Feeling Better Slowly…

So today I managed to do an array of things, among which was (drumroll) painting!

Yall, I’m working on a tarot deck, and it’s going to take me forever to do, but I’m loving it. Its adorable, cute, and aimed for children.

I know, children and tarot? Who will buy that? I dont know, and I dont quite care. I love what I’m doing, and I think it’s going to be a good deck.

So, I managed to do some writing and painting today, mulling over some advice from my wife about adding texture in and whatnot. Which, resulted in the below picture.

Y’all, it’s unfinished, and its from Ranger’s story, which I am still working on in the background.

Anyways, I’m not sure what else to say, apart from thank you all for being patient with me. I’m finally getting back on my feet, and I’m really looking forward to getting to do more gardening and writing (I did a teensy bit of gardening today!).

I would love to be active in the social rights movement (Black lives matter, loss of lgbt rights in the states, etc) but I just cant. I can barely upkeep with my showers, so please, forgive me for not being that active. My heart is with the protestors and all who are struggling, but I just cant right now. I need to put my own facemask on first, to try and be useful later on, which sucks.

Thank you for sticking with me. Much love y’all ❤

Depression and Writing

Depression is hitting me hard. I think it’s my symptom/condition that I have the hardest time accepting. It’s not glamorous, it’s never fun and never makes you feel special. It always makes me feel like I’m worthless and useless. As an author, this preys on my natural beliefs.

You see, I tend to see myself as a vessel for my stories. But combined with my depression, I feel like nothing BUT a vessel. I feel like I’m nothing without them.

The sad truth is that writing is my whole life. It’s me. It’s been my refuge since childhood, where it suddenly filled a void within me that hurt so badly until then. Ever since I started writing, my days rotate around it. As a kid, I would squeeze it in whenever, would draw my characters everywhere, and obsessed over them.

Now, I wake up thinking of my novels. I spend my mornings wondering what I’ll do until I get the chance to write. My whole day is just spent waiting until the right time to write. I know I dont have the mental energy to write all day, but I wish I could. Already I love writing 5 hours a day, and feel bad if I “waste” even one of those hours not hammering out words.

I know this isn’t healthy, but it is what it is. My writing is my life. The only other thing more important is my wife and my relatives. Literally, unless it’s a basic need, everything else feels secondary. I dont want to travel, I dont want a career, I just want to be good at writing and do my stories justice. I want to accomplish what this drive in me is calling for.

But when depression hits, as it does now, I cant write. Every word hurts, I cant think, and then everything that makes me ‘me’ seems to crumble away. What use am I if I cant write? Not being able to write for even one day is a terrible blow. What if my stories are terribly written? What good am I if i can’t get my stories out there properly, to those who need to read them? I know it sounds dramatic, but not being able to write feels like a poisonous sin that will destroy me.

I know, in some way, that my belief of me being just a vessel for writing is bad for me. I need to see myself as more. But how do I do that? It’s like seeing yourself beyond an addiction, in some way.

And then, what’s wrong with this view, if it gives me purpose and value, even in some small way? I know I should see myself as more, but what if I dont feel like more? I feel like so much in my life just points towards writing, and like it’s the cornerstone of my life. Where would I be without it?

I know, in some factual way, that I am a person without my writing. I’ve experienced that, by having my spiritual projects. But… I just feel like more with my writing. I feel this compulsion and a sense of destiny and being attuned with the universe when it comes to writing. Is that a symptom of a delusion? I dont know what to think some days.

I guess I cant hope to find other people who feel this way. I’ve hoped, and as of yet haven’t found other writers who seem to have this weird perspective and obsession and maybe even delusion with their writing. And yet I hope. I feel lonely, a lot, so isolated with my writing. It’s not the only way I connect with people, but unless someone dips into this part of me, do they know me at all? Will I ever find that I am not alone in this weird feeling?

“Attack of the White Clouds” Chapter Six Part Two

As we climbed lower and lower down the grassy knoll, Ch- began to speak. “I understood you,” she said softly. “You wanted to investigate this village, and especially the deer. For signs of the White Clouds. Am I correct?”

I nodded hastily, my teeth clattering in my haste. She nodded curtly to herself in satisfaction. A sneaky smile flitted across her features, then vanished. She lowered her voice. “I trust you to tell you this: that I do not trust that seer, and I do not trust the others for trusting her. They are fool-hearted for doing so.” I startled at her divisive thoughts, and suddenly realized that she was seperating me from them for a reason. Her head dipped closer to me. “And I also know you could not tell them of this, even if you wanted to. So listen to me.”

I gaped, my legs slowing. Her hand gripped my shoulder and dragged me along. “Someone must have sacrificed that deer. It is no animal or beast who places things in such ways, or who does rituals of the kind. Do you follow? That means there is someone alive who did it- in the wake of the White Clouds, in the wake of our people’s disappearance. Look at it! It is not that old! A week at most. That is plenty of time for that seer to have found her way to where we met her.” At that Ch-‘s eyes drew narrow and her jaw set. She released my shoulder as we began to wade into the murky and filthy waters towards the body of the deer.

