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Tuesday Tips(?) : Birthday Thoughts

1/28/2020

How is a thirty-year-old lady supposed to act? I mean, I know how a thirty-two-year-old lady should act. Maybe I'll just emulate Jenna.

So, I don't really know what else to do today than share some random thoughts of mine. Things that have been on my mind, but aren't a whole blog. Some of these are tips.

First off, it's weird how after having a great day with someone, they don't become annoying if all they do is talk about how great the day was. Despite being repetitive, it's nice. It's like, the opposite of complaining.
There's only two kinds of people in the world: people who think the world can be split into two kinds of people, and people who know the world is a lot more complicated than that.
I think it's weird how my real life is so concrete and solid sounding. I work for a steel company. I sing bass. It sounds quite grounded. But I'm all about floating around on clouds, and living in fantasy.

No one should have brought my attention to this quote, because I like it waaaay too much.

I'm always way more impressed with people who accomplish great things later in life than those who peak at thirteen. Like, everyone's telling you it's too late, but you're just like, nah, I've finally wandered around enough to have figured out this is the thing I'd like to do. Letting one thing consume your life when you're super young is, well, super risky.
I'd love to write a story from Lindsey's perspective about how weird her dad is, and the day a new friend dropped into her backyard. Maybe even all journals. I'd call it "Out of the Sky. We'll see.
If you're going to be super negative sometimes, make sure to be super positive for the opposite times. For example, if you get really down on yourself for your failures, be sure to celebrate the crap out of your successes. If you complain and throw a fit about bad customer service, be sure to be really appreciative and express your gratitude for good customer service. Acknowledge your "on" days as much as your "off" days. Be energetic as often as you're tied. At least try this as a starting point for self-improvement.

This quote doesn't know how stupid it is. Like, if travel was free, you would see me ALL THE TIME. Does this person not have any far away friends?

I wish someone would have told me as a kid that grown-ups also have to work on controlling their emotions, and use the skills they learned as a kid. Because whenever I got angry, and someone told me to "take a deep breath and count to ten," I felt soo talked down to. Now I think a lot of adults need to go back to kindergarten.
I want to write more "holiday shorts." Like, I have "Josephina's Guide to Magic for Kids," (Halloween-ish), and I have "The Wishing Star" (Christmas). Maybe one about Belinda, from the perspective of one of her kids. Because, fun fact: both the holiday shorts I've written feature minor characters from the Crossworlds series. Josephina and Janet will be seen again in Crossworlds books that haven't yet been published.

I'm actually a time traveller, so my age is irrelevant.
And lastly, it's my birthday, so get my books! The Mansion's Twins is free this week!

The Mansion's Twins

The Mansion's Family

Stories of the Early Days

Dawn's Acapella

Acapella Angels

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Tuesday Tips: Baby Steps

1/21/2020

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I actually do have some "resolutions" this year, one of which, like many people’s, is fitness related. It’s not really as concrete as people say goals of this type should be. I’m not trying to lose weight, or get super fit. Just get a little healthier, so I’m not a lazy lump anymore.

I got up early one morning and did ten minutes of yoga. And I was ridiculously proud of myself all day. And because it was such a small thing, it was easy to do it again. Now I’m doing twenty minute yoga videos about three times a week.

In the past I’ve had a tendency to get over excited, and bite off more than I can chew. Working out for an hour, thinking about how great it would be to do this “every day,” and then quickly burning out and going back to doing nothing.

This doesn’t just relate to fitness, either. We can get overexcited about any goal, and set unrealistic expectations. We end up in a cycle of bursts of excitement, doing too much, burning out, and temporarily giving up until our excitement builds enough again to lead to another burst of activity.

That’s why I don’t like “New Year’s resolutions.” They’re prominent in our minds in January, but after a few months and a few failed attempts, we tend to just forget out them instead of renewing them. Plus, I'm trying to establish a lifestyle, not give up once 2021 hits.

If you’ve ever been on any sort of self improvement kick, you may have been overwhelmed by the number of things we’re supposed to do “every day.” Meditate, journal, read, exercise, get out in nature, skin care routines, etc, etc. All these things beg you to do them every day, because then you’ll see results! The benefits! But… The stress, though. All of these things are supposed to help you reduce stress, yet the trap of “every day” causes more stress than it relieves.

