Time Travel: List three old enemies of your creative self-worth. Please be as specific as possible in doing this exercise. Your historic monsters are the building blocks of your core negative beliefs.[...]This is your monster hall of fame. More monsters will come to you as you work through your recovery. It is always necessary t o acknowledge creative injuries and grieve them. Otherwise they become creative scar tissue and block your growth. - The Artist's Way, pg. 38
1. When I was young, [redacted] would take my diary and read it. Then I would get in trouble for 'writing lies'. I gave up keeping a diary because they would always do that. Never mind that what I wrote down was the truth and what was really happening in my life.
2. I had worked for months on a watercolor still life. When I brought it home, [redacted] scoffed at it and threw it away in the garbage. I almost gave up on painting because of how much that hurt.
3. As my grandfather was dying, I had brought a crochet project with me. I handed it to [redacted] for them to work on as they were sitting at his bedside. They looked at the yarn I had spun with my own hands and the very beginnings of a scarf. They said, "What is this? It's nothing." But they still took the project and added a few rows to it before giving it back to me insisting it should be ripped out and turned into something useful. I didn't work on the scarf project for almost a year after that.
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
AW: Morning(not really) blog 4
Today has not been a very good day. I think I'm coming down with some kind of virus or something. My sinuses have been feeling awful and I've been exhausted all day. I know it's not allergies because I've got a prescription allergy medication that has been working really well for me. While there is a lot of pollen, I don't think that's the issue because I'd just be having sinus symptoms and not feeling tired.
Speaking of tired and such, I am tired of these surreal dreams I have been having. They're some kind of cross between a nightmare and just pure weirdness. Like last night I dreamt that I had to stop snakes from falling down a flight of stairs and turning into centipedes. All I had was a snow shovel and I had to do it from above. Many snakes tumbled down the stairs to turn into insects. I've been having dreams about insects for a little while now.
I guess that is a relief from having nightmares about teeth falling out and having dental surgery. I am having some dental issues that will be getting resolved soon, but nothing that extreme. The worst part about the teeth nightmares was that I was having nightmares that my children were losing their teeth in horrific ways and with great pain. But, that's transitioned to nightmares about creepy-crawly bugs.
I don't like bugs. They make my skin crawl. I just hate the feeling of them walking over my skin. I've had insects fly into my eyes, up my nose, and in my ear at various points in time. The ear one was most uncomfortable, by the way. Your ears are very sensitive to pressure and touch on the inside and the feeling of the fly turning itself around to fly back out was awful. -100000/10 DO NOT RECOMMEND!
I'm not sure what more to write at the moment. I've been hitting this particular wall a lot of late. I get a few lines down and then I am stuck. The ideas just run out. I may have a prompt or two laying around to get me started but then I just have the words trail off and I am left with mental dead air. It's rather awkward. I don't like it.
I don't like the fact that I am stalled on my serial stories. I don't like the fact that I am stalled on book seven. I really don't like the fact that I can't seem to get anywhere close to done with the Camp NaNoWriMo manuscript because it is hard to find time to sit and write by hand. The kids have kept me busy and I've been struggling with mood related mental garbage. Today, I have been exhausted all day and it has been hard to focus. This is why I think I'm coming down with something.
I didn't do myself any favors by not drinking enough water in the morning and getting a massive headache from that. Fortunately, water is free and I was smart enough to drink plenty of it. Usually, I'm much better about staying hydrated because of my medications and the diabetes stuff. But the fact that I spent about half of my day asleep threw me off my game and I didn't hydrate properly because of it. I feel like this post is rambling garbage. I'm tempted to delete it but I'm not going to. I'm going to post it because of the spirit of transparency.
I'm going to be doing another Artist's Way exercise on here with the AW tag this evening. I did my artist's date on Sunday. I picked up some flowers and a ball of bright green yarn to finish up the shawl that I am designing. I don't know if that counts as a proper artist's date. I tried to find some magazines to use for collage work but Walmart's selection of magazines is not that great. I'm going to go up to the library and see if they've got some stuff that they're getting rid of that I can use.
I signed out Outlander by Diana Gabaldon to re-read the series. I got five pages in and I remembered how much I hated Jack Randall and put the book down. I am curious as to how it happened that books that were big in the 80s and 90s are getting turned into movies and television series.
Speaking of tired and such, I am tired of these surreal dreams I have been having. They're some kind of cross between a nightmare and just pure weirdness. Like last night I dreamt that I had to stop snakes from falling down a flight of stairs and turning into centipedes. All I had was a snow shovel and I had to do it from above. Many snakes tumbled down the stairs to turn into insects. I've been having dreams about insects for a little while now.
I guess that is a relief from having nightmares about teeth falling out and having dental surgery. I am having some dental issues that will be getting resolved soon, but nothing that extreme. The worst part about the teeth nightmares was that I was having nightmares that my children were losing their teeth in horrific ways and with great pain. But, that's transitioned to nightmares about creepy-crawly bugs.
I don't like bugs. They make my skin crawl. I just hate the feeling of them walking over my skin. I've had insects fly into my eyes, up my nose, and in my ear at various points in time. The ear one was most uncomfortable, by the way. Your ears are very sensitive to pressure and touch on the inside and the feeling of the fly turning itself around to fly back out was awful. -100000/10 DO NOT RECOMMEND!
I'm not sure what more to write at the moment. I've been hitting this particular wall a lot of late. I get a few lines down and then I am stuck. The ideas just run out. I may have a prompt or two laying around to get me started but then I just have the words trail off and I am left with mental dead air. It's rather awkward. I don't like it.
I don't like the fact that I am stalled on my serial stories. I don't like the fact that I am stalled on book seven. I really don't like the fact that I can't seem to get anywhere close to done with the Camp NaNoWriMo manuscript because it is hard to find time to sit and write by hand. The kids have kept me busy and I've been struggling with mood related mental garbage. Today, I have been exhausted all day and it has been hard to focus. This is why I think I'm coming down with something.
I didn't do myself any favors by not drinking enough water in the morning and getting a massive headache from that. Fortunately, water is free and I was smart enough to drink plenty of it. Usually, I'm much better about staying hydrated because of my medications and the diabetes stuff. But the fact that I spent about half of my day asleep threw me off my game and I didn't hydrate properly because of it. I feel like this post is rambling garbage. I'm tempted to delete it but I'm not going to. I'm going to post it because of the spirit of transparency.
I'm going to be doing another Artist's Way exercise on here with the AW tag this evening. I did my artist's date on Sunday. I picked up some flowers and a ball of bright green yarn to finish up the shawl that I am designing. I don't know if that counts as a proper artist's date. I tried to find some magazines to use for collage work but Walmart's selection of magazines is not that great. I'm going to go up to the library and see if they've got some stuff that they're getting rid of that I can use.
I signed out Outlander by Diana Gabaldon to re-read the series. I got five pages in and I remembered how much I hated Jack Randall and put the book down. I am curious as to how it happened that books that were big in the 80s and 90s are getting turned into movies and television series.
Monday, April 29, 2019
Flora & Fauna: Bear Root pic (in progress)
Dear Reader,
I'm still working on this sketch of the Bear Root plant. I'm not entirely happy with how it is coming so far. But this is my first attempt to draw it in its different elements. I may be erasing the root-ball part and re-drawing it before I color it in. I will link back to the initial post about Bear Root that I made ages ago and to this initial sketch when I post the completed picture up next week. In the meantime, think happy thoughts that my pencils will heed my whim and this thing will come out looking approximately like what I see in my head.
Craft of Writing: Attack in the Opposite Direction
Dear Reader,
My brother was in the Marines. One of the expressions he brought back from his time during military service was "Marines don't retreat. They attack in the opposite direction." Sometimes writing gets really hard and you may have days like I do, where you just want to light the whole thing on fire and go take up underwater basket weaving or something else entirely different. Those days, give yourself permission to "attack in the opposite direction."
Often, when we're blocked it is painful to keep pushing and pushing on that block to try to force it out of our way. It is better to just stop and do something else for a little while. A tactical retreat from the project gives that part of us where the story comes from a chance to rest. It gives us a chance to do something completely different and relax a little bit from the stress of being blocked. As we are busy with something entirely and utterly different (rearranging the living room or folding laundry, for example) our subconscious mind is working on the problem and ticking away at building ideas for us.
The important thing to remember is that after you 'attack in the opposite direction' you maneuver yourself to attack the problem again from a different angle. In battle strategy, this is known as a flanking maneuver and it can lead to a decisive victory. I've been stuck for weeks on how to write a battle. I shelved book seven to work on another project. Now I'm beginning to get some ideas for how to finish up that battle. I think I am about ready to come back to book seven and wage that war of words with the creative block.