I fixed my eyes upon the deer. True, all the trappings of ritual lay about it. A hasty sacred cord, the throat slit the proper way. Yet how could one person have conducted it alone? A ritual such as this required three: a hunter, a butcher, and the prophet. I shook my head as we neared the animals’ hoofs. The beads in my head rattled and I touched Ch-‘s shoulder gently with the tips of my fingers. Her scales were warmed by the sun. Immediately, as if i had branded her with fire, she whipped around ready to defend herself. I held her gaze and shook my head purposefully. Then, slowly miming the speech she had taught me, I told her that we should not cross the sacred cord. Illness would befall us. Then, I lifted up the three fingers and pointed to the sacrifice. “Th-th-three,” I blurted.

“Three what?” she asked harshly.

“Th-three,” I insisted. But I did not know how to mime these words. I did not know how to force them out right now either, or how to convince Ch- that it could not have been the seer, and that the poor seer probably never came here because her robes were neither soaked in mud nor blood. And that meant that we were not alone. There was at least three out there- leaving sacrifices to spirits which were not eating. And what did that mean of our gods? Had they too been eated by the White Clouds?

I wrung my hands over my trident at that. Could it have eaten the gods as well? Were we truly that alone?

Ch- scowled. “I wish you could speak,” she snapped before wading away. Over her shoulder she said snarkily. “Gurgle or moan if you find something, you fish!”

The insult bounced off my careless scales and left me unmarked. Instead I wrung my hands and watched the floating and bloated body before me. What if… My mind scurried to conclusions and possibilities. What if the sacrifice was not done to our gods but to some other spirit? There was only one way to find out.

Wading around the corpse I stepped onto the jutt of earth it was perched upon. Someone had scraped up this earth so that the body would appear to float above the waters. Certainly not the work of one person. It would have taken a single person days to set up this alone!

Ch- would not have known this, but in these sorts of ceremonies the symbol of the deity to which the animal was sacrifice was inscribed upon a leaf. That leaf was then stuffed into the wound in order to summon the deity to their feast. That leaf, right now, was poking out of the deer still.

I bit my tongue. There was no crossing the sacred barrier. However, the leaf looked loose. With a sweep of my leg I sent a wave of water crashing over the body. The leaf trembled, wobbling in its spot. Again i swept my legs. On the third try the leaf came loose and swept away from me. I scrambled around the sacred circle and sloshed after it. It skirted away as if hoping not to be seen, but I caught it in the prongs of my trident as it rode the current away. Scooping it towards me, I could finally see it.

A deep green still, it was covered over its entirety in wax that protected it from the elements. Even the blood of the offering had not clung to it too tightly. Yet the symbol that was inscribed into it remained, burned magically so as to never be erased. It was one that was foreign to me.

Carefully, I scooped it up. Perhaps the seer would know, I thought. Perhaps Ch- would comfort me and scoffingly say it was one of the desert’s benevolent gods. Anything would be nice, I supposed. Because if it was not one of the gods of a tribe, then this cloud with an eye inscribed in its center could only mean one thing.

After that i did not go far. I could easily see Ch- angrily battling against the knee-deep waters and exhausting her fury against them. By the time she returned her legs dragged against the water’s hold and her shoulders slumped. “I did not find anything,” she called out. “But thanks for not looking.”

I held up the leaf I held carefully in both hands. “I looked. I found.”

Ch-‘s jaw dropped. She sloshed forward in a hiss of angry splashes and curses. I held the leaf aside as she floundered towards me, then offered it as she stood before me with water dripping down her face. Ruefully she wiped her face with a hand and snorted aside before looking at what I held.

“What is that?” she asked, but there was no anger to her voice. Only the cold tinge of fear could be heard.

I pointed to the deer. “Sacrifice.” I had had time to calm myself, to rehearse and choose my words. “In the deer,” and I pointed again urgently.

“Attack of the White Clouds”; Chapter Four, Part One

Ch- stayed behind, chattering with the others. “Wasn’t that easy?”

“Only for you,” H- grumbled.

“She can talk now! Now all we have to do is understand what she says-”

“It’s about the same as before, it’s just that now you are listening,” D- said sweetly, like a knife no one saw. Ch- silenced suddenly. The plodding sound of their feet caught up with me. H- and D- came to stride at my sides as if protecting me while Ch- sulked beside H-, then lagged behind. She no longer seemed bursting full of ability.

When we reached the forest’s edge she turned her back to me and began looking away in her own directions. This track of the cloud was large, a wide chasm of nothing that had been torn up from the earth. Bedrock had been bared, and torn apart sections of roots jutted up from its crevices like arms searching for their loved ones.

The damage we stood in was thirty feet wide, the edges cut and jagged like they’d been sawed with a dull knife. There, sometimes several feet deep, the topsoil could be seen from the side. Roots had been shorn clean. Stones had been cut in half. Up above, the canopy had similarly been sliced away. Not even a twig extended beyond the edge of the carnage. Not one splinter littered the ground we now stood in.

It was an aching emptiness. A void unlike any of us had ever seen.

“What can we hope to find here?” H- murmured. “There is nothing.”

Exactly, I thought to myself, crouching to scour the earth. These cuttings, this sharpness- it was the work of those sharp sand-like particles that had blasted us when we braved its attack. And yet- hadn’t it been pushing, not drawing up?

I straightened, the question suddenly strange. If it had blown its attack, where did everything go to? As I looked around, it seemed strange. All this work- it was the work of cutting, of a vicious blade plunging forth- then how had it drank everything up? How had it taken away even the dust of the earth, even the last splintered twig and torn leaf?

Worse, how could i ask this question to my friends? Hesitantly I turned to Ch-. She was busily ignoring me, her back showing her picking at the cut edge of the earth. Her fingers caressed a stone sheared in half. Gripping my trident and wringing my nervousness into it, I called to her. The guttural sound of her name was difficult but short, so it was manageable.