So, maybe pick one of those things that you can actually do every day. Or try doing each of the things once a week. Or, even just pick one to do a couple of times a week. Once you establish a routine based on that one little step, you can build upon it. Small and consistent will take you further than you think. And if you’re annoyed at how long that will take?

The Mansion's Twins

The Mansion's Family

Stories of the Early Days

Dawn's Acapella

Acapella Angels

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Wednesday Word: It's 2020!

1/15/2020

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Happy New Year! Or maybe the year is already old, because it's taken me so long to get to posting! Anyway...

I'd love to say we're officially back, but while there will be blogs, I can't promise they'll be consistent. I'm hoping to get one blog posted every week. When I feel inspired to share a song I love, or some writing/life tips, we'll have a Monday or Tuesday post. But most often will be the Wednesday Word.

2019 brought me many new things, the biggest being a great new job. With that came a new working and writing schedule to adjust to. In writing news, 2019 was the year I finally got The Mansion's Twins into shape, now with a fully updated interior, and exterior:

The Mansion's Twins

As for 2020, I'll be turing 30 soon, so that's happening. I hope to get the next book in the Crossworlds series in shape. I've got some other goals and "resolutions" I'll share in a Tuesday post.

For the blog this year, you can expect mostly Wednesday words, with a possible silly--I mean, special--guest posting when I'm unable to. I plan on posting some reviews of my favorite things, previews of Sent From a Dream, poems/song lyrics, a few tips and favorite music, and whatever else the new year/decade brings.

And of course, crossing dimensions and exploring as many other worlds as possible. Here's to 2020 bringing us new adventures!

The Mansion's Twins

The Mansion's Family

Stories of the Early Days

Dawn's Acapella

Acapella Angels

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The Wishing Star

12/15/2019

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    “Please Mom, just one more chapter?”
     “I think it’s bedtime, Janet.” Mom closed the book. “Hop to it. Santa knows when you’re sleeping.”
     Janet sighed. “Okay. If I go to bed, will he bring me those pretty fairies we saw at the mall last week?”
“Janet,” Mom said sternly. “Bed.”
“Okay.” She shuffled off to bed, trying not to be frustrated. Money’s tight this year, her parents told her. And Christmas is about more than presents.
Every year, grown-ups tried to pound the same lessons into kids’ heads: Christmas is about more than presents, and family and love are more precious than anything you’ll ever get in a box. Janet had to roll her eyes. Like she didn’t know that already. Of course you can’t pack up the most important things in life in a box.
She thought of how she felt when Mom read to her, and she was on a magical adventure in a faraway place. She’d tried to re-create this feeling, playing by herself, or with a few close friends, but though the games were fun, they weren’t enough. She wanted real magic.


A week ago, Mom took her wish list shopping, which they still did even though “money’s tight this year.” Janet didn’t know if it was torture, or it the tradition was important enough to do it anyway. She found a store full of beautiful little figurines, and among them was a family of fairies. Mom said maybe Santa would bring her one, if she was good. She didn’t know if she wanted to take one away from the family. They should all live together. In her bedroom.

