Slumber of the Moon • the first story

Tale of the Princess

{an explanation}

Long ago, a princess acted wicked and then world was broken. To preserve a piece of the pristine paradise, the prince wove a protective veil around the last sliver. Within the dulcet, temperate spring, tiny towns and then grand translucent castles emerged, radiated forth from the seed of paradise. Thus, a fragment of Eternity and True Beauty survived. Until a forlorn stranger waylaid the princess to corruption.

Chapter One: Maiden in the Woods {Jeune femme au bois[1]}

Iren squinted through the gray haze; great furry shapes, outlined in silver dewdrops, prowled on the edge of his vision. The shapes circled a slender, dark-skinned woman, whose long hair glistened like moonlight. Her eyes, which met his for a fleeting moment, were a sweet raspberry pink. Reaching out her hand, the woman showed him her palm.

“They will guide you.”

“Wha…” he croaked, but the haze melted into the silver of the animals and the gleam of her hair until a white, wet mist was the only thing he could see.

Groaning, Iren forced up his head. The blood had crusted over his right arm, so he propped himself on the weight of his good one. An eerie stillness encased the forest. For that’s what it was now. The distant, ever-present sigh-and-hiss of the sea had vanished. Only the damp frightened slap of moisture, intersected with thick gasps of silence, was audible.

Iren crept around the wall of briars. Thick as his forearm, the vines hoisted thorns twice as long; like gleaming dirks, the thorns shone crimson in the withering light. A shuddered scampered up Iren’s back, dainty as a frightened spider. Every sense surged up to warn him to flee. This was not his place; this was not his battle. Uncertainty gnawed at his gut, nibbling at chucks of his heart.

Just as his uncertainty began to weigh out against surmounting the fence of unearthly briars, Iren glimpsed one of the luminous beasts he had seen upon waking. In the dark, brilliant shades of dusk, the lean canine, massive and sleek, called to mind the wolves that had once roamed the Caran Mountains north of Miravor. A painful vise squeezed his heart, and Iren bowed his head beneath the untimely weight of memory. But the spectral wolf darted past his downcast eyes, drawing him back to the briars. And there Iren saw a low, narrow wedge cut through the glistening thorns. Shaded by a lattice of thorns, it was nigh invisible and if not the shimmering ghost wolf, he never would have seen it.

Curiosity sparked, Iren flattened himself on the ground and wriggled through. While blossoms and fruit crowned the rest of the forest, carpeted beneath the briars were dead leaves. Withered red and gold snapped beneath him. A suffocating musk clogged his nostrils, wet, clinging cobwebs. Coughing, Iren pried himself along the tunnel. Thorns leered down at him; crimson liquid dripped off the longest, igniting smoke among the crusty, old leaves. Hacking, Iren squinted through the stinging haze. Though watering from the sting, he dared not close his eyes without knowing if more of those wicked thorns would intersect his path and impale his skull. On and on and on he plunged, (crawling on his stomach like a serpent,) until a speck of cool, silver light pierced the smoke. With a final heave, Iren tumbled out from under the briars into a quiet, moonlit garden.

Continue reading


NaNoWriMo 2017 • the plan

Unlike other NaNoWriMo, my goal isn’t to write 50k words. Then why do it? Because it’ll, I hope, make me actually write this story. Or stories.

Also, unlike other NaNoWriMo, I’ll be posting this as a rough draft.

That said: Expect spelling errors and mangled sentences. I will edit as much as I can, especially if I’m typing it from my notebook, but this is, in no way, a polished story. And I’m okay with that. This story — and its variants — has been brewing, in all its different iterations, as snippets or vignettes or just emotional seeds in my head for awhile. I want to. Get. It. Out. Just share this story that’s been sitting in my brain for almost a decade.

If it never moves beyond this rough draft, I’m okay with that, too. It’s always been a mixed up, tangled story idea to begin with, with bits taken from different sources of inspiration (I’d be curious if people can guess what they are), so having it exist in its fullest form as a work-in-progress is fitting. This may not be the final version, nor the most authentic. Rather, think of this of the canonization of a slew of variants and related tales.

In-congruent Premise, or How I Often Feel What I Think & Feel is at Odds with “General” Advice

Well, getting here, to type these words, was a challenge unto itself. Sorting through emails and passwords.

There’s an incongruity between a self-help card that says “forgive others” & “what you judge in others is a shadow-self of yourself” when the judgement is what you perceive others to think of your skills. 

If I feel bad about myself because of how I feel from what others say, it’s not because I think badly of others. It’s that I perceive myself as not-belonging. So, to follow the premise set up by the card:

  1.  forgive others for making me feeling bad (because I don’t write well or make sense / try to make my writing pleasing to others or what others would expect)
  2. recognize that what I judge in others (that they are competent and correct in their assessments & belong in a writing environment) is a reflection of myself
  3. let go of my unfair judgement of others and…???

