Skip to main content

I Have a Blog

 I was reminded earlier today that I have a blog. A blog that I haven't visited--much less updated--since January of this year (2024). The idea of having a blog felt surreal and I realized that the past several months have seen a few semi-drastic changes (new jobs, an inability to finish reading/writing projects, a slow wearing away of some formerly close social ties) resulting in a feeling of having been suspended in the past but no longer being supported by...anything. 

Am I still even interested in writing? Who are these new characters who are demanding more traditional fantasy settings? Am I coming back to the mineral-eating rats and the dwarves who raise them? Do I need to stop attending my writing group to write? Should I just pat these new characters on the head and tell them it's been fun but they should run off and play elsewhere for now? 

I feel like I'm entering my Sarcastic Gen X phase. Maybe rediscovering it.  

Or falling back into fantasy, on the other side of a fallow period. 

I don't know. 

But I have a blog. Maybe I'll dust it off and find out.

-- Chrissa 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Once Upon a Future Past

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

Fearsome by Survival

  Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared  The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half.  Anyway. Looking forward to r...

Need

  Sharing with this week's The Sunday Muse #184 . Come celebrate Halloween with verse and The Muse.  I don't think the lantern needed the day; I needed the night: Lit and close and dark and smelling of faraway fires. I needed the smoky flicker that darkened the late-season field I needed the thin linen dress someone else's jacket hides; I needed the nested shadow; not blue, clear sight. It's already a spooky weekend: one window wedged itself just open enough for the breeze to moan beneath, James heard a drone last night (according to him, circling and circling the neighborhood without lights), and our sometimes neighbors have started to set up their backyard for whatever festivities they're planning for Halloween weekend. So...tomorrow (Halloween) will be a good day to read through the books picked up at the local author Spooktacular hosted by a used bookstore not far from here and to say a few final prayers before NaNo begins. Also, celebrating another zine draft r...