said. She would tell him that Mortimer cared about him but sometimes, well, most of the time he was simply too busy and Gargamel was too rambunctious for him to deal with. “Melly, He loves you, he just, has a hard time being warm or as nurturing as I am you, just give him time.” Gargamel could never understand this, and it would be a major point of contention between the two of them for years to come. Gargamel soon realized that when he was home, he was never really home. Gargamel would learn to do things on his own and not ask his father for help. Gargamel’s mother would watch these interactions, and it would break her heart. She knew she would not always be there to protect Gargamel, she just wanted to make sure he would be ok when she eventually left this world.

Gargamel's mother Aldara, had once been a higher-level alchemist known for her kindness and skill in potion making. She nurtured Gargamel’s curiosity in the best way she knew how, while always believing that her son would grow into a great alchemist if gently guided by wisdom and patience. She let him learn in his own way, on his own time. On one particularly drizzly autumn day, he tugged at his mother's long flowing robe, his big brown eyes gleaming with excitement. “Mother, can I help you make a potion today?” He asked eagerly. Aldara smiled warmly. She had been waiting for this moment, knowing the time had come to introduce her son to the ancient art of potion brewing. It had all been stories and make believe until now. With a gentle hand, she led Gargamel to her potion room - a mystical chamber filled with glowing bottles, strange herbs, and simmering cauldrons. The room smelled of earth and magic, with the faintest hint of lavender and sage.

 

“Today,” Aldara said, kneeling beside him, “we will brew your very first full potion. All of the potions he has made until this time have been you helping me create a potion. Today I am only going to watch you create one on your own. It's a simple one, a potion for sweet dreams.” Gargamel's eyes widened. “Sweet dreams?” he asks, a little confused. “Yes,” Aldara explained, her voice soothing. “A potion to calm the mind and bring peaceful sleep. Every great alchemist begins with something small and gentle, just like this.” She handed Gargamel a small wooden spoon and directed him to gather a few ingredients: lavender petals, a sprinkle of moon dust, and a single drop of honey from a golden vial. Under Aldara’s watchful eye, Gargamel carefully dropped the ingredients into the cauldron, which bubbled softly, emitting a sweet calming scent. “Stir slowly,” Aldara instructed. “And as you stir, remember this, my dear: magic comes from the heart. Potions are not just about the ingredients but the intention behind them.”

 

 

Gargamel, though young, listened intently. He stirred the cauldron, his small hand shaking with the new excitement of creation. He could feel the warmth of the magic swirling in the air, wrapping him in a sense of wonder. After a few moments, the liquid inside the cauldron turned a soft shimmering blue. “You did it,” Aldara said, her voice full of pride. “Your first potion!” Gargamel looked up at his mother, beaming. In that moment, he felt something stir inside him �" a connection to the magic in the world around him, and to his mother's love.

 

For the next couple of years, Aldara would teach Gargamel many things-spells, potions, ingredients and the ways of magic. But he would always remember his first potion, made with lavender, honey, and butterfly wings, under the loving eyes of his mother. It was a memory that would stay with him, even in the years when he would stray from the path of life. Deep down the warmth of that moment would always linger, reminding him of where he had come from, and the love that had nurtured his first steps into the magical world.

 

Aldara became ill when Gargamel was still young, the local doctor could find no cause of her mysterious ailments. She’d undergo test after test, but nothing ever helped diagnose her with any known disease. All the doctor knew is that without knowing what they were dealing with, there was no telling how long she would be for this world. Aldara made a choice to give Gargamel all the love she could until the time came for her to leave him. She was not going to live as if she was dying, but more along the lines as she was fighting for her life, and for her young son Gargamel. She would never stop fighting until her last earthly breath.

 

Five years passed and Gargamel grew up quickly, not just in years, but also racing towards young adult life as well. Gargamel would do what he could to make his mother comfortable and as happy as she could be. Gargamel’s father was actually home from the forest, he’d spend days at a time in his laboratory formulating concoctions to all types of machines, both metal and wood, for the townsfolk in the village. With little time for his family, Aldara and Gargamel spent all their time together. She would teach Gargamel all she could in the time she had left.

 

Breakfast was always a special time of the day for Gargamel. Aldara would wake him up every morning for breakfast. He would help with the collection of eggs, make the pancake batter, and freshly made biscuits. She would sit with Gargamel, eat with him, and go over what they would do for the day. Later on, these days would be the fondest memories he would remember of his mother.

 

Gargamel loved his mother dearly, she was the only source of warmth and tenderness in his life. Her soft voice would soothe him to sleep, and she always had time for him even when her body was weak. She taught him about herbs, healing, and how life won’t always be fair or kind. She would say “There are a lot of things in this world that can do harm. There are even more ways to make a positive impact. Always remember.” However, her health was deteriorating and the sickness that had clung to her for years was slowly draining her life away.