The problem is that the entire premise is centered around the idea that one’s judgment is misconstrued. But if someone has bad feelings or judgments, not at others, but at themselves, for what they see as others being right about them in a way that impacts someone negatively or in an emotionally broken/I don’t belong way, then… How does the premise of: forgive/recognize/let go & see the unity make sense??

(I’m not sure this makes any sense. I’m kind of rambling my feelings.)

#6: NOT Like Everyone Else

I’ve begun to realize that some people or generally people:

  • Assume everyone is like you
  • I assume no one is like me (not because I’m special (though I used to be/believed) but that I’m terrible/no one’s as terrible as me)

If people are like, I’m not uber special but I’m not scum; I’m a unique multi-dimensional identity, like the way I try to conceptualize others.

I think NOT: isn’t everyone like this. But: no one is like me (with some exceptions of privileges and looks and conditions)

Disclaimer: these are my uneducated opinions. I am not an expert. I only have strong, persistent opinions, acquired from listening to others, living life, and reading. If anyone notices any errors or misuse of words and meaning, let me know and I will correct any post or information.

Written 8/16/17

#5: Pacifism v. Passivity / Copying

Pacifism doesn’t mean being passive; it doesn’t mean you submit. It’s still about resistance. Violence isn’t always resistance, but resistance should have an active element.

Since the year started, I’ve been trying to figure out how to act.

I tried to follow what others were doing.

I tried to copy others. Because what else is the world but copying? There’s the you at school, where you follow rules (sometimes leading to frustrated or unhappy results), do what’s expected, and there’s you at home, where you do what you want, act how you want. Additionally for me, there’s the impulse to be liked. And being liked means (and meant in college) being in-sync and agreeable to those around me. This stems from fear of being other and outcast

I tried to do what I could money-wise without having lots of money to spend. Then I stopped and thought: what would I do if I was me? And this is that.

Disclaimer: these are my uneducated opinions. I am not an expert. I only have strong, persistent opinions, acquired from listening to others, living life, and reading. If anyone notices any errors or misuse of words and meaning, let me know and I will correct any post or information.

Written 8/16/17 + 8/31/17

# 4: In Another’s Body

Sometimes I’m struck by people’s occasional inability to imagine themselves as not-themselves — in another body or with a different life. And while no one can know another’s person’s experiences, the act of thinking outside yourself….that isn’t normal?

I did that sometimes when I was a kid. Mostly derived, I believe, from physical differences between me and other people. But also, in general play. Being not-me (being a character, I suppose) was part of the fun of playing.

This idea can be extended to stories and situations of strangers. Like, I don’t know what’s going on with people but I try to trust them and give them the benefit of the doubt because I don’t know. How can I get super critical of people if I don’t even know what’s going on? Context is key, my friend.

How much I apply this principle to people I know personally and how I conceptualize the difference as me-imagining it rather than difference-not-me, are aspects I need to think on.

I feel like if people did this — fit themselves into imagined awareness different from their own and recognized that the stories of someone far exceed what someone can know in daily interaction with strangers — people would be less narrow-minded and bigoted. Cause if you look at all the crime and violent and deaths that have been mounting and thinking how would that feel, not as you, but the experience… How could you not see the humanity in people? (This question is directed at neo Nazi fascists, specifically.)

I’ve always had this impulse to slam logic arguments on neo-Nazi’s or set up questions in a way that it expresses the fallacy of their values.

Disclaimer: these are my uneducated opinions. I am not an expert. I only have strong, persistent opinions, acquired from listening to others, living life, and reading. If anyone notices any errors or misuse of words and meaning, let me know and I will correct any post or information.

Written 8/16/17 + 8/31/17


Donations for the Holiday

With the holidays having begun and with the state of world, it seemed like a good time to offer a gift of support to places and people that will offer protection and support of their own. (Or you could do something more directly if you like.)

Many people have already done fundraisers and charity drives (I’ve been the most aware of this with artists), and this is nothing of that caliber. I only thought, since the time of year has always been about giving, and many people (and the world and society) need as much giving/kindness/support as they can, I would add this little message:

Things seem very bleak, and I’ll admit that I’m not a very active participant in the world (sometimes I forget basic survival care, like eating and sleeping). But I’ve usually, despite my occasional views on myself or my writing, been a hopeful person. Hope, of course, isn’t going to change anything on its own.

But you can. I can. By just doing one little thing. By staying aware. By not forgetting that the times have gotten dangerous and that these issues have not just popped out of the ground; they have been around for awhile. We need to stay awake and do what we can, when we can.

Even if you can’t give hoards of money, spreading the word or donating a dollar when you can or having a monthly donation as part of your budget, if possible, is doing something.

Here a few suggestions:

*if anyone knows of better organizations, please let me know; I will edit them.