The next day, Janet went with Dad to pick out a tree. They bought one that was a little smaller than usual, but Dad reassured her it was the smell that mattered. Janet took a big whiff. He was right. It still smelled exactly the way Christmas should.
“Mom’s gonna take you to pick out a new ornament, too,” Dad said, on the drive home.
“Really? I thought…”
“It’s tradition, kiddo. We’re still going to have all the most important parts of Christmas, just... Just a bit smaller this year.”
Janet wondered if that meant she’d have to pick out a smaller ornament, but didn’t ask. She’d see what Mom let her get away with when they got to the store. Every year, her parents let her pick out one new, special ornament. So every year, she tried to find the biggest and brightest. One day, she imagined she’d collect enough to decorate an entire tree. After all, just because presents and pretty things weren’t the most important part of Christmas, didn’t mean they weren’t important at all. Janet still dreamed of piles of presents, under a tree decked out in sparkling, fancy ornaments. Maybe someday.
But this year, ornament shopping was different, and for once, it wasn’t because “money’s tight.”
Before heading to the store, Mom wanted to stop at a thrift shop, to drop off a bag of donations. Janet didn’t mind. She might see Gabe, who worked there, and always told her extravagant stories about where certain items came from. She was never sure if he made them up or not, but he was always fun.
While Mom made her donation, Janet went to look at all the Christmas things. Even here, plenty of ornaments were dazzling. She touched a few of them absentmindedly, until her hands found a plain, painted star. Once she found it, she couldn’t stop staring at it. It wasn’t the kind of star you put on top of your tree, just a small one to hang with the other ornaments. She couldn’t put it down, and kept running her fingers over the wood. It was still pretty, though it wasn’t extravagant. Its yellow paint was smooth, and had a little bit of a shine to it.
A voice behind her made her jump.
“Is that you, Janet? Nah, it can’t be, you’re far too tall! Little Janet I knew was about up to here,” Gabe held his hand up to her shoulder.
“Hi Gabe!” she said.
Mom appeared behind him a moment later, and noticed the star in her hand. “Sweetie, we don’t have to buy one here, we can afford a new one.”
“I like this one, though,” she said.
“Of course you do,” Gabe said. “That’s a Wishing Star. Not too many genuine ones left out there. Make a wish, and it’ll come true, guaranteed.”
Mom rolled her eyes, but Janet wanted to hear more. “Really? Did you ever try it?”
“Oh, I sure did,” Gabe said. “Said I wanted Christmas to be the day I found true love. Woke up Christmas morning in a whole other world, and met the woman of my dreams.”
“Did you marry her?”
“Alas, I limited the wish when I said ‘Christmas Day.’ The star only gave me one day in the other land. I reckon she’s still there, and maybe one day I’ll see her again.”
“Alright, great story, Gabe, but we’ve got to be going,” Mom said. “Janet, are you sure that’s the one you want?”
“Oh, definitely,” Janet smiled.
Gabe checked them out, and carefully packaged up the little star for Janet. “Merry Christmas to both of you,” he said. “Wish wisely, Janet.”
“Merry Christmas, Gabe,” she said.

It was Christmas Eve, and Janet couldn’t sleep. Well, it wasn’t so much that she couldn’t sleep, but she was resisting going to bed. She kept looking out the window, listening for sleigh bells, and turning her little “Wishing Star” over in her hands.
For some reason, she felt compelled to have her star with her tonight. She'd removed it from the tree, and couldn’t stop staring at it. Make a wish, she thought, just try it! Maybe it was a silly idea, but if the Wishing Star worked at all, it had to work on Christmas Eve.
“I wish I could go on a real magical adventure, and be a hero like the people in my books,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but when she opened them again, nothing had changed. She shrugged, and put the star down on her bedside table, deciding it was time to settle down at last. Tomorrow morning, she’d wake to the smells of pancakes and bacon, Christmas music playing softly, and a full stocking and presents to open…