Don't give up on your project just because you are blocked. Take a break from it. Put it aside for a little bit and work on something, anything else for a while. It may be that a short break is all you need. I've had scenes I was stuck on how to finish that had inspiration on how to solve them hit as I was folding laundry. Sometimes a little longer break is needed. If you're not working to a deadline, that longer break can be as long as you need it to be. I had a book that I took a year off from working on because I absolutely hated it and felt that it was nothing more than word vomit. After that year, I came back and finished it out to discover that it actually wasn't half bad, it just needed some polish and a few plot holes patched.
My brother was in the Marines. One of the expressions he brought back from his time during military service was "Marines don't retreat. They attack in the opposite direction." Sometimes writing gets really hard and you may have days like I do, where you just want to light the whole thing on fire and go take up underwater basket weaving or something else entirely different. Those days, give yourself permission to "attack in the opposite direction."
Often, when we're blocked it is painful to keep pushing and pushing on that block to try to force it out of our way. It is better to just stop and do something else for a little while. A tactical retreat from the project gives that part of us where the story comes from a chance to rest. It gives us a chance to do something completely different and relax a little bit from the stress of being blocked. As we are busy with something entirely and utterly different (rearranging the living room or folding laundry, for example) our subconscious mind is working on the problem and ticking away at building ideas for us.
The important thing to remember is that after you 'attack in the opposite direction' you maneuver yourself to attack the problem again from a different angle. In battle strategy, this is known as a flanking maneuver and it can lead to a decisive victory. I've been stuck for weeks on how to write a battle. I shelved book seven to work on another project. Now I'm beginning to get some ideas for how to finish up that battle. I think I am about ready to come back to book seven and wage that war of words with the creative block.
Don't give up on your project just because you are blocked. Take a break from it. Put it aside for a little bit and work on something, anything else for a while. It may be that a short break is all you need. I've had scenes I was stuck on how to finish that had inspiration on how to solve them hit as I was folding laundry. Sometimes a little longer break is needed. If you're not working to a deadline, that longer break can be as long as you need it to be. I had a book that I took a year off from working on because I absolutely hated it and felt that it was nothing more than word vomit. After that year, I came back and finished it out to discover that it actually wasn't half bad, it just needed some polish and a few plot holes patched.
AW: Morning Blog No. 3
I'm not sure what to write this morning. I am kinda anxious about my whole dream of being a 'real' writer, a.k.a. an author who makes a living selling books, is going to be completely tanked by the fact that I have bipolar and the depressive and mixed episodes leads to months of complete disorganization. My bullet journal helps me but it is really hard to push through the ennui to post things and my social phobia gets ratcheted way up high when my mood is anything less then ok. I have the lines I heard about how no one wants to hear or read what I have to say when I am not presenting 'happy' things hammering in my head all the time when I am in a low mood.
It is a struggle to even keep a journal. I am pushing through those struggles and trying to get myself back to where I was before my brain went 'explody' and maybe find enough proverbial spoons to have a part-time writing business. I know that being a full-time stay at home mom gets challenging and makes time for writing difficult. It is a bit easier now that the kids are in middle childhood and not quite as demanding for me to entertain them. But they're still quite distracting.
I don't know how other people do it. They carry on full time jobs, raise their family, and manage to keep things moving forward in their writing life. I don't know if my difficulty is because I am disabled or if there is some crucial thing that I am missing. I don't know, maybe both of those are the same thing and I'm over thinking things again. I try not to let my disability run the show.
Complex post-traumatic stress disorder does weird things to your brain. Bipolar does even weirder things to your brain. Seasonal affective disorder just sucks. I am learning that if my blood sugar is off kilter, I get to have all kinds of questionable fun trying to get it sorted out and it has an impact on my mood and pretty much everything else. I feel like the deck is stacked against me. It is discouraging and some days I just think that maybe I should just give up.
I try not to indulge in that kind of thinking much. But some days I really do feel like I should just give up on being a professional writer. Because it seems like whenever I start to get my feet back under me and I can begin to manage the stuff in my life that is making it hard, something else comes along to kick my feet out from under me. I had my CPTSD more or less under control, then came postpartum depression (which really started when I was pregnant). In the process of dealing with the crisis that created, I got my bipolar II diagnosis. Lo and behold, with the bipolar's depressive episodes, I get to experience psychotic features (I hear someone screaming horrible, horrible things at me. It's awful.). I start to get a handle on my bipolar and then I get diagnosed with diabetes.
I feel like I spend most of my time managing my symptoms and what time I have left over I spend running the household and managing my kids. It is exhausting and demoralizing. Someone suggested at one point when I was expressing frustration that I needed a vacation. I restrained the urge to laugh in their face. I can't afford a vacation and if I did go on vacation, all of my problems come with me. And I get the added stress of burgeoning agoraphobia. (I am beginning to panic going to places I'm not familiar with and traveling a good distance from my home on my own. It sucks and I know it is because I am afraid that I'm going to have a diabetic emergency with out anyone there to help me.)
It is a struggle to even keep a journal. I am pushing through those struggles and trying to get myself back to where I was before my brain went 'explody' and maybe find enough proverbial spoons to have a part-time writing business. I know that being a full-time stay at home mom gets challenging and makes time for writing difficult. It is a bit easier now that the kids are in middle childhood and not quite as demanding for me to entertain them. But they're still quite distracting.
I don't know how other people do it. They carry on full time jobs, raise their family, and manage to keep things moving forward in their writing life. I don't know if my difficulty is because I am disabled or if there is some crucial thing that I am missing. I don't know, maybe both of those are the same thing and I'm over thinking things again. I try not to let my disability run the show.
Complex post-traumatic stress disorder does weird things to your brain. Bipolar does even weirder things to your brain. Seasonal affective disorder just sucks. I am learning that if my blood sugar is off kilter, I get to have all kinds of questionable fun trying to get it sorted out and it has an impact on my mood and pretty much everything else. I feel like the deck is stacked against me. It is discouraging and some days I just think that maybe I should just give up.
I try not to indulge in that kind of thinking much. But some days I really do feel like I should just give up on being a professional writer. Because it seems like whenever I start to get my feet back under me and I can begin to manage the stuff in my life that is making it hard, something else comes along to kick my feet out from under me. I had my CPTSD more or less under control, then came postpartum depression (which really started when I was pregnant). In the process of dealing with the crisis that created, I got my bipolar II diagnosis. Lo and behold, with the bipolar's depressive episodes, I get to experience psychotic features (I hear someone screaming horrible, horrible things at me. It's awful.). I start to get a handle on my bipolar and then I get diagnosed with diabetes.
I feel like I spend most of my time managing my symptoms and what time I have left over I spend running the household and managing my kids. It is exhausting and demoralizing. Someone suggested at one point when I was expressing frustration that I needed a vacation. I restrained the urge to laugh in their face. I can't afford a vacation and if I did go on vacation, all of my problems come with me. And I get the added stress of burgeoning agoraphobia. (I am beginning to panic going to places I'm not familiar with and traveling a good distance from my home on my own. It sucks and I know it is because I am afraid that I'm going to have a diabetic emergency with out anyone there to help me.)
Friday, April 26, 2019
AW: Morning Blog No. 2
I have set another fifteen minute timer for me to type up this entry. I am honestly at a loss for what to write today. It is a cold, wet, and gloomy day outside. I've seen a female cardinal at the yellow bird feeder hanging across from the window. I can't really hear the bird song right now. I'm listening to medieval music on the music streaming service through my internet connection.
I feel that I am completely stalled on my serial stories. Halthor was supposed to destroy the lich and then have a few more moderately amusing adventures with Freystein before going on to the next leg of his journey. I'm just at a loss for what to write. I'm trying to figure out how to make the elf-dog more of a character but I'm stumped as well. Elwis doesn't exactly speak to Halthor. I don't know if I did the right thing leaving the pony behind with the Blue Lady. Halthor still has a lot of ground to cover. I don't know if it will get boring to have him trek along ala LOTR style for the remainder of the trip.
Al-Uzza was supposed to be the bad guy in the present arc of Dacia's War. She's a scheming mess who wants to be at the top of the heap because she thinks that's where the prestige is. Al-Uzza is little more than a bully. I want people to loathe her as much as they loathed Delores Umbridge. I'm finding it hard to write her that way, because I can't get past my disgust with her attitudes to write about them. Maybe I should just write a character sketch and really get everything about this despicable character out on paper before I write the next installment.