       

Mortimer, however, did not show the same affection. He was more of an authoritarian. He was a cold, distant, and at times, a harsh parent. Mortimer's love for his son was buried deep hidden behind a facade of anger and frustration. He had married Aldara out of love, but as her illness worsened, so did his bitterness. He resented her weakness, and though he would never admit it, he feared losing her more than anything. His fear manifested in anger. Anger at her, at the world, and most painfully, at his own son.

 

The day Gargamel’s world was shattered would be burned in his memory for all of eternity. It was a stormy night, and Aldara's illness had taken a turn for the worse. She lay in bed, her breath shallow, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and sunk into her skull. Gargamel sat by her side, holding her hand, praying to whatever forces might listen to spare her life. Mortimer stormed into the room, face twisted and with frustration and helplessness, the air grew thick with tension.

 

“You should rest boy” Mortimer snapped, though his eyes flickered with something unreadable. “She needs her strength.”

 

But Gargamel refused to leave. “She needs me, father,” he said quietly, his voice shaking with fear. “I can help her!”

 

“Help her?!” Mortimer's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “You're just a child you know nothing of healing. Nothing you do will change this!”

Tears welled up in Gargamel’s eyes, but he refused to leave his mother's side. He kept praying, but in that moment, he could see a glimpse of the emotional pain in his father's face, buried deep under all his anger. But it was too late. Her breath grew weaker until finally with a soft sigh, she was gone.

 

The silence that followed was unbearable. Gargamel felt as though his world had stopped. His mother, the one person who had ever shown him love, was gone. Mortimer stood at the foot of the bed, fists clenched, trembling, not with sorrow, but with fury.

 

“You should have listened to me!” Mortimer shouted, his voice breaking. “If you'd just left, maybe she could have found peace!”

 

Gargamel looked up at his father, eyes filled with shock and pain. “I love her!” he screamed, as the words got stuck in his throat. “SHE’S, MY MOTHER!”!”

“She’s, my wife!!” Mortimer bellowed, his face twisted in grief and anger. And you, you were just a burden to her!”

 

“You’re lying! She loved me and she hated you! She was just too afraid to tell you! You were never here; you never heard her cry in the bed at night because you weren’t there! You were always out looking for whatever you needed to make your stupid potions for the villagers who think we are that strange family that will do anything they need. No matter what they say to you, or how their kids bully me around! You never stood up for me!” The only thing you cared about was me, making you look bad for people you shouldn’t care about!”

 

Mortimers’ face turned bright red, and both of his fists clenched by his side. “SILENCE!! How dare you speak that way to me! You have no idea what your mother and I had to do to bring you into this world.” His face sinking to a frown. Your mother was so happy when you were finally here, she would still be here if it wasn’t for her absolute love for you.” Mortimer knelt down and looked Gargamel in his eyes. His voice low enough just so Gargamel could hear and said, “If it was up to me, you would already be in the ground and my wife would still be here with me!”

 

Those words struck Gargamel like a physical blow. His father's rejection at that moment created a rift between them that would never heal. Mortimer, consumed by guilt and sorrow, lashed out at the only person he could, his own son. Gargamel, once a hopeful boy, now left with nothing but grief and a growing bitter hatred for the man who had blamed him for his own mother's death.

 

From that day forward, what little bond between father and son shattered beyond repair. Mortimer buried himself in his work avoiding his son at all costs, while Gargamel grew distant and resentful into his early tween years. He immersed himself in the study of dark magic and alchemy. He found he was especially skilled at making and setting traps with containers and delighted in the anticipation of his eventual capturing magical little creatures. His ingenuity came naturally to him, but his motivation and drive was fueled by his desire to prove his worth to his father. He would become a better alchemist, powerful in ways his father couldn’t begin to fathom.

 

One evening, when Gargamel was only a young boy of 11, while Mortimer was out, Gargamel sneaked into his father's study. The shelves were lined with ancient spell books containing the secrets of dark spells Gargamel was forbidden to touch. One book in particular caught his interest. It was a small book, more tattered than the others and almost purposefully tucked away just out of sight behind a pile of scrolls. Its cover was dark oxblood color, with strange metallic symbols that seemed to glimmer in the dim light of the dusty room.

 

Curiosity burning inside of him, Gargamel carefully opened the book. It was filled with simple spells, nothing too dangerous, but to Gargamel, it was the key to proving that he could be a great wizard, even better than his father. He flipped through the pages until he found one spell that promised to summon a magical creature to do his bidding. Eagerly, he gathered the ingredients and listed some dust from his father's potions, a bit of chalk and a handful of dried sage leaves.