“Ch-!” and it was out. She turned, eyebrows mocking me in their disinterest. I bit my lip, then waved her over. She came, painfully slow and uncaring. Half-way she made a show of looking at the earth and scuffing her foot as if she’d found something. Then she stepped to me with a nod acknowledging me. “What is it?” she asked bitterly.

I began swiftly gesturing. We, earth, white cloud, it all came in a flurried burst that, by the look on her face, wasn’t making much sense.

“Wait, wait,” and she gestured gently. Slower, she signed, slower.

I bit my lip, jittering. They had to know this! I tried again. Ch- watched my every move fixedly, a gaze she certainly watched her prey with. Still, at the end she was not certain. “Try again,” she murmured. “Your hands are all over. Present? Or past?”

I did not know! Biting my lip I tried again. This time Ch- mouthed my words silently, assuring me that she had understood. “White cloud, attacks, earth, takes…. all this,”

I nodded, then took a deep breath. Calmed myself. Then, I set my hands before myself.

But the words evaded me. How could I explain all this? This overwhelming question that seemed so strange and confused- but I tried.

Ch- worded, but already it was not right. “Cloud, attack, takes all?”

I shook my head. No, it took! Took! Again, I tried.

“Everything, to the sky?”

Alright, that was a good start. I nodded, and signed to her that-

“So why?”

No, where! Where! Biting my lip, I stamped a foot. The crawling irritation I’d so long ago chased from myself was returning. I wanted so bad to have them understand- I needed their help- and yet they could not understand! Everything was a simmering mess, locked into my own body.

To avoid screaming in sudden frustration and giving in to the roiling mess, I flopped myself to the earth. Crossing my legs beneath me, I cradled my head in my hands and pressed my eyes shut.

When I opened them, Ch- was crouching before me. Watching me with frowning concern.

“Do you want to try again?” she asked softly. I shook my head. Then nodded. what else was there to do but try?

“Okay, so,” she held up a hand. “Why don’t I try?” and she repeated my gestures, guessing at the meaning. “The clouds come and take all. All, to the sky.”

I nodded. So far, so good. A glow of eagerness came over CH-. “Okay,” she breathed, then held up her hands in the gesture of non-knowing. “So… why?”

I shook my head.

“How come?”

Oh, nearly! The first half! I nodded, then shook my head. Ch- tried. “No? Yes? How-” I stopped her with a hand, nodding furiously.

“How? How.” Ch- nodded proudly. “How.” As if it was a great accomplishment.

Bravely, I continued. Speech felt closer now and I ventured a word forth. Then another, with more gestures. Finally, a sort of conversation was flowing. It was spattered with my occasional words and filled with wild gestures that made Ch- smile and even laugh. What felt like hours later (though it really must have been a short time) Ch – slapped her thigh and stood. “I’ve got it!”

D- and H- were far away, picking at the roots jutting from the wall. They did not turn until Ch- called again. “She has spoken!” then she left me to run towards them, chattering about my question.

All that for one question. Exhausted and tired in some bone-aching way, I rose to my feet. It had taken so long, It made me envy them as they chattered away so swiftly. As they gestured, not to make themselves understood but merely to emphasize. How they could communicate so easily. Their thoughts were hardly trapped within them.

Ch- was still explaining. “The cloud attacks, sending out what seems to be white sand, correct? Yet where is that sand? Not a trace? And look- it has taken away everything. But how? How does it blow out, and that is all we’ve felt when we were attacked by it- and then everything is gone? Where do these things go to?”

D- and H- were interested, throwing approving glances my way as I approached. Gliding into their tiny knot of presence I stood by Ch- and D-‘s side. Hastily, I gestured for us to search. Gloating like a hen displaying her chicks, Ch- translated my words.

“She says we must search. She believes that if we can learn where it takes these things, we may learn the crux of its power.”

“It’s stronghold,” D- said in surprise.

“But it,” H- hesitated, shaking his head. “It has magic and powers beyond our comprehension. We have been searching and it has left no tracks. What can we possibly find? We need to learn how to defeat them.”

“We will find out how,” Ch- said firmly before turning to me. “If your plan does not work, we shall try mine.” Though her words may have been meant to comfort, they did not. Rather, they seemed to be saying that once my leadership failed, she would gladly take over again. I shrugged. The jug came to me. I was certain that whatever I was meant to do, I would succeed.

And so we walked on, I leading the way and choosing whenever we would pause to search for the minutest detail that may hold the key. In this way we stopped often, as I wanted us to investigate the slightest difference in the cuttings. Anything may hold the key- and yet one came running straight at us. Hardly a subtle sign.

It began at first as a cawing of birds, strange and hoarse. D- rose from a pattern she’d been investigating upon the rock. We’d been finding signs of these all over, in broken ways. It was as if a seal was stamped, but only parts of it remained. And now this strange bird-

“That is no bird!” H- said as it grew louder. Instantly we lifted out weapons, stepping together for safety. The sound rose, hoarse and shrill. Warbling, even. It came from the south, and a staggering sound akin to the loping of a wounded animal came with it.

A black figure appeared, stumbling through the woods- and it fell into the carnage. Straight upon its face. The wailing, now discernible as that, continued. We struck our fighting poses- only to see the figure of a seer rise before us. It was one from the drier planes, clothed entirely in black with metal bracelets- and it wailed as it ran.