I am stuck on book seven. I'm really stuck and I feel like everything I have written is garbage. I can't manage to bring it to a conclusion and everything I add on to try to get to that place is frustrating me. I have seven books written. For some stupid reason, I can't finish the seventh book but I can't bear to put a To Be Continued into this present scene. The whole thing feels contrived and deus ex machina. Beloved suggested that I am in need of a break from the project. Hence the camp NaNoWriMo thing I'm working on.
I kinda hate my camp project. Some of it is because I am not anywhere near done and I have less than a week to hit word count. It would be easier if I were typing, I suppose, but I am doing this by hand to see just how damn many words I can get out of a single mechanical pencil. I was going to update daily with word count and pencil status, as well as how long I've been writing. Yesterday I think I wrote somewhere around two and a half hours but my log only has thirty minutes written down. This always happens when I try to log my writing habits. I want to get a picture of how long it takes me to get a decent amount of material done and track the influence of my disability on my productivity. But when I get depressed I stop writing all together and I have my tracking get thrown way off course by my mixed episodes because I will just forget to log things.
Believe me, it makes keeping a daily bullet journal/planner challenging. Going for weeks with out entries and then playing catch up and attempting to recreate from what few clues I left myself what was going on in my brain during those few weeks is really rough. I just wish that I could have a better brain. I wish I was the person I was before the bipolar came into my life. I was healthier and happier then. I wasn't so damn afraid that everything I write or create was going to bring disaster.
I blame the terrible events that happened when I asked for help. I still don't know how to process that and it's been almost a decade. Mostly, I try to live like it didn't happen. But it's effect is powerful because I've become more social phobic and I'm developing agoraphobic issues. I should probably find a therapist and work through this shit but no body takes my insurance. And the one place where I was going was where that disaster got kicked into gear so I'm not going back even if someone dragged me there.
I feel that I am completely stalled on my serial stories. Halthor was supposed to destroy the lich and then have a few more moderately amusing adventures with Freystein before going on to the next leg of his journey. I'm just at a loss for what to write. I'm trying to figure out how to make the elf-dog more of a character but I'm stumped as well. Elwis doesn't exactly speak to Halthor. I don't know if I did the right thing leaving the pony behind with the Blue Lady. Halthor still has a lot of ground to cover. I don't know if it will get boring to have him trek along ala LOTR style for the remainder of the trip.
Al-Uzza was supposed to be the bad guy in the present arc of Dacia's War. She's a scheming mess who wants to be at the top of the heap because she thinks that's where the prestige is. Al-Uzza is little more than a bully. I want people to loathe her as much as they loathed Delores Umbridge. I'm finding it hard to write her that way, because I can't get past my disgust with her attitudes to write about them. Maybe I should just write a character sketch and really get everything about this despicable character out on paper before I write the next installment.
I am stuck on book seven. I'm really stuck and I feel like everything I have written is garbage. I can't manage to bring it to a conclusion and everything I add on to try to get to that place is frustrating me. I have seven books written. For some stupid reason, I can't finish the seventh book but I can't bear to put a To Be Continued into this present scene. The whole thing feels contrived and deus ex machina. Beloved suggested that I am in need of a break from the project. Hence the camp NaNoWriMo thing I'm working on.
I kinda hate my camp project. Some of it is because I am not anywhere near done and I have less than a week to hit word count. It would be easier if I were typing, I suppose, but I am doing this by hand to see just how damn many words I can get out of a single mechanical pencil. I was going to update daily with word count and pencil status, as well as how long I've been writing. Yesterday I think I wrote somewhere around two and a half hours but my log only has thirty minutes written down. This always happens when I try to log my writing habits. I want to get a picture of how long it takes me to get a decent amount of material done and track the influence of my disability on my productivity. But when I get depressed I stop writing all together and I have my tracking get thrown way off course by my mixed episodes because I will just forget to log things.
Believe me, it makes keeping a daily bullet journal/planner challenging. Going for weeks with out entries and then playing catch up and attempting to recreate from what few clues I left myself what was going on in my brain during those few weeks is really rough. I just wish that I could have a better brain. I wish I was the person I was before the bipolar came into my life. I was healthier and happier then. I wasn't so damn afraid that everything I write or create was going to bring disaster.
I blame the terrible events that happened when I asked for help. I still don't know how to process that and it's been almost a decade. Mostly, I try to live like it didn't happen. But it's effect is powerful because I've become more social phobic and I'm developing agoraphobic issues. I should probably find a therapist and work through this shit but no body takes my insurance. And the one place where I was going was where that disaster got kicked into gear so I'm not going back even if someone dragged me there.
Thursday, April 25, 2019
AW: Morning Blog No. 1
Dear Reader,
I'm not sure what to write here. I did my morning pages and started writing up a plan for self-therapy to cope with my mental health issues. I know that my disability is getting in the way of my building a writing career for myself. I know that my disability is getting in the way of doing serious work on my c-PTSD issues because my anxiety has been telling me that everything I write is going to be used to harm my family. I don't like the fact that my mental health has an effect on everything.
It'd be easier if I had a bum leg or something. I can use a cane (and do on occasion because of arthritis) or find other ways to cope with my leg not working properly. My brain not working properly just messes everything else up. I have tried working with therapists to get myself to a neurotypical like state and I just can't quite reach it.
Social phobia has gotten worse over the last few years and I'm beginning to develop some measure of agorophobia. I start to panic over the thought of going to places I don't know well. Some of my panic is because I have diabetes and I don't know what I'd do if I had an emergency when I was out of the house and alone. Some of my panic is I'm afraid that something bad is going to happen to me when I am out. I get afraid that I am going to get lost. I get afraid that I am going to wind up in a 'bad' neighborhood and something awful is going to happen. And any neighborhood that I'm not intimately familiar with becomes a potential 'bad' neighborhood and I'm afraid to go there alone.
I have days where I don't leave the house because I'm fearful that someone is going to take one look at me and decide that I don't look mentally stable and call the police. I'm afraid that I'm going to relive the experiences from 2011 if I don't look and behave completely neurotypical. As such, I have been limiting my clothing expression to the frumpy looking 'mom' wardrobe and I just am quiet when I am out or overly cheerful.
Because if I have on the overly cheerful, bubbly persona mask on, people think I'm fine and that everything is ok. I do it after I've been triggered and after I have had some kind of bad flashback. Emotional flashbacks are happening pretty regularly and I know it is because my mood is off kilter. I get depressed and I have flashbacks to things that happened in the past that had me depressed.
It is hard for me to write about these things. It is hard for me to write at all when this happens. I struggle to write daily. Then I get imposter syndrome over it all and wonder if I even count as a real author because I'm not nose to the grindstone every day. Or because just about everything I write on a given day is not related to my novels but therapy oriented. Or because I haven't written poetry in years because I feel like it's just not good enough and that I must be a hack like [redacted] called me. I miss poetry. When I was younger I wrote tons of it and it helped me process a lot of ugly feelings. But now I'm afraid that someone is going to take my poems and use them to lock me away from my family and just destroy my life. Because they're just as intimate as my journals.
I'm sorry that this entry is all about this trauma stuff. It's been hammering on my mind for weeks now. This is kinda what my daily morning pages have been looking like. It makes me sad. I feel like I'm doing all of this wrong. I don't know if I should be grabbing a prompt from the prompt box and writing for fifteen minutes on that prompt or if I should just wing it and go with what's in my head right now.
I feel very saddened by this post. A part of me says I should delete it and forget all about this. I'm not going to because I told myself that this is part of doing the AW reboot and that it is part of my rebuilding my writing discipline. But it doesn't change the fact that this post hurts to type. I ask myself if other writers go through this or if I'm just special in that decidedly unpleasant way because I am disabled due to multiple traumas and bipolar. I know that because my readership on this blog is low, I can post this kind of stuff with out too much hate coming at me. I don't know if I'm going to be finding that changes as I go forward with this.
I am running out of things to post right now. It hasn't been the full fifteen minutes and I just want to delete this whole post. I have my inner critic telling me that this is terrible. I have my past trauma telling me that this is all drama seeking attention whore behavior and that no one wants to read this kind of 'garbage'. It is hard when you have that kind of static going on in your head to create anything. But, I'm going to do my best to write and make art.
I'm going to be posting pictures of the artwork that I'm going to start making in my art journal. Right now it is really bare bones and simple. I just hadn't had the heart to make artwork in it. I did my artist's date yesterday in the course of my running around. I picked up a set of brush style markers. I'm going to use them in my art journal to make some abstract pictures. Abstract pictures work a bit better for me to get the feelings out on the page than traditional landscapes and such.
