This upcoming month is a make-it-or-break-it writing period. I have about 30,000 words to write to finish a draft of the second book, to meet the timeline I agreed on with my publisher.
For the last three weeks, I had to hold off daily writing, first for the retreat, then for deadlines at the day job.
But now I’m diving in again. Wish me luck.
Two members of the coven attempted to do fire magic last night. Potato stayed to take part in the coven meeting, but she fell asleep. These cat witches.
This morning, I puttered in the kitchen, making cranberry sauce for tonight, a little blurred but happy. A watery sun broke the clouds between spates of rain. My housemate, tetchy from physical pain, came in to cook, and we ran into each other emotionally.
I went to see chosen family. Everybody was busy. A fractious child snapped at me. It broke something; I had to go.
Back home, I slunk to the bedroom. I don’t even know what I was crying for—some upwelling of old pain.
My birth family fought every holiday. That’s not unusual. I don’t mean to go looking for old wounds.
I’m not a fan of US Thanksgiving, but I’ve found giving thanks is powerful.
So, thanks. Thanks to my deities and spirits; thanks to my family; thanks to my communities; thanks to all the nonhumans around me, cats and trees and mycelial networks. Thanks to the universe for beauty. Thanks in this time of work for a day of rest.
A nearly full moon hangs above the trees, and leaves skitter across the road like little animals as I drive, so much so I keep half-stopping.
I was attracted to my witch tradition in part because it works with the fey (or fairies, or what you will). Contrary to some lore, we find that they like being called with bells. Our fey caller is hung with goat bells.
The fey for us include all spirits that aren’t deities, but I particularly think of nature spirits—the people of the place, whether connected to particular animals, plants, or locations, or to the greater spirit of place. I think also of weather fey.
Too many people, too much work, too much arguing on the internet. I just want to run away to the woods.
You see here, from my point of view, a Tarot reading from my housemate’s Gateway to the Divine deck.
It’s about a relationship. The cards advise to work on it more, but it might not resolve as I’d like.
These crazy days, when I’m working so hard, what keeps me sane is my witch practice.
I made ten minutes this morning—which seemed like a lot—to sit in front of my altar and do that.
And then some days I’m just under construction, and neither here nor there, like my front yard, which my friend is redoing, for love and also for money.
I’m on deadline at work, so I’m running, running, running. I still haven’t sat down and thought through the omens of last weekend. My ancestors and deities are encouraging; I make offerings; I keep running. The cats want me to play more. I want me to play more too.