“A vision! A vision!” she screamed, plunging towards us. “I see them!” Half-way towards us the poor fool tripped and fell on her face. Sobbing, she cradled her head and did not move. I lowered my trident and stepped towards her carefully. As I reached her side I cleared my throat.

“Hello,” I managed with surprising ease.

The figure scrambled up. Her face was delicate and pointed, blue scales shimmering over her hued with red- a half breed. I recoiled in shock. Where were her wings then? Any born of the red hue had wings, yet hers were gone.

Her slate blue eyes were huge, the pupils tiny and slitted as she shrieked at me. “A vision! A vision!” and in a flash she drew a blade and plunged towards me. Easily I deflected her and tossed her aside, flinching as she collapsed again.

“A seer?” Ch- said as she stepped on the poor woman’s hand to stop her slicing anyone. “Left behind?”

I shook my head. “Survivor,” I whispered.

Ways to Self-Care (ideas)

I need to be kinder with myself. Lately, I’ve been pushing myself to do so much, to perform so well, that I’ve been overlooking my successes and beating myself up mentally. I want to work on my novels, draw pictures, work on my birdie books, all that in the same day as well as functioning like a non-disabled person. Which I know I can’t do. I just can’t. I don’t have that many functioning hours.

Today we went out to get my meds and I was so anxious 😦 it makes me see just how bad my bad days lately have been. It makes me feel like I still need a service dog. Even just sitting in the car while my wifey drove (which I normally can do without stressing) was making me anxious. Because, hark! Curves were coming up! What if we took the ditch? Yikes! It was depressing.

However, once we got home and I realized this, I’ve decided to be gentler on myself. So I’m going to only do what I can do, and celebrate that. But how? Like, I can sit here and be all ‘yeah, I’mma be kinder with myself’, but what steps can a person actually take to be kinder on themselves? Here are my steps that I’m going to (try) and do in the next little while.

• Set more realistic goals.
  • I tend to overdo it on the goals thing. I want so much done, and I want it all done well, and super fast. But life and disability doesn’t work that way. So I need to aim for less, so that I can actually succeed.
• Listen to my needs.
  • Maybe not cut out all the sugar. Maybe allow myself some sugar, to, you know, live. Lately I’ve been on a ‘I must lose weight’ binge, which is actually really stressful. I need to get a better relationship with food.
• Take concrete time to rest.
  • For me, I think I should rest more in the mornings. I have no concrete ‘rest’ time. I keep telling myself that I’ll rest in the evenings, but that’s when I do my writing, so… I have no down time.
• Not overload myself.
  • I have a new commission coming along, as well as one underfoot, as well as all my writing… I sense that things can pile on quickly! Thankfully, nothing has definite due dates. In order to help with my workload, I’ve been very transparent that the artworks will take time. So far, no pressure, and I’m getting them done. But I need to keep that ‘no pressure’ and not heap too many more things onto myself.

I think, really, that the most important thing when it comes to self-care is to break it down into concrete steps, whatever that means for you. For me, this is enough structure, but for others it may involve more strict scheduling, complete with agenda markings and reminder stickers. But the important thing is to have steps. To know how you will take care of yourself, because if you just ‘wing it’, you might not get it done at all, and with self-care that just shouldn’t happen. You really need to take care of yourself, be it by taking pajama days or having a nice coffee date with yourself every so often!

Well, I hope this has been helpful to some people. For me, I find it useful to put my ideas out there and write them down. So, hopefully this will mark a new period of self-care and less self-imposed stress!

 

“Attack of the White Clouds”; Chapter Three, Part Two

It would take us a week of steady and swift marching to retrace our steps back to my tribe’s lands. Another week’s walk to maneuver the marshes and find the way to Mara’s hut. There, I was certain we would find something.

For now we retraced our people’s fleeing tracks. They were dispersed, scattered through the rocky plains. Yet as we crested a tall hill, we saw what had become of the forest.

I let out a cry of surprise. H- sucked in his breath in horror. D- cursed. Ch- remained silent, but her skin turned a hue paler, then flushed with anger.

When we had left, the tall forest had been plunged through by the one cloud that had attacked us. Now, it had been ravaged. The great trunks were snapped all throughout and great holes pockmarked what had once been a great canopy.

“They were searching for us,” Ch- said bitterly. “They knew we had rested there, and they hoped to find stragglers.”

I nodded. That meant they may return to find us. Stragglers. Good. If we could pick them off in scouts, or even learn how to defeat them one at a time, that would be a great boon. To learn more of them, we would have to scour these tracks. As horrific as this wreckage was, it was a treasure trove of information waiting to be read.

Now how could I say that to those around me so they understood? I tried with words as we walked. Pictures of discovery came to mind, ideas and stories of what we may discover and how- but none of this was easy to express. The more I tried to speak, the more they grew confused. Even D- was getting frustrated. Ch- peered at my mouth as I sighed.

“Her tongue is normal, why can’t she speak?”

I twirled my staff and grunted in irritation. They couldn’t say I wasn’t trying!

“Look, we just do not understand,” D- said patiently. “How can you say this is good? Look at the carnage-”

“Tracks!” I protested, monosyllables being all I could manage. “Good! Food-” no, no, not food! I’d meant forage! Cursing inwardly, I pressed a hand to my forehead and smacked my palm there lightly. We were nearing the forest and now they needed to understand. In a final desperate attempt, I waved them over to a mud puddle. Ushering them all to stand around, I tried to draw my plan.