 

His hands trembling with excitement, Gargamel drew a circle on the floor and began to chant strange words. The air around him shimmered for a moment, and suddenly, there was a loud POP! In the center of the circle stood a tiny blue creature, no taller than Gargamel’s knee. It had wide eyes, a silly little hat, and seemed just as surprised as Gargamel was.

“Who…. who are you?” Gargamel stammered.

“I'm handy Smurf!” the creature said smiling despite the confusion. “Who are you?” asked the Smurf.

In a shallow voice. “Gargamel” is all that came out.

After an awkward stare, Gargamel spoke. “Where did you come from?” he asked.

“I live in Smurf village, with the rest of The Smurfs. I had better get back, Papa Smurf is waiting for me.”

 

“No Wait!” Gargamel exclaimed. “You can't leave yet! I have to show you to my father.” Gargamel wondered what his father would think. Proud no but impressed? Maybe he would, maybe he would not, Gargamel would soon find out.

 

 

Young Gargamel did not know what a Smurf was really, and he wouldn’t understand them for a long time. He was excited to find out everything he could about the mystical little creatures. He had summoned something! It was small, yes, but it was magic that Gargamel had done himself. He tried giving the Smurf orders, but the creature just laughed and danced around, picking up objects and inspecting them with curiosity. Frustrated, Gargamel chased the Smurf around the room, trying to catch and capture it, but the creature was too fast, evading Gargamel’s grasp. It knocked over books, spilled potion glass vials and just made a mess of everything. The noise of all the clamor grew louder and louder until suddenly, the door burst open. Gargamel's father stood in the doorway, his face fuming as red as a tomato.

 

“Garrrrrgaaaaamellllll! What have you done?!” Mortimer bellowed!

 

In the commotion, the Smurf darted between his father's legs and vanished into the night, leaving Gargamel standing in the middle of chaos, dumbfounded. His father was furious, of course. Gargamel was scolded for meddling with magic he did not understand, and from that moment on, he was not allowed anywhere near the study. But deep down, Gargamel’s heart shimmered with a new desire. He would find those little blue creatures again, he would catch them, control them, and prove that he was a greater wizard than anyone had ever imagined.

 

Gargamel told himself that he would catch a Smurf to show his father he was not lying when he tried to tell him about the small creature. Gargamel would show his father how great he could be.

 

Years passed since he first conjured that little blue man, and Gargamel’s heart grew cold, hardened by the loss of his mother, and the estrangement from his father. His once gentle nature twisted into cruelty, and his obsession with power consumed him. Though he would never admit it, deep down, there was still a part of him that longed for the love he had lost - both from his mother and perhaps even more tragically from the father who could never bring himself to show it. And so Gargamel’s life became a shadow of what it could have been, shaped by loss, anger, and a broken bond that would haunt him forever. Gargamel wondered if it would ever be any better than it had been. Without his mother in his life, Gargamel felt alone. Even though his father was there, he wasn’t really there, and in the future it would come back to haunt Mortimer and weigh heavy on Gargamel.

Reviews

[JayG]

This will sting, so take a deep breath:

• In a small village of Montblanc, tucked away in the shadows of a dark ancient Woods, there lived young boy named Gargamel and his parents, Aldara & Mortimer.

You’re transcribing yourself TELLING the story. That can’t work because verbal storytelling is a performance art, where how you tell the story provides the emotional component, and matters as much as what’s said.

But the reader gets only the dispassionate words of an external observer—your storyteller’s script—reporting in overview and summation. History books are written that way, and how many buy them for fun?

Readers come to fiction to be made to feel as if the events are happening to them, in real time. But you open with a history lesson that’s every bit as boring as were it a real person, because nothing happens. And the difference between history and story is that story happens, and has immediacy.

It’s not a matter of talent, or how well you write. It’s that for hundreds of years they’ve been refining the skills of fiction. And for that time they’ve been finding ways to avoid the traps. We call that body of knowledge the skills of the Commercial Fiction Writing profession. Learn them and you avoid the traps. Skip that step and you not only fall into them, you’ll never notice when you do.

When reading, we see the result of using those skills, but we no more learn to write fiction by reading than does a visit to the museum teach us such basics as how to prepare a canvas for paint.

The skills if fiction aren’t hard to find or learn, but they’re not optional.

So, some suggestions:

A good first book on writing technique is Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict.
https://dokumen.pub/qdownload/gmc-goal-motivation-and-conflict-9781611943184.html

And for an overview of the traps, gotchas, and misunderstandings that catch the hopeful writer you might check a few of my articles and YouTube videos.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”
~ E. L. Doctorow

“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain

[Justin Weigelas]

Thanks for the input.