Oh thank gods, the fifteen minutes is up. I'm sorry for putting you all through that rambling. Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll have something that is less depressing.
I'm not sure what to write here. I did my morning pages and started writing up a plan for self-therapy to cope with my mental health issues. I know that my disability is getting in the way of my building a writing career for myself. I know that my disability is getting in the way of doing serious work on my c-PTSD issues because my anxiety has been telling me that everything I write is going to be used to harm my family. I don't like the fact that my mental health has an effect on everything.
It'd be easier if I had a bum leg or something. I can use a cane (and do on occasion because of arthritis) or find other ways to cope with my leg not working properly. My brain not working properly just messes everything else up. I have tried working with therapists to get myself to a neurotypical like state and I just can't quite reach it.
Social phobia has gotten worse over the last few years and I'm beginning to develop some measure of agorophobia. I start to panic over the thought of going to places I don't know well. Some of my panic is because I have diabetes and I don't know what I'd do if I had an emergency when I was out of the house and alone. Some of my panic is I'm afraid that something bad is going to happen to me when I am out. I get afraid that I am going to get lost. I get afraid that I am going to wind up in a 'bad' neighborhood and something awful is going to happen. And any neighborhood that I'm not intimately familiar with becomes a potential 'bad' neighborhood and I'm afraid to go there alone.
I have days where I don't leave the house because I'm fearful that someone is going to take one look at me and decide that I don't look mentally stable and call the police. I'm afraid that I'm going to relive the experiences from 2011 if I don't look and behave completely neurotypical. As such, I have been limiting my clothing expression to the frumpy looking 'mom' wardrobe and I just am quiet when I am out or overly cheerful.
Because if I have on the overly cheerful, bubbly persona mask on, people think I'm fine and that everything is ok. I do it after I've been triggered and after I have had some kind of bad flashback. Emotional flashbacks are happening pretty regularly and I know it is because my mood is off kilter. I get depressed and I have flashbacks to things that happened in the past that had me depressed.
It is hard for me to write about these things. It is hard for me to write at all when this happens. I struggle to write daily. Then I get imposter syndrome over it all and wonder if I even count as a real author because I'm not nose to the grindstone every day. Or because just about everything I write on a given day is not related to my novels but therapy oriented. Or because I haven't written poetry in years because I feel like it's just not good enough and that I must be a hack like [redacted] called me. I miss poetry. When I was younger I wrote tons of it and it helped me process a lot of ugly feelings. But now I'm afraid that someone is going to take my poems and use them to lock me away from my family and just destroy my life. Because they're just as intimate as my journals.
I'm sorry that this entry is all about this trauma stuff. It's been hammering on my mind for weeks now. This is kinda what my daily morning pages have been looking like. It makes me sad. I feel like I'm doing all of this wrong. I don't know if I should be grabbing a prompt from the prompt box and writing for fifteen minutes on that prompt or if I should just wing it and go with what's in my head right now.
I feel very saddened by this post. A part of me says I should delete it and forget all about this. I'm not going to because I told myself that this is part of doing the AW reboot and that it is part of my rebuilding my writing discipline. But it doesn't change the fact that this post hurts to type. I ask myself if other writers go through this or if I'm just special in that decidedly unpleasant way because I am disabled due to multiple traumas and bipolar. I know that because my readership on this blog is low, I can post this kind of stuff with out too much hate coming at me. I don't know if I'm going to be finding that changes as I go forward with this.
I am running out of things to post right now. It hasn't been the full fifteen minutes and I just want to delete this whole post. I have my inner critic telling me that this is terrible. I have my past trauma telling me that this is all drama seeking attention whore behavior and that no one wants to read this kind of 'garbage'. It is hard when you have that kind of static going on in your head to create anything. But, I'm going to do my best to write and make art.
I'm going to be posting pictures of the artwork that I'm going to start making in my art journal. Right now it is really bare bones and simple. I just hadn't had the heart to make artwork in it. I did my artist's date yesterday in the course of my running around. I picked up a set of brush style markers. I'm going to use them in my art journal to make some abstract pictures. Abstract pictures work a bit better for me to get the feelings out on the page than traditional landscapes and such.
Oh thank gods, the fifteen minutes is up. I'm sorry for putting you all through that rambling. Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll have something that is less depressing.
AW: Reboot.
Dear Reader,
My grand plan of dedicating a month to each week of the Artist's Way work went completely askew between life happening and a major depressive episode. I'm going to start everything again from the beginning. This time, I think I'm just going to stick with the 12 weeks. I am going to change things a little bit in how I am doing this.
I will be doing my morning pages off line in a notebook,but I'm going to add on fifteen minutes of free writing here on the blog. My hope is to get myself into writing more material for here on a daily basis and perhaps get past this damned block that has me stumped on how to finish book seven. It's been almost half a year, I should have finished it by now. I haven't and I am finding myself stuck in other areas of creative writing. So, I'm going to just take the plunge and do all of the AW exercises on here. Consider it filler material and disregard it if you're more interested in the serial stories or other parts of the blog's scheduled content.
The next twelve weeks are going to reveal a fair amount about myself and my creative process. I will be posting pictures of some of the artwork that I make as I am working through this and my reading notes for each chapter. I have a little over twelve weeks before the kids are done with school for the summer. That means I have a little more than twelve weeks to get my writing habits established in preparation for the summer.
I think I can do this thing as long as I can push through the issues that come up due to my mental health stuff.
My grand plan of dedicating a month to each week of the Artist's Way work went completely askew between life happening and a major depressive episode. I'm going to start everything again from the beginning. This time, I think I'm just going to stick with the 12 weeks. I am going to change things a little bit in how I am doing this.
I will be doing my morning pages off line in a notebook,but I'm going to add on fifteen minutes of free writing here on the blog. My hope is to get myself into writing more material for here on a daily basis and perhaps get past this damned block that has me stumped on how to finish book seven. It's been almost half a year, I should have finished it by now. I haven't and I am finding myself stuck in other areas of creative writing. So, I'm going to just take the plunge and do all of the AW exercises on here. Consider it filler material and disregard it if you're more interested in the serial stories or other parts of the blog's scheduled content.
The next twelve weeks are going to reveal a fair amount about myself and my creative process. I will be posting pictures of some of the artwork that I make as I am working through this and my reading notes for each chapter. I have a little over twelve weeks before the kids are done with school for the summer. That means I have a little more than twelve weeks to get my writing habits established in preparation for the summer.
I think I can do this thing as long as I can push through the issues that come up due to my mental health stuff.
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
Looking for a murder mystery to read?
Dear Reader,I'm still working on material for here. I've almost got the bugs ironed out of the process of taking pictures with my phone. And I still have that Camp NaNoWriMo project that I'm struggling to finish.
So, while you're all so kindly waiting, perhaps you'd like to solve a mystery or enjoy the thrill of watching tortured souls struggle. The Red Chair is a novella that I wrote in memory of my late Grandfather. He got me started reading mystery books as a kid with the stories of Sherlock Holmes. This has a decidedly darker storyline than that of any Sherlock Holmes story from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
It will be coming to Amazon's Kindle next month. If you pick up your copy through Lulu.com, you save a percentage off of the price elsewhere. (Sorry, the handcuffs are not included.)
Friday, April 19, 2019
Can Spring Break be over now? Please?
Dear Reader,
My kids are on spring break right now. We've been busy and chaotic for last little while. I would have been posting more but finding time to do so has been challenging. Reading time has been limited but I got through Terry Pratchett's A Slip of A Keyboard and Gabino Iglesias Coyote Songs. I'll be posting reviews of them Monday, provided the kids give me enough time to do so. Both were very good reads for very different reasons.
I've been stalled on my Camp NaNoWriMo manuscript because my brain has been having issues. Mixed episodes makes writing hard because I have about as much focus as a squirrel on speed. Unfortunately, I am not successfully doing multiple things in parallel because I just can't focus long enough to get it done. Throw on top of that the fact that my sleep schedule has been all messed up because of reasons I don't fathom (probably more brain chemistry shenanigans) and it's been an adventure over here.
My kids are on spring break right now. We've been busy and chaotic for last little while. I would have been posting more but finding time to do so has been challenging. Reading time has been limited but I got through Terry Pratchett's A Slip of A Keyboard and Gabino Iglesias Coyote Songs. I'll be posting reviews of them Monday, provided the kids give me enough time to do so. Both were very good reads for very different reasons.