“C-c-clou-,”

“Cloud?” Ch- suggested as I drew one. Nodding, I tried for the forest. They understood that. Then I tried to do spots of things, clues! Clues was the word I’d been searching for.

“Clue!” It burst from me. “Clue, clue-” and now I had a hard time stopping it. I did by biting my lip and pointing to all of us, then the forest. “S-s-sea-earch,”

“Search for clues? You want to search the forest?” H- said eagerly.

“Clues for what?” Ch- said excitedly.

I faltered at the monumentous task before me. There was just so much to be said. I sat down in defeat, cradling my head. So much to be said.

“Listen, no, look here,” and Ch- crouched before me. Scowling, I dropped my arms to my sides so they trailed in the dirt listlessly. She held up her hands between us as if in preparation for battle. Or to demand I focus. “There is a language that my people use, used,” and she faltered, biting her lip. “If you could use it, maybe it would help.”

“The problem is not with her tongue,” H- snapped. “Leave her alone.”

Ch- waved at him in dismissal. To me, she continued. “It is used in hunts, for silence. You speak with your hands.” And she motioned hers around her chest. “Here, for the present. There,” a little farther away “for the future. Near for the past.”

I blinked, mind whirling with possibilities. Slowly, i nodded for her to continue. With a face that said she wasn’t sure she ought to be doing this, she began miming gestures. “I,” pointing to herself with one hand, “think,” a flurry beside her head “that you think,” pointing to me before resuming that flurry, “that we,” pointing to all of us in a circular motion “can catch,” she made a snatch and hauling motion akin to hauling in a net from the sea “the white cloud.” and she gestured as if forming a soft fluff above her head.

I nodded, but that didn’t satisfy her. She flopped a hand towards me, all energy gone into dull disenchantment. “Try it now.”

Hesitant, I puffed my hands above my head. White cloud! Catch! I snatched with my hands, then pretended to search the earth.

A huge grin split Ch-‘s face. “The white cloud catches the earth?” Then she turned that grin to the others. “She is talking! Look! She can talk now!”

It was not talking, and she had not understood me at all, but her good humor was contagious in a way. I chuckled, plopping the twigs down that I’d picked up. Ch- held up her hands again, excited. “I’ll teach you some more! More words!”

I nodded, certain that this still would result in me stuttering. It would just be with my hands. I’d look like a bird flapping its wings.

Yet I tried. It made Ch- smile. Finally, in a stutter, I asked her “C-clue?”

Proud as could be, Ch- mimed picking something up and holding it in a revelatory motion. I copied it and she beamed approval.

dusting off my hands, I prepared a sentence. “White cloud,” Ch- read aloud as I signed. “Caught… clue.”

I nodded eagerly, then pointed at all of us. “We,” she added testily.

A sigh erupted from D-, who was sitting nearby with H-. The pair were watching, chins resting on their palms dismally. “She can’t do it,” H- said as if this was tiring for them too. “Can we just move on? We have to gain ground today-”

i shook my head. Words felt nearer now, yet this was easier. I didn’t need to struggle with sounds, and anything that made speech easier was a huge weight off my shoulders. Again, i tried.

“We,” Ch- said, raising her eyebrows. “Catch, clue, of the cloud?”

I nodded, beaming. That was it! Didn’t it make sense? It was so much easier!

And yet they did not think so. They pursed their lips, and Ch- looked defeated. “I don’t understand,” she said while dropping her arms into her lap. As if to make sure I understood she shook her head and listlessly signed that she did not know what I meant.

I tried. Clue! Catch! Clue! Cloud! Clue! We!

No amount of combination seemed to succeed. It seemed beyond their minds that we could find a clue on how to catch the cloud. Ch- guessed everything else under the sun. Until finally-

“We are looking for clues on how to catch the cloud!”

I nearly danced with joy, nodding and holding out my arms in approval. Ch- laughed and jumped up. “I got it I got it! Hey! You two! We are looking for clues on how to catch the clouds!”

The two were impressed, but not exactly happy either. “That only took about two hours,” H- said dryly. “Why didn’t you just let her speak?”

“Are you sure that’s what she means?” D- asked.

I nodded eagerly. D- pursed their lips. “And what would these clues look like?”

Who knew? I held up my arms in the gesture of not knowing that Ch- had taught me.

Ch- translated that too, eager as ever. “She doesn’t know!”

D- heaved a sigh. “So all this, to know that she does not know what she wants us to search for.”

Clues! Clues!

“We are looking for clues,” Ch- said, and that seemed good enough for her. She was puffing in pride, so much that her armor couldn’t seem to stretch any more.

H- and D- smiled pitiably. “Alright,” H- said. “We are looking for clues.”

In the tracks! I motioned for tracks, scooping towards the earth. Ch- gasped. “In the tracks! That’s it! The clues will be in the tracks! That’s why she was so happy about the forest! We have tracks to find clues of it in!”

Yes, yes, yes! I jumped to my feet, urging them to come. That had been surprisingly effortless. Yes it had been long but my mind was not tired. I did not feel like curling up and crying from exhaustion. Rather, I was sparkling with the burst of victory. Urging them up again, I began to walk first towards the forest.

Writing Rant about Autism

Hey everyone! I just wanted to say hi and to let everyone know that I am slowly recuperating from my low. I am no longer bed-confined, but I am still not able to summon the mental strength to exercise. However -> I’m still able to write and draw!