Early in the morning, Janet opened her eyes. “Merry Christmas!” she whispered, getting out of bed. Then, louder, “Merry Christmas!”
She opened her bedroom door to… Silence. “Mom?” she called, “Dad?” No voice answered. There was no music playing, no smell of anything.
She knocked on her parent’s bedroom door before pushing it slowly open. The bed was empty. “Hello?”
Out in the living room, there were no presents under the tree, and the stockings were still empty. Yet it was fully daylight, and the calendar on the wall still read “December.”
After searching the house for her parents, Janet returned to her room to bundle up before venturing into the backyard. She pulled on her little pink coat and boots, and hurried to the back door. The sun was shining, but there was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. “Mom? Dad?” She ran toward the garden, thinking she heard a voice. Nothing. She turned, thinking to go back to the house, and gasped at the sight behind her.
The house was gone. In its place was a forest, a real, enchanted forest, she thought. Yet she had very little desire to go exploring. She realized she still held the Wishing Star in her hand. Looking down at it, she noticed she was wearing a pair of white gloves. Her coat was now long and white, too, and she had a new scarf, new hat, and new shiny boots. The clothes were all very cozy and pretty, but Janet couldn’t think of them for long when her house just went missing.
She lifted the Wishing Star. “I wish to go home now,” she said. “I wish it was Christmas morning, and I was home with Mom and Dad.”
Nothing happened. Gabe said his magic lasted for a day, but only because he limited it. Did she limit her wish? She didn't think she had. Maybe, she thought, maybe I have to lie down and sleep for the magic to work. That wasn’t such a terrible thought. But where could she sleep, out here?
Or maybe she had to fulfill her first wish, see it through in its entirety, in order to be granted a second one. That wasn’t a bad price to pay either, though it would be a great deal more difficult than simply lying down somewhere and trying to fall asleep…
Or maybe… Maybe the Wishing Star only had one wish inside it, and she’d used its magic all up. That was a scary thought. Even if it was only one wish every Christmas, when did Christmas come in this world?
Before she could ponder any further, she thought she heard a small voice. Well, we’ll see where adventure takes us, she thought, and set off toward the sound, into the forest.
The forest was thick, but not scary. All the trees were enchanting and beautiful, and seemed to beckon her forward, welcoming her. There were bright little toadstools along the narrow path. It felt like a fairyland.
“Help me!” cried a small voice, much closer this time. A tiny figure was tangled up in a vine. Janet hurried to free the creature, letting out a small yelp when she realized what it was.
A fairy! A real, live, tiny winged girl was trapped. Janet stared in wonder.
“Are you going to help or just look?” the fairy shouted.
“Oh! Sorry, I’ve never seen a real fairy before,” Janet said, and hurried to untangle the vine, letting the girl free.
“Thank you,” she sighed. Janet opened her hand, and the fairly settled there. Janet stared at her, admiring her purple, flower-petal gown, and her fluffy pink hair. “What’s your name, human?” the fairy asked.
“I’m Janet. You?”
“Cora,” said the fairy, “I got lost out here. Do you think you could help me get home?”
“I’m new to this forest,” Janet said. “But of course I’ll try. Which way is your home?”
“I don’t know. I’m lost. But it’s in the Water Circle. You’re bigger than I am, you should have an easier time finding the water.”
“I’ll try,” Janet said again. She followed the path further into the forest, hoping to find some hint as to where this “Water Circle” was along the way.
“Um, Cora? Where are we?”
“In the Mushroom Forest, of course! You must be from the Human Village.”
“No, I haven’t heard of any of that. I’m from… somewhere else.”
“Across the portal? Did you wish on a star?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Sierra!”
“Who?”
“The last little girl who came here!” Cora said. “She’d never seen a fairy either! Said she wished upon a star and… Oh, Janet, you must be careful. Sierra was murdered by an evil witch!”
Janet sighed. Of course she was. Of course the stupid Wishing Star couldn’t give her an adventure without someone evil to defeat. But at least she could hear running water in the distance. If only helping this fairy return home was all there was to this adventure.
“Where does this evil witch live?” Janet asked.
“Not far past the human village.”
Janet had found the creek now, and followed it, hoping it would lead to a circle of some kind.
“Hm…” Cora said. “I think it’s too dangerous for you to go near her. You’ll just have to stay with us in the Water Circle!”
“But I have to get back home!”
Cora flew up to her shoulder, patting her cheek. “No, no, dear. Sierra tried getting home and look what happened to her! You’ll just have to stay with us! Look, we’re almost there!”
They had reached the creek, and a little ways up, Janet could see where it broke around an island before continuing straight ahead. A large circle of land, and fairies all about. A group of them buzzed toward Janet and Cora.
“Cora! Oh, Cora, dear, we’ve been so worried!”
Cora leapt gleefully of Janet’s shoulder and greeted her family. Janet tried not to picture a similar reunion with her own parents, who felt further away than ever.
“This is Janet! She rescued me!” Cora said, and before she knew it, Janet was receiving a hundred tiny hugs as the fairies thanked her.
“She came here like Sierra,” Cora explained. “I think she should just stay here with us! It’s too dangerous, right?”
“Well, I think that’s up to Janet to decide,” one of the older fairies said.
“What do you mean?” Janet asked. “What’s too dangerous?”
“We’ve been working on portal magic since Sierra’s time,” she said. “Here, look. A portal stone!”
She pointed at a perfectly round, black rock twice the size of any fairy, resting on the ground. Janet picked it up. “How does it work?”
“Oh, I’m afraid it’s incomplete, as of now,” she said. “In order to make it work, you’ll need something to tie it to your own kind. Our fairy water gave it magic, but it would need a human element to connect back to your world. Water from the Human Village should work.”
“But the witch!” Cora said.
“I don’t care,” Janet said. “I have to get home! I can hide from the witch if I need to, I’ll be fine!”
“Ah, but the water alone won’t be enough,” said the fairy, “It will need an enchanted flame to activate, and only the witch possesses such magic. But once activated, the portal stone can get you back home, to the exact time of your choosing. You’ll even be back to the same age as the day you left, no matter how long you spend here.”
“So you could stay for years, if you want,” Cora said.
“Hm… When is Christmas, here?”
“What’s Christmas?”
“Yeah, I think I want to go home.”
“Cora can guide you as far as the Human Village, and they’ll help you the rest of the way. But it will be dangerous. Take the stone, and take this, too.”
Several fairies flew around her head, lowering a necklace with a tiny vile around her neck. She carefully picked it up. It was full of something dazzling, and Janet could only stare.
“Fairy dust!” Cora said.
“Wow,” Janet whispered. “I didn’t know this was real… Any of it.”
“Well, you learn something new every day,” Cora said. “Keep it close. You’ll know when to use it.”

