Beginnings, Halloween 2022

Pumpkins, one small, one large, uncarved

Today I was stuck, briefly, in traffic. Gulls were keening, a sound that goes into my soul in a good way.
When did I last sit to listen to the gulls?

I've been busy with good things but oh my! I am tired.
I knew that I was tired this time, I have been taking more breaks, resting up, allowing myself to miss our Dog, and clearly, I had better keep doing this. I always think a quick respite will do; sometimes one needs a stretch of rest.
I keep writing. Writing can be done in gentle accruals and then becomes an activity that can feed me back.

I did not write a Halloween story though, not even a comforting one, instead, I am keeping the tradition of sharing some writing with you, Dear Readers.
Below are two extracts from the peripherals of the novel I am slowly completing; the first is a prequel that I wrote for my own guidance so probably will not be included in the final edit, the second is an attempt at describing the story, which will probably be rewritten over and over until there's no ink left in the universe.
Beginnings are hopeful things, all fresh, charged with energy, like gull-clatter, like sea breezes.
I will rest, recharge, begin again, again, and again.

In the beginning, if that can be said, for this was before time was born, there were no realms, no worlds; all matter was fluid.
The Whale Mother swam in a metaphysical pool, from the dark side to the lit where the stars, the moons, and the suns all were buoyant forms but not yet transient.

Ankow too was a celestial light, more dream than reality.
Everything hummed with boundless life.

Change sidled in, in tiny increments; a slight alteration of a star’s position, a shadow moving, a breath stealing through the flux. It began to turn water to water, air to air, fire to fire, earth to earth; it began to separate existence into Worlds And Realms.

The Whale Mother could still swim between these places. She blew magic into each - the solid creation of the Physical, the swirling absurdity of the Imaginary, the plasticity of the Clay.

‘Ankow,’ she whispered, ‘time is creeping towards us, you must wake up.’
Ankow opened her eyes. A tear traced down her cheek for she recognised her waking as a loss.
‘Why, Great Mother? Why is this happening?’
‘At some point,’ the Whale Mother sighed, ‘the Infinite wishes to know itself. It is all things, including reckless.’

After this, the change came all at once. It came like branched lightning, like earthquakes; it was the first storm. It cracked existence further apart.
It made the Summerlands, and the Low Realm, and what was left of their perfect infinity became the Otherworld.
There were further dreamers in the Otherworld with her, shaded entities that settled back to sleep.
In each world there were slivers of light, and these became seeds.

‘You must watch them. You will be Ankow the Reaper, the Sower and the Gatherer, Queen of the Balance twixt Life and Death, Goddess from Before Time; and you will be busy.’
‘As you command, Great Mother.’
‘Oh, and you will need a spider.’
‘Where will I-’
‘The Physical World. I will teach you what you need as we journey.’

Blurby Bit:

A spider, no bigger than a small hill, lives in a stone cell in between worlds. Skylen Faven, the Great Weaver, can see into all six worlds; the balance of existence depends on her quiet curation of stories.
To keep safe, to fulfill her role, she must stay hidden even from her beloved Reaper - but the Demonry is determined, she aches from her heart to her toes, and all the stories, including the vital prophesies, keep twisting.
This is a tale of love; a tale of ice cream, butterflies, kindness, cocoa, life and death; and it begins with a battle.

Spider outline on an orange lantern, looks cute and spooky


Your writing definitely draws me in, entices me. Thank you.
And keep resting and recharging.
Lisa Southard said…
Resting and recharging and writing all going well :-) Apologies for my slowness in responding, however, that's a sorry side effect of resting xx

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