I've been stalled on my Camp NaNoWriMo manuscript because my brain has been having issues. Mixed episodes makes writing hard because I have about as much focus as a squirrel on speed. Unfortunately, I am not successfully doing multiple things in parallel because I just can't focus long enough to get it done. Throw on top of that the fact that my sleep schedule has been all messed up because of reasons I don't fathom (probably more brain chemistry shenanigans) and it's been an adventure over here.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Locales: Gerða's Hall
In the rolling hills of central Dakon-Bar legend speaks of a Queen of the Wood and her magical hall beneath them. Like all fairy tales, these have some roots in fact. Gerða is the Queen of the Wood, whose holdings are the great forest of Dragonwood. Beneath the hills, Gerða resides with the King of the Wood, Frey Greenwood, and the wildlife of the forest bends its proverbial knee to her.
The entrance to her hall is located beside an ancient oak tree that is one of the few survivors from when the forest burned in the dragon's wrath during the Great War. A stone grotto leads to a great door made of ironwood that can not be moved by the strongest of men. Behind that door is a carved passage lit with torches that ever burn but do not foul the air even as they cast their light. The passage leads to a great hall built with many pillars. The pillars and the ceiling are carved in such a manner that the great hall seems to be a forest grove. Along the walls of the passage and of the great hall, there are gleaming veins of precious metals and crystal.
There are other passages that lead deeper beneath the hills. None have entered them and returned to tell the tale, even in elder days. Stories abound that they lead to another world, to the dragon's lair, or something terrifying. But the foreword passage that leads from the great door to the hall proper is appointed with benches for weary travelers to rest. There are rooms on either side of the hall that serve the function of such rooms within a castle, such as a wardrobe and an armory.
Tales speak of great celebrations and feasts that lasted for days that happened within Gerða's hall. They speak of heroes welcomed by the Queen of the Wood and of the peace woven between the elves of Dragonwood and humanity. Like all Queens, Gerða is fearsome and powerful. Possessing strange magics, Gerða shapes her hall to her liking by ways that not even the most learned of the elder races understand. It is rumored that the elfin lord Agrimmon was her close ally and friend. The location of his stone halls has been forgotten by men but Agrimmon's work can be seen in Gerða's hall for all of the clever stonework and carvings were the work of his master builders, perhaps even himself.
The entrance to her hall is located beside an ancient oak tree that is one of the few survivors from when the forest burned in the dragon's wrath during the Great War. A stone grotto leads to a great door made of ironwood that can not be moved by the strongest of men. Behind that door is a carved passage lit with torches that ever burn but do not foul the air even as they cast their light. The passage leads to a great hall built with many pillars. The pillars and the ceiling are carved in such a manner that the great hall seems to be a forest grove. Along the walls of the passage and of the great hall, there are gleaming veins of precious metals and crystal.
There are other passages that lead deeper beneath the hills. None have entered them and returned to tell the tale, even in elder days. Stories abound that they lead to another world, to the dragon's lair, or something terrifying. But the foreword passage that leads from the great door to the hall proper is appointed with benches for weary travelers to rest. There are rooms on either side of the hall that serve the function of such rooms within a castle, such as a wardrobe and an armory.
Tales speak of great celebrations and feasts that lasted for days that happened within Gerða's hall. They speak of heroes welcomed by the Queen of the Wood and of the peace woven between the elves of Dragonwood and humanity. Like all Queens, Gerða is fearsome and powerful. Possessing strange magics, Gerða shapes her hall to her liking by ways that not even the most learned of the elder races understand. It is rumored that the elfin lord Agrimmon was her close ally and friend. The location of his stone halls has been forgotten by men but Agrimmon's work can be seen in Gerða's hall for all of the clever stonework and carvings were the work of his master builders, perhaps even himself.
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Dacia's War: Part 30 - Rain and Snow
Lady Al-Uzza was awakened as the first edges of gloaming limned
the horizon. She was mildly annoyed but then remembered that it was
better to awaken early to surprise a possible miscreant than arrive
at Acidavia in the middle of a coup. Iona moved about the chamber
silently. As she adjusted her bundle of goods and considered the
supplies given by Lady Sindal, Iona was calculating the chances the
weather was going to get ugly.
Unlike the desert born priestess, the acolyte recognized the sharpness she scented in the air. "My Lady," Iona said quietly to Al-Uzza as she sat up. Al-Uzza looked over. "The air has a bite to it. It is more than the mountain's usual quality. It would be wise to wear the garments that your Sister provided us. Al-Uzza squinted in the gloom and realized that Iona was already dressed in what looked suspiciously like man's array. Though Al-Uzza had a blanket wrapped around her, she could feel something of the chill that the younger woman spoke of.
"It will pass, as it always does when the shield of Ashur rises above the horizon," Al-Uzza muttered. Iona did not move or comment. She simply stood at Al-Uzza's bed head and waited. With a groan, Al-Uzza shook her head and grudgingly swung her feet over the edge of the bed. "What are the lands of your birth, maid?" Al-Uzza asked, wondering just what Iona knew that she didn't of the lands they were in. Iona gestured towards the shuttered window. "Mountain born?" Al-Uzza said and Iona nodded. With a shake of the head, Al-Uzza restrained the urge to mutter something unpleasant and decided that humoring the mountain people may be the best way to cozen her way into getting what she wanted.
Iona helped Al-Uzza with the unfamiliar leg wrappings and the strange breeches. Where Iona's garments ranged from white to a tawny color, Al-Uzza's was a deep blue that was nearly indigo. If she had the light, Al-Uzza would have noticed the leg wrappings were embroidered with prayers just as the swaddling bands of children were embroidered, though the embroidery was the same color of the rest of the fabric. A heavy coat that was like a gown was worn over the two layers of long tunics that had been provided for her. Iona's garments were closer to the body and allowed greater freedom of movement. Prim Al-Uzza wasn't pleased with it because she felt it revealed too much for the male gaze but she recognized that the warrior-nun who had been sent as her assistant was as much in need of freedom of motion as any other warrior.
At least, Al-Uzza thought, Iona's hair was not bared to be profaned with the lustful gazes of lesser creatures. The two women were dressed in the traditional traveling garb of the north. Their heads were covered with fur lined hoods, with linen gauze wound beneath against the scalp to wick away sweat and help keep them warm. Embroidered coats, mittens, and leg wrappings covered them well to ward off the cold. Thick stockings in heavy boots with expensively carved wooden soles protected their feet. Al-Uzza found herself uncomfortable as she started to move around the room. "This is too much," she stated abruptly, moving to take off the hood.
There was a knock at the door. "My Lady," spoke a gravely voice that made Al-Uzza's teeth grate, "The party is ready to leave at dawn. We await you." Althos had been an irritant to Al-Uzza for the entire journey but he had been also very useful. Al-Uzza disliked the warrior-monk but had to admit they were entering a situation where a battle seasoned warrior like him would be necessary. It was said that he was at the battle of the Black Sands and had acquitted himself with proper honor as per his order. Al-Uzza assumed this meant that he slaughtered a good number of the enemies of the empire. She did her best to ignore Althos's conversations with the company of guards that had been sent with her. She disliked men and found their company tiresome. All their focus seemed to be upon proving their prowess and potency in all areas they could. Al-Uzza felt that men were like children in need of a stern hand to guide them. And she had no patience for children.
Caught up in her bitter contemplation, Al-Uzza found herself less annoyed with the fur of the hood brushing against her face. Allowing some of that sharpness to seep into her tone, Al-Uzza said, "We must first break our fast." Iona coughed softly. On the other side of the door, Al-Uzza was sure that Althos was giving the carved wood his best glare.
"My Lady had said that haste was necessary," Althos replied in what almost sounded like a rebuke, "Was I in error to assemble the company to ride at dawn? Shall we leave at midday and camp along the road in the night?" Al-Uzza ground her teeth. She stalked to the door and opened it to find Althos dressed in heavy garb as well. She was mildly annoyed that his head was covered with a knitted cap, for some petty part of her had hoped his bald head would be chilled in the day's ride and ache as hers had for his sake.
Al-Uzza looked over at Iona and discovered that her secretary was fully ready to begin her journey. Al-Uzza's hope of lingering just a little longer over something savory and satisfying with the exotic herbs of the mountains in it disappeared as the reality of the situation reasserted itself. With a sigh, she walked out into the corridor and found that the aged Erlion was waiting at Althos's side. "A message in the mirror?" she asked. Erlion nodded. "Where is Lady Sindal and Governor Decebal?"