Janet traveled on with the guidance of the fairies, out of the forest, over a hill, and down a path into the human village. A lake glittered nearby. Huts and gardens lay in neat rows, and people milled about, working and chatting. Heads turned toward her as she entered the village, with questioning looks, and several people turned to whisper. Janet heard Sierra’s name mentioned more than once.
A woman gestured to her to come over. Janet went to her, hoping for guidance in the next step of her journey.
“Welcome, child,” the woman said. “I’m Gina. Did you happen to come here in any unusual way?”
“Oh yes,” Janet said. “Did the fairies tell you?”
“No, but you’re not the only odd wanderer I’ve come across. Please, come in. I have something important to show you.”
Janet followed, wondering what else she could do. She didn’t feel any sense of danger, just Mom’s voice nagging at the back of her mind not to talk to strangers. But perhaps real-world rules didn’t apply in a fairyland where she knew no one. Asking for help was her only way to get back home, and this might all just be a dream anyway.
“Back here,” Gina said, leading her down a hallway. “This was Sierra’s room.”
Janet’s mouth dropped open. “You knew Sierra?”
“Not just Sierra, but she was the last person to stay here.”
Janet wandered into the bedroom. It didn’t have many personal touches, but there were a few framed pictures. One of them was Gina standing hand in hand with a familiar man. “That’s Gabe!” Janet exclaimed, pointing. “He really did come here! You’re the woman of his dreams?”
Gina froze, and her mouth dropped open. “You—you know Gabe? You’re from the same world?”
“Yeah, he’s my friend!”
Gina swept up the picture, brushing it free of a layer of dust. “Oh, my, I’d never thought I’d hear… Is he alright? Does he… He said I’m the woman of his dreams? He still cares about me?”
“Of course he does! He wished to find true love on Christmas Day! You’re his true love!”
“Then why did he disappear?”
“He accidentally limited the star’s wish. ‘Christmas Day.’ He only got one day here.”
Gina rolled her eyes, but still had a smile on her face. Janet didn’t know if she was happy or sad. “What an idiot,” Gina laughed. “I always hoped that someday our paths would lead us back to each other. Unfortunately, he couldn’t wish on the same star twice.”
“But the portal stone could get you to him! Why don’t you—?”
“Because of the witch! No one can cross the boundary while she lives—unless you have one of those, of course,” she indicated Janet’s Wishing Star.
“Then you should have it,” Janet said.
“It’s not finished with you yet. You’ll know when it is, and you can dedicate it to whoever you desire.”
“Dedicate it?”
“Yes, you can dedicate it, or it will simply find someone in need on its own. Now…” She returned the picture to the bedside table, and picked up another one. “We need to figure out how to get you home. If you’ve encountered the fairies, I’m sure they’ve told you about Sierra. She was a sweet little girl who only wanted to get back home to her family. We tried to help her find the right magic for her portal stone, but the witch got to her before we came close. Ever since then… Well, I’ve only wished I could have saved her somehow, but there’s no going back in time. I suppose the next best thing would be to help the next lost little girl get back home. Did the fairies give you their portal stone?”
“Yes,” Janet said, presenting it. “They said it needs water from the human village. Can I just go get some from the lake?”
Gina stared at her for a long moment, and back at the picture in her hands. “Sierra stayed with us for some time before the witch stole her away. Probably used her for some terrible magic until she had nothing more to give. You can have water for your portal stone, girl, but you have to promise something in return.”
“I’ll dedicate the star to you!” Janet said.
Gina shook her head. “I cannot dictate where you decide to send the star next, and I certainly can’t bargain with you for it. Impure magic is dangerous. It has to be your own choice. Or, if you don’t dedicate it, it’ll pick someone of it’s own accord, which might be the smartest idea. Sierra couldn’t dedicate it before she died, and it found Gabe next, I believe. He knew so little about its power, I should hope he didn’t know it could be dedicated. But let your own heart guide you, girl. I won’t ask you to intervene with fate. No, I have something else in mind for you.” Gina ducked under Sierra’s old bed, and rummaged around for a moment. When she emerged again, she presented a small, but very real, sword. “Slay the evil witch. Avenge Sierra, for all of us.”
Janet stared at the blade. It was her size, yet the thought of simply holding it was paralyzing. There was no way she could slay anyone. “But… But I’m just a little girl! I don’t know how to use a sword!”
“The fairies gave you their blessing. You can do this.” She placed the handle into Janet’s small hand. Janet stared wide-eyed at the blade. It was light, and felt easy enough to use, like it was made for her.
“Listen, girl…”
“My names Ja—”
“Don’t tell me. Please. I can’t know another child like I knew and loved Sierra only to lose her. I want to believe you’ll succeed, but I also know how dangerous it is. So I’m not letting you any further without some way to defend yourself. I’ll get your water and provisions for the rest of your journey. I owe you that much for bringing me news of Gabe. If you don’t want to kill the evil witch, and you can get what you need without killing her, that’s your choice in the end. But take this, too.” She carefully removed the photo she’d been carrying from it’s frame, and handed it to Janet.
A girl of about her same age stared back at her. She had dark curls, bright brown eyes, and she was smiling big for the camera. “Is this her?”
“Yes. Remember her face.”

