#mmm words

I built up my first book.

By which I mean all the relevant parts are pasted together and what remains to be done is to edit everything together into a fully continuous whole.

Here's the thing: I love to write short stories and vignettes. That's my jam. Sometimes I write really long stories, but always always I write character stories, and more often than not relating to other stories and just

A close friend mentioned to me how the first Witcher book was a collection of stories loosely connected. And that's when my brain pinged.

I could do that.

I could legit do that.

I can absolutely build a book through related stories that end up making a narrative whole.

Especially as the first book of the Malmern arc skirts around a topic that made another close friend just NYEEEEEHHHH at me (pertinently so) and I realized I could not release this story without releasing another and do you even know how old I am I don't have time to edit out ALL THE STORIES if I want to bring out a book ever. So: mix and match. Build the narrative with enough foundation that everyone shines as the shade of grey they all are and no one is left truly innocent nor truly guilty.

To think this whole arc built because I needed to rewrite an old story as I discovered Devon more (yep this is about him, who did you expect :3;; ) and now I essentially live in Malmern and all my life plans got screwed up since The Age of Silence was suposed to be first.

But also: I'm 44 in the day and age of AI "writers" (lol) and reading a post about how shitty some actually published books are reminded me of why I should not play the perfectionism game and just make it perfect for me.

Enjoy life. And writing. Which has been difficult this past month with my kitty baby passing away abruptly, but. Self-care is also crying and hurting and remembering you're only human and that you absolutely can feel like life has no meaning and still somehow have one of the most productive mornings/noons you've had this exact past month.

i.    sun .       egotistical .       melted  wax  wings  and  fingers .        stretching   sunburnt  skin .       the  most  generous  soul .       blood  in  the  fruit .        halos .       anger  on  fire .  high  vitality.     thunderous  laughter .       is  pride  really   a  sin ?        halogenic  aura .

ii.    mercury .     expansion  of  the  mind .     silver - tongued .    an   everlasting  wanderer .    polyglot .       high  dexterity .        handwritten  letters .           innately  critical .     en  vogue .   eyes  in  the  trees .     hidden  libraries .           there's  always  room  for  improvement .

iii.    venus .     in  love  with  strangers .     iridescent  waters .     love  potions   for  your  mirror .     selfless  devotion.     shattering  crystal .     seafoam  upon  sand .     the  golden  ratio .     drowning  in  your  own  passion .     material  value  and  high  principles .    luring .  plush  lips .

iv.    earth .        fresh  springs .        tree  hugger .     we  can  start  again  tomorrow .     a  blazing  rainforest .     respects  survival  of  the  fittest .     nature’s  adversity .     lazy  bones .       constantly  evolving .        flowers  sprouting  from  wounds .        a  granite  altar .       fossilized  remains .

v.    moon .      illusory .   silver  shimmer  off  the  ocean .     secrets  and  gossip . cycles  of  reincarnation.       a  crybaby .   physically  ethereal .     shared  glances  with  a  stranger .     cat  eyes .     mistrusting  their  intuition .     fear  is  a  prison .     ornate  magic  wands .

vi.    mars .        healthy  competition .        attraction  and  repulsion .     magma  and  rubies .        a  blade  being  forged .       wrath ,  wrath ,  wrath .     malefic .    intense  eye  contact .     cannon  fodder  and  fireworks .        blood  floods .    copper  taste  on  your  tongue .

vii.    jupiter .        red  robes  and  a  suit  of  armor .        beacon  of  stability .       leader  by  birth .        thunderbolts  and  lightning .     guilty  but  can’t  stop .     secret  rich  kid .     golden  touch ,  golden  tears .    innate  optimist .        failure  isn’t  an  option .     constantly  reaching  for  more .       unfinished  symphonies .

viii.    saturn .        traditional .        overbearing  energy .     a  sculptor  of  reality .     this  existence  is  a  karmic  one .     has  a  heart ;  it’s  just  way  down  deep .     law ,  order  and  justice .     avoid  all  necessary  risk .     the  sound  of  shackles  clanging .    sisyphus’  struggle .     grappling  with  the  reality  of  time .     self - governing .

ix.    uranus .      psychedelic  funk  music .        overflowing  cups .       a  rebellion  with  skin .           looking  good  in  photo  id .        oblivious  but  caring .        middle  fingers  in  the  air .     double  rainbows .     icy  diamond  exterior .     holographic .     afraid  of  their  own  mediocrity .     pearlescent  smoke .

x.    neptune .     an  elegy  for  the  lost .     dissolving  boundaries .     white  horses .       the  burden  of  mystical  conditions .     deceptive .     escapism  is  their  reality .     a  polarizing  entity .     artist’s  soul .     paranoia .     searching  for  the  unseen .     a  siren’s  swan  song .

xi.    pluto .         angel  statues  over  graves .        power .        the  cycle  of  necrosis .     transformative .     unfathomable  depths .        an  ivory  tower  toppling  over .     screaming  at  the  sky .        violets  and  irises .     eclipsed  darkness .     speaks  with  their  shadow .   sex ,  death ,  rebirth .

Tagged by: YOU BEEN YOINK’D, SON.

Teddy's stomach turned when he looked at the door to the lovely little manor he'd come to call a sort of second home. After centuries of waiting to be welcome, he was unaccustomed to knowing he could walk right through that wooden frame and not watch his skin blister and boil at his intrusion. 

Walking through, he tried to ignore the dizziness creeping down his spine as the spirit of the house took time to check and recheck that he'd been invited. She awoke whenever Theodore came to visit, blinking into consciousness with an intangible alertness as she panicked about his vile, evil essence. He could feel her confusion, her want to protect all those who lived within her; other guests and residents were safer than the unholy, the undead. Shuddering, he turned his collar up against the frigid cold of the house's disdain, one of the only things he could feel against departed skin. 

He moved quickly into the kitchen, avoiding the contact he sought. He'd given Hailey the week off, one shaky phone call while he stared at a corpse, mangled and unrecognizable at his feet. How he'd been so moronic as to forget to feed until he lost himself to his demons, he didn't know, but the rumors of bears in the city, the whispers of keeping children inside--they were all to much for him.

Now, spoiled by the modern fearlessness in people, he softly yearned for the sound of beating hearts around him, the slow tick of life passing by him, frozen in time, a drug to his dull senses. He allowed himself a reprieve from his self-sentenced isolation and poured himself a glass of water, all but useless to him without the single drop of scarlet liquid he swiftly dropped into the glass. It was by no means meant to sustain him, but it was quite enough for the flavor of the soul to burst across his tongue and keep him satisfied while surrounded by sanguine beating through veins all around him, all available and so vulnerable.

Wood creaked behind him and he turned slowly, meeting the gaze of a stranger and suddenly regretting ever visiting at all.