"They await you in the chamber," Erlion said, "I was instructed to inform you about the message in the mirror." Al-Uzza made an impatient gesture as Erlion began to walk towards the great hall and the corridor to the chamber of the sand mirror. She gave a sigh of exasperation as Erlion spoke about how the night's watch was only the signs of the movement of Althos's presumed snake. "Just earlier," Erlion said as they crossed the great hall, "The movements of the snake went still. It lies as though coiled and awaiting to strike. Then it twisted violently. After this, a series of signs were drawn in the mirror that I do not recognize."
Al-Uzza ground her teeth. What use was a sand mirror and one to read it if they could not read the mirror, she mentally grumbled. When they reached the chamber of the sand mirror, Decebal was waiting outside of it with a parchment scroll in hand. Al-Uzza saw that he looked solemn and perhaps disturbed. Al-Uzza walked into the sand mirror chamber and found Sindal waiting beside the mirror. Al-Uzza noted that sand was on the floor. She knew that sand from the mirror should always remain in the bowl and that it didn't leave it unless the bowl was disturbed or something disturbed the bowl it was attuned to.
"Lady Al-Uzza, perhaps your experience as a librarian and as our Serene Highness's secretary may allow you to read the mirror. These are signs that we have not seen before," Sindal said. Al-Uzza frowned at the mention of her past positions but put the perceived insult aside to look into the mirror. As she looked in it, her blood went cold. It was a series of glyphs from the ancient texts. It was unknown to most of the priestly orders except for the librarians and the silent sisters of Julara. It read that someone was killing the priestesses of Julara within the city and was a warning for the brothers militant of Ashur's wrath to come in disguise. After a few moments, the sand moved as though a hand wiped the mirror clean. Dawn threatened on the horizon.
"We must leave immediately," Al-Uzza said with a tone of uncharacteristic urgency and concern. She looked over at Althos. "You are war-leader of this party but you must be as one of the mercenaries," she continued before turning to Iona, "What ever weapons you require must be provided, there is a murderer in Acidavia who is killing preistesses and servants of our Lady." The collective silence in the room annoyed Al-Uzza. The word that someone would dare to do such a profane act was scandalous at the very least.
"Go," Al-Uzza snapped tarly at Iona, "Fetch the tools of your trade if you don't have them now." Inoa gave a sharp nod, turned on her heel, and walked out of the chamber. Sindal opened her mouth to say something when Al-Uzza fixed her with a stern look. "We are in deep water, Sister Sindal," Al-Uzza said firmly, "Someone must send a message to the Empress of this. If it is happening within Acidavia, it is happening farther north. It is the only explanation why we have sisters missing."
Al-Uzza recalled Sorenan's report to the empress of slaughters in the north in the wilder lands. Though Al-Uzza hadn't a battle master's gift of experience or strategy craft, she put the facts together quickly. "You must turn away the refugees until I send you a message that it is safe for them to come within your city. There may be malcontents among them or people sympathetic to the people beyond the empire."
Althos watched Al-Uzza with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. He had thought she was going to be as useful as any administrative official on a long walk, complaining about the weather and such. While she had been to this point, Althos was pleasantly surprised that she was competent in figuring out plans for how to handle a problem on the fly. Althos followed Al-Uzza and Sindal into the corridor beyond the antechamber. A weary Erlion sat down on his stool and watched them leave.
Decebal held out the scroll to Al-Uzza. Althos overheard him explaining that the terrain was not as kind as the map made it seem and that the weather on the higher elevations was fickle. As the party walked into the great hall, Decebal explained that the risk of raiders had been greater since the troubles had begun in the far northern parts of the region and he wasn't sure what the risk of the party being attacked was. A palanquin was to be provided for Al-Uzza and Iona until they reached the first way point along the route. After this, horses bred for mountain travel were to be provided for them. Althos watched how Al-Uzza single mindedly marched towards the corridor that lead out to the great square of the city. He suspected that she was ignoring Decebal and such did his bet to put to memory what he could over hear of the governor's words.
Al-Uzza reaches the steps down to the square and finds a group of approximately thirty warriors awaiting them. She also found a quartet of burly servants waiting with the palanquin. Along with the warriors, there were pack animals with supplies for the journey. Al-Uzza looked over at Sindal. "Speed is at the essence," she said, "These beasts will slow us down." Sindal shook her head. As the first patter of rainfall began, Al-Uzza looked up at the sky from where the portico sheltered her. "Our Lady blesses our work this day," the librarian turned priestess said. Sindal wasn't as sure that the rain was a sign of Julara's blessing as much of coming snow.
"Sister Al-Uzza, you are of the low lands. Your journeys are quicker because the mountains are not your enemy. Take the beasts with you. They will serve you well in the coming days." Al-Uzza wasn't sure how she felt about the cross between a factual and a pleading tone in Sindal's voice. With a slight sigh of frustration she nodded.
The party looked up at the priestesses on the portico. "Go, Sister," Sindal said, "I shall speak the blessing of travel over you." Al-Uzza nodded and went to the palanquin. One of the large men opened the wooden door. As she stepped in, she found Iona waiting for her. The servant shut the door and Al-Uzza could hear Sindal's prayer for their safe travel through the door, albeit muffled. Thick blankets sat folded on each of the two seats within the palanquin. Iona sat with one across her lap. Al-Uzza followed Iona's example and settled her own on her legs. With a rocking motion, the palanquin was lifted and set upon the bearer's shoulders. The mercenaries and soldiers of the empire surrounded them as a few servants lead the beasts of burden behind them.
A cold and driving rain pattered on the roof of the palanquin. Al-Uzza was thankful for the shelter it provided as she unrolled the scroll that Decebal had given her. She handed it to Iona. "Tell me, mountain girl, where are we on this?" Iona pointed at a dot on the map and did some calculations in her head as she considered the possible routes they were taking to Acidavia. She moved her finger to a position slightly farther away. Despite the blankets over their legs and the shelter of the palaquin, Al-Uzza and Iona could feel things getting colder. "The first way station?" Al-Uzza asked, as the bearers set the palanquin down again. The first time, they had all paused at sunrise to break their fast. Hardtack and watered wine was unpleasant to Al-Uzza but she was more concerned with the idea that the library at Acidavia was being compromised. It was a library that she was familiar with, one of the largest ones in the north of the empire. Priceless books and scrolls resided there. She had no doubts that the persons killing priestesses and acolytes would have no hesitation to burn it to the ground.
A knock sounded on the door of the palanquin. Al-Uzza slid aside the small wooden door that covered an eyeslit. She saw Althos waiting with something white upon him. She was confused. Still, when Althos said that they had finally reached the point where the priestess and her secretary had to give up the palanquin, Al-Uzza didn't mind much. Her legs were somewhat cramped from sitting for so long and she desired to breathe air that didn't feel quite so stale. When she stepped out of the palanquin into the snow, she was entirely confused. She had thought that with the silence that the weather had cleared. The rain that was present at midday when they had stopped for a meal was far lighter but colder than she had expected. The silence that came not long afterwards to the desert woman meant that the skies had cleared.
Iona stepped out of the palanquin after Al-Uzza and looked at the snow with an expression of annoyance. It had been several hours and there was now several inches of the white fluffy stuff on the ground. She looked up the mountain and wondered how much deeper the snow was. If they were luck, this was the first real snow fall and the paths would be clear. Sturdy horses were provided for Al-Uzza and Iona. The leader of the mercenaries considered the few other horses provided. Deciding with Althos that it was better to use them to lead the pack animals up the hill and as alternate mounts for the women, he walked along side them. Althos walked at Al-Uzza's left, discreetly taking the bridle of the horse in hand to guide it over the terrain. To her right, rode Iona and then the leader of the mercenary party was beside her.
The quiet conversations around them became even more hushed as the terrain became more challenging and the sun began to sink lower in the sky. Althos proposed they stop and set up camp before it got colder and while they still had the sun. Al-Uzza listened to his experience and agreed. She and Iona watched as the party of soldiers set up a camp with brisk efficiency that belied their experience with such things. Althos had the soldiers that were send with them at the center of the encampment about the pavilion set up for Al-Uzza and Iona. After a short time, a few blazing fires were going and people huddled around them for warmth and to cook their evening meal. Within the pavilion, a pair of braziers were burning to heat the space. Al-Uzza and Iona found the sparse accommodations of the pavilion to be only slightly more of an improvement over the palanquin. Al-Uzza gave Althos a glare as he stepped into the pavilion.
"This is not your place, monk," she said in a snippish tone.