Now first things first, I wanted to say a big thank you to this lovely blogger  who went above and beyond answering my questions about autism. You see, I have very limited experience of autism. When I was young and in my little family/cult time, I heard of autistic relatives who had married into my mothers family as being horrible, incapacitated, and just not trying hard enough. Of their autistic children as being babied. Then, coincidentally, other autistic relatives were given private tutors and taught how to train their minds and won major university scholarships. Either way, they were vilified.

When I was in college, my mother bought me the book ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time’. This book amazed me and I remember wishing that I could write something that unique, something that really opened up a world – in someone’s mind. It was a fun thought, but I never actually thought I’d have an autistic character one day. It just seemed too difficult and beyond my reach.

But then, about two or three years ago, I had this dream. After waking up, I drew the characters, knowing that if I did draw them out, it was a sort of pact with the characters in my dream that I would tell their story. Well, I did begin writing it, but the project was laid aside at exactly 30,000 words. I just didn’t feel inspired to write it any more. Years have passed, and it now has a shoddy title, but ‘The Attack of the White Clouds’ is now my central working piece! Yay me for keeping my promises to otherworldly beings!

Now, again, I’d like to bring the topic back to autism. I didn’t set out to make the main character autistic. She just was… showing strong symptoms? Seemingly incapable of speech no matter how I tried? The point here being -> the character is the way that she is, and I’m no expert in portraying autism. I’ve done pitifully little research and know practically nothing about it. So I really hope that I portray the character well, all while not screwing up a representation of autism.

I would also like to point out that, yes, there will be characters  (I’m looking at you, Ch-) who mistreat the main character due to her condition. This isn’t meant to be upsetting, but rather to make a point about how people can discriminate and vilify those who are autistic.

That being said, I hope you all enjoy the story! Do let me know what you think of it!

“The Attack of the White Clouds” Chapter One, Part Two

When the seer awoke and everyone was roused and leaving the rock, little golden orbs floating out to form buzzing clouds that watched in wonder, I was still clutching the jug to my chest. Only when the Seer reached for it would I let it go.

“This jug,” she gasped as she recognized it, turning it over in her hands. “Where did you find it?”

I pointed, but she did not understand. The red one had to talk, her hand on her hip and speaking as if I could not be expected to. “It appeared by her feet after the white cloud attacked. It was not there before, but we felt no trap in it so we let her keep it. I think it ought to be destroyed.”

The seer was puzzled. Looking from me to the jug she turned it over in her palms. To the red one she spoke, again as if I could not understand. “This was the jug of their chieftain, Mara. She was amongst the first taken,”

“I know that,” the red one said sharply. “I had visited her home on a treaty. And so I heard of her demise and celebrated it. Now, destroy that thing.”

I growled, my fingers curling around my trident. She hissed at me in spite. The Seer stepped between us hastily. “No, no- do not fight! Look around you, how few of us are left. Can you not just get along? See- look- I shall keep this jug, this way it shall be safe.”

I opened my mouth to say that no, it was for me! I had been mulling it over all this time while the others slept and I knew it to be true. Some inner calling had been tugging at me since the very start of all this devastation. Since the first cloud’s arrival I had felt it like a string withing, drawing me along into greater and greater strength. More responsibility. More power to protect those around me. That jug was a sign for me, inextricably linked and-

“J-j-j-j,” was all I managed to say as I tried to express all that. “Ju-”

“Yes, it’s a jug,” the red one sneered.

“Ju–” I tried, then humiliation choked me again. Biting my lip, I turned away. The seer sighed miserably as she followed me.

“Do not worry, I will do all I can to keep it safe.”

I shrugged her off and wished again for Mara, who had always been patient and willing to let me talk. No matter how long, she would let me try and try to form the words clumsily. She would draw pictures in the sand, and taught me how to do them as well so others could understand me easily. When my words did come out she had valued them. Praised me for my opinions. Now I couldn’t seem to speak a single word. No one had patience for me, or time to let me try and speak.

“We are going to continue bearing east,” the leader of the desert tribe was announcing as i stood with my back to the assembly. “We thank those who watched over us in our sleep, and who turned away the eye of the white clouds. But it has seen us, and if we are to continue surviving we must persevere! We must reach the boats before the end of this week!”

i hugged myself. The boats would carry us far, far away. Out into the ocean, where dangerous tides could sweep us away.

It seemed I was thinking this just for a moment, but then Ara {name?], a fellow warrior from my tribe, was tugging at my arm. “It is time to go,” she said gently. “Come, you are sleeping on your feet.”

No, I would have said if I could. I was just thinking for a moment- yet they never understood. Turning, I followed her with growing misery. The day’s treck had begun.

It was a dangerous one. Today we left the covering canopy of the forest and began across rocky plains. If the white caught us here, we would have nowhere to hide. Our glistening fabric and scale-covered skins were easy to spot in every of the colors we came in. For many, this made them cluster together. Red, black, and blue, the crowd became stifling and closely pressed. I elbowed my way sharply out, feeling the skin closing in around me with growing fear. The guards on the outer edge urged me to go back inside.

“You are no longer on watch, you must rest,”

“Yes, be safe within,” they urged, obviously wanting to go back into the safety of the crowd again.

I shook my head and stubbornly stayed outside the edges.

