Flyaways

Before the spring floods, the shoreline is an uneasy sanctuary.

A hundred small birds will float along the currents above the water, so closely packed that they rise and fall as a single being. The larger ones come in smaller numbers, seldom more than a dozen. They announce their presence far more loudly, manage their spaces more aggressively.

None of them remain for more than a day.

We called them flyaways when I was small.

They were going somewhere, but I saw only the smallest part of their journey.

I remembered them most in motion, heading with unerring certainty to somewhere far beyond my known horizons.

I envied them.

I wanted both the horizons and the certainty.

Mostly, I wanted to fly.

To rise up and vanish as small creatures watched in amazement.

The moment when they disappeared made me want.

I feel the same way sometimes when I read a line that sinks deep or an image that takes my breath.

I can see for a moment possibilities greater than any I could chase.

As I close my eyes, I dream of impossible horizons.

 IMG_1735Sometimes small parts of ourselves can still find a way to fly

I like to try to make impossible horizons possible. Sometimes I succeed.


For impossible horizons made possible, you can also see my fantasy novel,The Guests of Honor. It is available here.

 

In Contrast

When I was small, I dreamed of terrible things.

The worlds I entered were often distorted, every object a new source of fear and confusion. Cannibalistic dolls, machines made of bones, people who were patchwork collections of mismatched limbs and organs.

But-

Because everything was awful, my mind dulled and I swept through those universes untouched.

My fear was made less by the unrelenting horror around me.

I read stories sometimes that remind me of those worlds, merciless and unrelenting. And I am left repulsed but detached from the depth of the madness.

In the world outside my head, horror announces itself less obviously, quietly rising beside the moments of joy.

When everything is slick with death and destruction, what loss is there from still more pain?

It is only when we have something to lose that we can truly begin to fear.

My mind showed me shadows and I removed myself, untouched.

It was only when I stood in the light that I learned to fear the darkness.

IMG_1519It is light that provides the shadows their power

Sometimes I still dream terrible things. I am less brave now, I think.


Some of this horror has made its way into my writing. If you would like to see it, my fantasy novel,The Guests of Honor, is available here.

Fuzzfest- Dreamed a Little Dream

On good nights, the inside of my head is like a warm blanket.

A warm blanket made of writhing carnivorous eggplants, mind you, but comfortingly familiar all the same.

While I tend to the lucid dreaming end of the spectrum, even my sharpest, most uncomfortable visions have a peaceful acceptance that makes all the edges lovely and fuzzy.

I may be being chased by a large paintbrush who wants to use me for wallpaper, but I will not be at all surprised to discover that I have suddenly found a lake full of turpentine to foil my pursuer.

Maybe I should stop using myself as an example.

I love the inability to disbelieve in dreams.

I love the complete acceptance of the impossible mechanics of the worlds I inhabit, that moment my heart catches in my throat with a wonder that is almost impossible to duplicate in the real world.

I have no desire to become a Lotus Eater and waste away in visions.

But the knowledge of the unending boundaries that are tragic, funny, delightful inside my head, grants me a joy that sits warmly at the center of my identity.

Sometimes the familiar can be grinding.

There is a joy in not knowing where the next step will take you.

In finding the fuzzy borders of the world inside your head and stepping breathlessly into the unknown.

IMG_0070Almost as fuzzy as two cats and some warm blankets

This week is Fuzzfest! Pull up a chair and a warm blanket and bask in my version of light cheer!


For more dreams, fluffy or otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here.

Everyday Magic- The Beginning

When I was very small, the world was too loud for me.

The world never got quieter, but I learned to pull inside myself and see the things inside my head when the outside was too much for me to handle.

Behind our house, behind the orchard, was the forest.

It did not take many steps to enter an entirely different world.

Grass turned to moss.

Garish sunlight turned to rich, filtered beams.

Five minutes for a small girl and one for an adult brought me to the marketplace.

There was a stump, you see.

I knew that one day, if I lay very quiet on the moss, I would catch the small people entering into one of that stump’s many cracks on their way to the magical market.

I never found that entrance.

The joy of writing is that I have been able to create my own.

I can close my eyes and see the things inside my head.

The small people turning to me and beckoning me on into the market of rotting wood and fading moss.

Magic in its truest form.

IMG_8564There are so many entrances that we can all find our way inside

This week is dedicated to everyday magic. I will be sharing some of the real-life inspiration for the strange things that appear in the pages of my stories.


If you would like to see some less-metaphorical magic, I have also written a fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.

On Dreams, and their Fulfillment

When I was five, I wanted to be a platypus.

Things went downhill from there.

I’ve had a lot of dreams over the years.

Some fulfilled, some not.

The thing is, life is a forceful partner.

It’s easy enough to get tired, to fall down, to decide, “Well, maybe all I wanted to do was crawl anyways.”

I’ve spent quite a lot of time in my life crawling.

In my case, a nearly-fatal illness knocked my head against reality and I took a long hard look at my life.

I didn’t like what I saw.

When I broke my dreams into their core parts, the platypus was out.

What I really wanted to do was to help people and tell stories.

I started trying to make both of those things a reality.

Today, the first of those stories went up on Amazon (if you like what you’ve seen of the inside of my head and you like fantasy-adventure, the e-book is over here).

The worst part for me, was when I saw it there, I didn’t feel like I’d achieved a huge step on my road to my dreams.

I felt flat.

Then I spent ten minutes with my head between my legs.

This post?

This is me pulling the reality and the dream together.

I like to think that first dream, that first step, isn’t a completion in itself.

What it did was allow me to stop staring at the mud and look up at the sky.

When I raise my face, there are so many dreams, bright and shining, there for me to follow.

I like to think that five year old me is standing here with me and seeing the whole universe of dreams spread before us.

It’s not whether or not we hold the stars in our hands that makes our dreams worthy.

It is whether or not we reach in the first place.

Here I am, still.

Reaching.

IMG_5052The road ahead. I’m ready, finally.