"My place is the guard you. Thus, I am here at the door." Al-Uzza huffed with annoyance. Iona fixed them a small meal of dried fruit, dried meat, and yet more hardtack. Al-Uzza restrained the urge to mutter about her fare. She reminded herself that the comforts of civilization awaited them a little farther up the road. When it was time for her to retire for the night, she found Althos and Iona discussing something. Iona made a few emphatic gestures as she whispered at him. Althos's gravelly voice was slightly louder as he said, "We are going to take turns keeping watch. That's the end of the discussion. I trust my men with your lives but I don't trust them. Bravos for hire can be turned with the promise of enough coin or prestige."
Unlike the desert born priestess, the acolyte recognized the sharpness she scented in the air. "My Lady," Iona said quietly to Al-Uzza as she sat up. Al-Uzza looked over. "The air has a bite to it. It is more than the mountain's usual quality. It would be wise to wear the garments that your Sister provided us. Al-Uzza squinted in the gloom and realized that Iona was already dressed in what looked suspiciously like man's array. Though Al-Uzza had a blanket wrapped around her, she could feel something of the chill that the younger woman spoke of.
"It will pass, as it always does when the shield of Ashur rises above the horizon," Al-Uzza muttered. Iona did not move or comment. She simply stood at Al-Uzza's bed head and waited. With a groan, Al-Uzza shook her head and grudgingly swung her feet over the edge of the bed. "What are the lands of your birth, maid?" Al-Uzza asked, wondering just what Iona knew that she didn't of the lands they were in. Iona gestured towards the shuttered window. "Mountain born?" Al-Uzza said and Iona nodded. With a shake of the head, Al-Uzza restrained the urge to mutter something unpleasant and decided that humoring the mountain people may be the best way to cozen her way into getting what she wanted.
Iona helped Al-Uzza with the unfamiliar leg wrappings and the strange breeches. Where Iona's garments ranged from white to a tawny color, Al-Uzza's was a deep blue that was nearly indigo. If she had the light, Al-Uzza would have noticed the leg wrappings were embroidered with prayers just as the swaddling bands of children were embroidered, though the embroidery was the same color of the rest of the fabric. A heavy coat that was like a gown was worn over the two layers of long tunics that had been provided for her. Iona's garments were closer to the body and allowed greater freedom of movement. Prim Al-Uzza wasn't pleased with it because she felt it revealed too much for the male gaze but she recognized that the warrior-nun who had been sent as her assistant was as much in need of freedom of motion as any other warrior.
At least, Al-Uzza thought, Iona's hair was not bared to be profaned with the lustful gazes of lesser creatures. The two women were dressed in the traditional traveling garb of the north. Their heads were covered with fur lined hoods, with linen gauze wound beneath against the scalp to wick away sweat and help keep them warm. Embroidered coats, mittens, and leg wrappings covered them well to ward off the cold. Thick stockings in heavy boots with expensively carved wooden soles protected their feet. Al-Uzza found herself uncomfortable as she started to move around the room. "This is too much," she stated abruptly, moving to take off the hood.
There was a knock at the door. "My Lady," spoke a gravely voice that made Al-Uzza's teeth grate, "The party is ready to leave at dawn. We await you." Althos had been an irritant to Al-Uzza for the entire journey but he had been also very useful. Al-Uzza disliked the warrior-monk but had to admit they were entering a situation where a battle seasoned warrior like him would be necessary. It was said that he was at the battle of the Black Sands and had acquitted himself with proper honor as per his order. Al-Uzza assumed this meant that he slaughtered a good number of the enemies of the empire. She did her best to ignore Althos's conversations with the company of guards that had been sent with her. She disliked men and found their company tiresome. All their focus seemed to be upon proving their prowess and potency in all areas they could. Al-Uzza felt that men were like children in need of a stern hand to guide them. And she had no patience for children.
Caught up in her bitter contemplation, Al-Uzza found herself less annoyed with the fur of the hood brushing against her face. Allowing some of that sharpness to seep into her tone, Al-Uzza said, "We must first break our fast." Iona coughed softly. On the other side of the door, Al-Uzza was sure that Althos was giving the carved wood his best glare.
"My Lady had said that haste was necessary," Althos replied in what almost sounded like a rebuke, "Was I in error to assemble the company to ride at dawn? Shall we leave at midday and camp along the road in the night?" Al-Uzza ground her teeth. She stalked to the door and opened it to find Althos dressed in heavy garb as well. She was mildly annoyed that his head was covered with a knitted cap, for some petty part of her had hoped his bald head would be chilled in the day's ride and ache as hers had for his sake.
Al-Uzza looked over at Iona and discovered that her secretary was fully ready to begin her journey. Al-Uzza's hope of lingering just a little longer over something savory and satisfying with the exotic herbs of the mountains in it disappeared as the reality of the situation reasserted itself. With a sigh, she walked out into the corridor and found that the aged Erlion was waiting at Althos's side. "A message in the mirror?" she asked. Erlion nodded. "Where is Lady Sindal and Governor Decebal?"
"They await you in the chamber," Erlion said, "I was instructed to inform you about the message in the mirror." Al-Uzza made an impatient gesture as Erlion began to walk towards the great hall and the corridor to the chamber of the sand mirror. She gave a sigh of exasperation as Erlion spoke about how the night's watch was only the signs of the movement of Althos's presumed snake. "Just earlier," Erlion said as they crossed the great hall, "The movements of the snake went still. It lies as though coiled and awaiting to strike. Then it twisted violently. After this, a series of signs were drawn in the mirror that I do not recognize."
Al-Uzza ground her teeth. What use was a sand mirror and one to read it if they could not read the mirror, she mentally grumbled. When they reached the chamber of the sand mirror, Decebal was waiting outside of it with a parchment scroll in hand. Al-Uzza saw that he looked solemn and perhaps disturbed. Al-Uzza walked into the sand mirror chamber and found Sindal waiting beside the mirror. Al-Uzza noted that sand was on the floor. She knew that sand from the mirror should always remain in the bowl and that it didn't leave it unless the bowl was disturbed or something disturbed the bowl it was attuned to.
"Lady Al-Uzza, perhaps your experience as a librarian and as our Serene Highness's secretary may allow you to read the mirror. These are signs that we have not seen before," Sindal said. Al-Uzza frowned at the mention of her past positions but put the perceived insult aside to look into the mirror. As she looked in it, her blood went cold. It was a series of glyphs from the ancient texts. It was unknown to most of the priestly orders except for the librarians and the silent sisters of Julara. It read that someone was killing the priestesses of Julara within the city and was a warning for the brothers militant of Ashur's wrath to come in disguise. After a few moments, the sand moved as though a hand wiped the mirror clean. Dawn threatened on the horizon.
"We must leave immediately," Al-Uzza said with a tone of uncharacteristic urgency and concern. She looked over at Althos. "You are war-leader of this party but you must be as one of the mercenaries," she continued before turning to Iona, "What ever weapons you require must be provided, there is a murderer in Acidavia who is killing preistesses and servants of our Lady." The collective silence in the room annoyed Al-Uzza. The word that someone would dare to do such a profane act was scandalous at the very least.
"Go," Al-Uzza snapped tarly at Iona, "Fetch the tools of your trade if you don't have them now." Inoa gave a sharp nod, turned on her heel, and walked out of the chamber. Sindal opened her mouth to say something when Al-Uzza fixed her with a stern look. "We are in deep water, Sister Sindal," Al-Uzza said firmly, "Someone must send a message to the Empress of this. If it is happening within Acidavia, it is happening farther north. It is the only explanation why we have sisters missing."
Al-Uzza recalled Sorenan's report to the empress of slaughters in the north in the wilder lands. Though Al-Uzza hadn't a battle master's gift of experience or strategy craft, she put the facts together quickly. "You must turn away the refugees until I send you a message that it is safe for them to come within your city. There may be malcontents among them or people sympathetic to the people beyond the empire."
Althos watched Al-Uzza with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. He had thought she was going to be as useful as any administrative official on a long walk, complaining about the weather and such. While she had been to this point, Althos was pleasantly surprised that she was competent in figuring out plans for how to handle a problem on the fly. Althos followed Al-Uzza and Sindal into the corridor beyond the antechamber. A weary Erlion sat down on his stool and watched them leave.
Decebal held out the scroll to Al-Uzza. Althos overheard him explaining that the terrain was not as kind as the map made it seem and that the weather on the higher elevations was fickle. As the party walked into the great hall, Decebal explained that the risk of raiders had been greater since the troubles had begun in the far northern parts of the region and he wasn't sure what the risk of the party being attacked was. A palanquin was to be provided for Al-Uzza and Iona until they reached the first way point along the route. After this, horses bred for mountain travel were to be provided for them. Althos watched how Al-Uzza single mindedly marched towards the corridor that lead out to the great square of the city. He suspected that she was ignoring Decebal and such did his bet to put to memory what he could over hear of the governor's words.