The sun rose, beating hard upon us. The tribe of the desert passed around advice to all others. Many held up their scarves over the heads of those beside them so all could be shielded from the sun. The guards paired off in two’s, helping each other. H- came to stand by my side. His hulking mass along could have shielded me. The end of his scarf was almost enough to wrap as a shirt as he placed it around his head.

We walked on in silence, our steps mismatched as his were so long and mine short by comparison. As the sun began its descent of mid-afternoon, he spoke. “You do not speak much, do you?”

I shook my head swiftly. Why would I?

Adjusting the scarf, he stooped. But the scarf was a ploy so others would not hear. “Come sit with me tonight as we camp. You knew Mara, and you certainly know more about the jug than the seer does. Am I right?”

I eyed him suspiciously, pressing my lips tightly together. Perhaps. But would I tell him? We were all in this together- but I still did not feel like being ridiculed.

He saw the refusal on my face, and straightened with a sigh. “It would be greatly appreciated,” he murmured under his breath. And that was all. No more words passed between us for the rest of the day.

“The Attack of the White Clouds”; Chapter One, Part One

The forest rose around us, the red trunks tall and thick but widely spaced apart. We had chosen an easy part of the forest to cross. Here there were many rocks but little underbrush. The bright green canopy above us let plenty of light filter through their waving branches.

“We will rest there,” the oracle said. Her grey and black hued skin glimmered with sweat, the metal inserts in her face shining with green reflections of the trees. Dirt rose up her thin skirt to her knees. I nodded, tired as well but making sure not to let it show. I was the highest ranking warrior still alive. The burden of leading with hope was now placed squarely on my shoulders. A difficult thing since my own hope had gone missing in the dark, taking it’s brightly burning lamp with it.

We struggled up the final rock. It was perfect. Our oracle had led us true. It was maybe ten paces across and rising fifteen high out of the ground but it bore many crevices and cracks. There were even tiny holes that burrowed deep within its structure. “In here!” the oracle called, and the tribe that followed me began scurrying.

At first sight our people were tall, slim and hued by the colors of where we had lived. My people were blue skinned, with gills and fluted ears. Our bodies shimmered with scale-like patterns. We were clad in bits of leather and soft fabrics. Others, of the drier climates, were in reds with black skin and metal decorations pierced through them. yet others had delicate dragonflies wings and slanted eyes that shimmered with no pupils or whites. Their cheekbones jutted out like horns, pointed and menacing. Yet beneath their rough exterior their hearts were soft and perhaps the most wounded by these recent events. We were all the same, I’d come to realize. Once at war, now we were shunted together by a newly reared enemy.

And so we all took solace in this rock. Scrambling up its slope, our people turned ephemereal, their bodies dissolving into their most vulnerable state of pure soul. In this state every one of us was a small orb of light, shrinking and shrinking to find the smallest and safest nook within the rock. As I stood back and watched they were like fireflies swirling and nesting until the rock seemed to glow.

At my side, the oracle sighed. One more feat of magic was required from her. She held up her hands, and cloaked the rock. A blanket of darkness swept over the rock, covering all the lights. It settled into the rock, making it appear just a hue darker than it actually was. Yet no more lights could be seen. Our people were hidden.

With a groan her arms fell. They shook, and she seemed ready to collapse. Yet she held my gaze bravely. “I am going to rest. You will watch over us?” I nodded, and her gaze swept to the others who had also not gone into resting form. We were three, each from a different clan. Now, having realized out joint responsibilities in these times of trouble, we were working together.

We stood watch, each of us a different and from a different clan, each facing a different direction. I faced east, hoping to see some sign of the spirits we’d been forced to abandon. H- with his black cloaked robe wrapped tight around him, faced north, desperately wishing to see some sign of his family that had gone missing. Ch- face west and south, stonily keeping her thoughts to herself. I hated her so much more than any other. She’d had the nerve to continue blaming us despite our continuous plight. She led her people still in the ways of hate, a thing few of us could still afford.

She, as it turned out, was the last to turn to my cry of surprise.

“What is that?” she said, and I saw it coming with a swell of dread within my breast. A white cloud. The white cloud. The emmissary, the one with the eye within it that would see us. Lifting my trident into defensive stance, I hissed.

“We need protection! Cover of some sort!” Ch- shouted. But we could not be hidden any better than we were. If we left the rock our people would be left vulnerable to be scented out. If we moved to hide even the slightest amongst the trees, our movement could be detected. In a brief flutter of cowardice I hoped the eye would look over us and away. Please, just this once, I begged to our ancestors. Yet they were far away and helpless. The eye latched onto us. I felt its cursed pupil, white like the frothy death it summoned, spear through me.

With a cry or power I lifted my trident and swung downwards. The end of my trident planted into the soft earth before the rock as I crouched, bracing myself for what was to come. To my left, the forbidden cry of H-‘s tribe rose, shrieking out for protection as well as he too planted his sword in the earth to brace.

The white wave billowed out from the cloud of the eye. A cresting rush, formless yet consuming all. It swept down like it was on wings, soaring soundless but for the crunching of the red trees bursting to shards and smashing down.

A final cry sounded to my right. One of fire and vengeance- and a red form planted itself proudly in defense at my side.

The white wave crushed over us. It was a blistering wind, scraping over us like sandpaper. It burnt like sandpaper scraping over my whole body, threatening to tear me to pieces. Even the air burnt, filled with the white curse that scraped my lungs and stole my air. Ducking my head to shield my eyes, I gritted my teeth and refused to give way. The wind bit, turning my knuckles raw and bloody but I refused to let go of my trident. If I did, I would be swept away into the whirling white. I would be destroyed- and the triad undone. The rock too would be eaten up then.