Al-Uzza reaches the steps down to the square and finds a group of approximately thirty warriors awaiting them. She also found a quartet of burly servants waiting with the palanquin. Along with the warriors, there were pack animals with supplies for the journey. Al-Uzza looked over at Sindal. "Speed is at the essence," she said, "These beasts will slow us down." Sindal shook her head. As the first patter of rainfall began, Al-Uzza looked up at the sky from where the portico sheltered her. "Our Lady blesses our work this day," the librarian turned priestess said. Sindal wasn't as sure that the rain was a sign of Julara's blessing as much of coming snow.
"Sister Al-Uzza, you are of the low lands. Your journeys are quicker because the mountains are not your enemy. Take the beasts with you. They will serve you well in the coming days." Al-Uzza wasn't sure how she felt about the cross between a factual and a pleading tone in Sindal's voice. With a slight sigh of frustration she nodded.
The party looked up at the priestesses on the portico. "Go, Sister," Sindal said, "I shall speak the blessing of travel over you." Al-Uzza nodded and went to the palanquin. One of the large men opened the wooden door. As she stepped in, she found Iona waiting for her. The servant shut the door and Al-Uzza could hear Sindal's prayer for their safe travel through the door, albeit muffled. Thick blankets sat folded on each of the two seats within the palanquin. Iona sat with one across her lap. Al-Uzza followed Iona's example and settled her own on her legs. With a rocking motion, the palanquin was lifted and set upon the bearer's shoulders. The mercenaries and soldiers of the empire surrounded them as a few servants lead the beasts of burden behind them.
A cold and driving rain pattered on the roof of the palanquin. Al-Uzza was thankful for the shelter it provided as she unrolled the scroll that Decebal had given her. She handed it to Iona. "Tell me, mountain girl, where are we on this?" Iona pointed at a dot on the map and did some calculations in her head as she considered the possible routes they were taking to Acidavia. She moved her finger to a position slightly farther away. Despite the blankets over their legs and the shelter of the palaquin, Al-Uzza and Iona could feel things getting colder. "The first way station?" Al-Uzza asked, as the bearers set the palanquin down again. The first time, they had all paused at sunrise to break their fast. Hardtack and watered wine was unpleasant to Al-Uzza but she was more concerned with the idea that the library at Acidavia was being compromised. It was a library that she was familiar with, one of the largest ones in the north of the empire. Priceless books and scrolls resided there. She had no doubts that the persons killing priestesses and acolytes would have no hesitation to burn it to the ground.
A knock sounded on the door of the palanquin. Al-Uzza slid aside the small wooden door that covered an eyeslit. She saw Althos waiting with something white upon him. She was confused. Still, when Althos said that they had finally reached the point where the priestess and her secretary had to give up the palanquin, Al-Uzza didn't mind much. Her legs were somewhat cramped from sitting for so long and she desired to breathe air that didn't feel quite so stale. When she stepped out of the palanquin into the snow, she was entirely confused. She had thought that with the silence that the weather had cleared. The rain that was present at midday when they had stopped for a meal was far lighter but colder than she had expected. The silence that came not long afterwards to the desert woman meant that the skies had cleared.
Iona stepped out of the palanquin after Al-Uzza and looked at the snow with an expression of annoyance. It had been several hours and there was now several inches of the white fluffy stuff on the ground. She looked up the mountain and wondered how much deeper the snow was. If they were luck, this was the first real snow fall and the paths would be clear. Sturdy horses were provided for Al-Uzza and Iona. The leader of the mercenaries considered the few other horses provided. Deciding with Althos that it was better to use them to lead the pack animals up the hill and as alternate mounts for the women, he walked along side them. Althos walked at Al-Uzza's left, discreetly taking the bridle of the horse in hand to guide it over the terrain. To her right, rode Iona and then the leader of the mercenary party was beside her.
The quiet conversations around them became even more hushed as the terrain became more challenging and the sun began to sink lower in the sky. Althos proposed they stop and set up camp before it got colder and while they still had the sun. Al-Uzza listened to his experience and agreed. She and Iona watched as the party of soldiers set up a camp with brisk efficiency that belied their experience with such things. Althos had the soldiers that were send with them at the center of the encampment about the pavilion set up for Al-Uzza and Iona. After a short time, a few blazing fires were going and people huddled around them for warmth and to cook their evening meal. Within the pavilion, a pair of braziers were burning to heat the space. Al-Uzza and Iona found the sparse accommodations of the pavilion to be only slightly more of an improvement over the palanquin. Al-Uzza gave Althos a glare as he stepped into the pavilion.
"This is not your place, monk," she said in a snippish tone.
"My place is the guard you. Thus, I am here at the door." Al-Uzza huffed with annoyance. Iona fixed them a small meal of dried fruit, dried meat, and yet more hardtack. Al-Uzza restrained the urge to mutter about her fare. She reminded herself that the comforts of civilization awaited them a little farther up the road. When it was time for her to retire for the night, she found Althos and Iona discussing something. Iona made a few emphatic gestures as she whispered at him. Althos's gravelly voice was slightly louder as he said, "We are going to take turns keeping watch. That's the end of the discussion. I trust my men with your lives but I don't trust them. Bravos for hire can be turned with the promise of enough coin or prestige."
Flora & Fauna: Liar's Weed.
To the right is the latest sketch. It is a re-drawing of Liar's Weed. The lighting wasn't the best for this pic and I'm still figuring out how to get pics to come out right via my phone. But I am going to say right now, I think this is a superior pic to what I posted with the initial sketch on Liar's Weed.
I forgot to draw the seed pods and the seeds, but no big deal, right?
Wednesday, April 3, 2019
Looking for something to read this week?
Book four is almost ready to drop. It will be up on Amazon late next month. It will be much shorter than the first three, but I think you'll still enjoy the ride.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
Flora et Faua: Pics to be posted soon.
Dear Reader,
I have been working on sketches of plants in an effort to distract myself from being depressed. I am still figuring out how to work Instagram. Right now it mirrors the images that I post. I'm still trying to fix that. Once I get it sorted out, I'll have some pictures of my sketches for you to view. I am also working on character sketches as well.
The medium I am using for the plant sketches are colored pencils out of my hoard. I have been collecting colored pencils and drawing with them since I was around age nine. Amazingly, I still have a few of those ancient pencils left. I've been judicious in my use and striving to keep a wide range of colors on hand from a fairly wide range of brands. The whole collection almost fills up a crate that is 1ft square. I'll post a picture of my art supplies too just for fun.
If I can get it working right, I'll have the first pic (Liar's Weed) up next Monday. With the colored pencils, I can blend colors much better than I can with markers. I really am much happier with how the colored pencil version came out compared to how the one I drew ages ago with the markers. I am planning to eventually fill in the white space around the plant images with the information about the plants.
I am also going to be doing some sketches of common plants like wood violets, strawberries, and thistle. This project is going to be part of the legendarium for the series. I don't know if anyone will want copies of it, but it has been fun to work on as I am dealing with a lot of stress in my life. Pretty plant pictures are a lot easier to deal with than deciphering just what an individualized education plan is and how it works.
I have been working on sketches of plants in an effort to distract myself from being depressed. I am still figuring out how to work Instagram. Right now it mirrors the images that I post. I'm still trying to fix that. Once I get it sorted out, I'll have some pictures of my sketches for you to view. I am also working on character sketches as well.
The medium I am using for the plant sketches are colored pencils out of my hoard. I have been collecting colored pencils and drawing with them since I was around age nine. Amazingly, I still have a few of those ancient pencils left. I've been judicious in my use and striving to keep a wide range of colors on hand from a fairly wide range of brands. The whole collection almost fills up a crate that is 1ft square. I'll post a picture of my art supplies too just for fun.
If I can get it working right, I'll have the first pic (Liar's Weed) up next Monday. With the colored pencils, I can blend colors much better than I can with markers. I really am much happier with how the colored pencil version came out compared to how the one I drew ages ago with the markers. I am planning to eventually fill in the white space around the plant images with the information about the plants.
I am also going to be doing some sketches of common plants like wood violets, strawberries, and thistle. This project is going to be part of the legendarium for the series. I don't know if anyone will want copies of it, but it has been fun to work on as I am dealing with a lot of stress in my life. Pretty plant pictures are a lot easier to deal with than deciphering just what an individualized education plan is and how it works.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)