The wind must have lasted only a moment. It felt like an eternity, a white burst in which nothing existed and all was tearing up around us. But in a rush of warmth it it was gone. Good clean light basked over us and the magic in my trident hummed to a rest. It was done deflecting the attack.

First I lifted my head, then I straightened out of my crouch and looked around, blinking my sore eyelids.

The trees were gone in a wide berth around us. Rocks had been gouged up from the earth, and even the dust they ought to have left behind was gone. It was as if a great monster had come churning through, smashing all into little bits, only to have all that sucked up by a hungry ghost. A sharp line cut off the devastation from the rest of the forest, which was in pristine condition.

“We did it,” the red one at my side said, breathless in wonder. “We’ve turned it away.”

I nodded warily. It had happened before that the emissaries had been deflected. Always the white returned in more powerful ways. Sometimes there were enough clouds to blot out the sky. Our only hope was to run now, faster than the winds could come.

Pulling my trident up and turning away- I was stopped by a chinking sound as my trident’s end struck something. Something that was not a rock. Whirling, expecting some white devilry, I saw a clay jug sitting at my feet. It was propped against the rock, as if it had been dropped between my trident and it.

I pointed my trident at it fearfully. The red one stepped closer, her sword and shield at the ready. “What is that?”

“It was not there before,” H- said in awe.

I nudged it with the tip of my trident. It moved, toppling to land softly in the ripped earth. It was a deep blue, glazed in artful swirls with words painted over it in gold. My heart turned to stone and my jaw fell.

It was the jug of our chieftain! Her hut was one of the first to be torn away, and so I knelt down without a care now. If it had been a trap I would have been damned. Luckily there was none and all that happened was my tears as I lifted the precious jug up. It was in the same impeccable condition our beloved leader had kept all her affairs. Untarnished, solid, and well formed. I clutched it to my chest in wonder, almost dropping my trident to hug it.

How could this be? I wondered, but in my heart I knew what it must mean. It was a sign from beyond the white mist. Was I designated as the new chieftain? Was our beloved one telling of her survival in the beyond? That there was some abyss we could rescue them all from, safe and unharmed as this fragile jug?

Rising, I held it out before me. What could this mean? As I looked around me, I saw the possible truths mirrored there. To my right, fury and anger.

“This is a trap,” she hissed. “put it down.”

To my other side, joy and hope. “They’re alive! They must be!” and he wanted to take it from me. I held it away, stuttering as I tried to talk.

“J-j-ju-j-j-,” then, finally, “jug!” But it was pitifully little to what I meant to say.

The red one rolled her eyes. “We got that. Give it here, it needs to be destroyed.”

I turned my back to her, determined to show it to the seer when she rose with the rest of our people. She would know what to make of it.

Mercifully, the others left me alone with it. The red one hissing in discontent, the other sighing and muttering that the seer would know what to do – with both the jug and me. I put my back to them and kept my watch bitterly.

Am I a “Real Priest”?

I’m going to get this question one day or another from a student. So I like to think that I’m one step ahead of the game by preparing my argument before hand.

Let me take a minute to explain a little bit of the bitterness that may seep into this post. I’ve already been told that others in my entourage are a ‘real’ priestess, insinuating that I was not. I’ve already had said ‘real’ priestess declare to her students that not all who claim to be priests are, and that some just take on the title. Was it a jab at me? Probably. I’m a real threatening person, you know, what with giving hugs and leaving smudges of glitter on people. Seriously?

I’m very threatening, I know. Had I been there I would have told her students not to buy those pricey athames, and  would have argued with her that a silver pentacle will not automatically protect a person/solve all energetic problems and NO, one does not haphazardly include blood and angel names into a Wiccan ritual (WHAT THE FUCK BUT I’M NOT EVEN JOKING PEOPLES). Oh, but I don’t know anything, I’m not initiated.

Really? From a crazy person’s perspective, let me argue you this. Who initiated the first crazy person? Huh? No one did. That’s right, insanity is a gods-given gift/burden. What about priesthood? It’s a gods-given gift/burden. What’s similar in these two situations?

Let’s take a diagnostic test. A mentally ill person is not mentally ill because they get a certificate or were born into a certain lineage. We know they’re ill because they exhibit and experience symptoms of mental illness, often to the point of it crippling their life.

What about a priest/ess? Do they get it from an initiation? Well I guess they could certainly get a fancy piece of paper saying that they are, just like one can get a paper saying they’re ill even if they’re not. Will they necessarily exhibit the symptoms of being a leader, an organizer, and a ritual facilitator because of this paper? I don’t think so.

I am going to argue that a priest/ess will be demarcated by exhibiting the symptoms of being chosen by the gods. Just like a mental illness, it can be developed, or it can just happen in a wham-bam. And just like a mental illness, if people get to know you-they know if you got it or not, no matter what the little papers say.

What are the symptoms? I’m going to argue that it will be summed up in integrity, passion for the cause, and good character. This of course will vary from place to place and what-have-you’s, as every situation will need a different kind of voice. But certainly, an initiation doesnot a priest/ess make. A training does not a priest/ess make. Being chosen by the gods is what makes you, in my humble opinion, and that certainly doesn’t mean that one is better or holier. It simply means they’re the priest/ess. It’s a calling, and that’s that in my opinion.