Gina had packed up a good amount of food and water for Janet’s next journey, up the mountain to the witch’s house. She’d also provided her portal stone with water, and now, all it needed was some catalyst magic.
Janet went up the mountain feeling lonely but hopeful. Every now and then, she stopped to rest, to eat, and sometimes, even to practice with her sword. Animals occasionally crossed the path, or stared at her from beyond the trees, but never threatened or bothered her. She wondered what she would have done if Gina hadn’t provided her with food. Just the idea of killing one of those animals to eat was nauseating. How could she kill a full grown human person? Even if she was evil, Janet didn’t think she had it in her.
While she didn’t feel like she was in any danger, these woods weren’t as pretty and welcoming as the enchanted forest near the fairies Water Circle. They were thicker and darker, and it grew colder the closer she got to the top. She was thankful for her new winter clothes. Not only was it colder, but there were fewer and fewer animals about, and no song of birds. Janet knew instinctively that no wildlife was out to hurt her, the only danger she might face lay at the top of the mountain, at the house of the evil witch.
At last, it was in sight. A large log cabin with smoke coming out of it’s chimney, and strange plants growing all around. She scanned the house for entrances. The front door was probably locked. She might be able to crawl in through a window, but they all seemed too small. Then she heard a door swinging open and closed, and a cat ran outside. The back door was open! But where was the witch?
The day was growing darker, and she decided it might be best to wait for nightfall, and after the witch had gone to bed. She hoped witches did go to bed. What if they ran on magic only, and didn’t need to sleep? Well, then she would just have to be brave, like the heroes in her story.
She watched for the witch inside the house while waiting for darkness to fall completely. She didn’t see her, but there was no turning back. With the night as her cover, she quietly slipped inside through the back door.
The house was a mess. There were books and papers scattered everywhere, spells, Janet thought. There were also bottles of potions, most of them stacked on shelves or tables, but plenty on the floor as well, some of them broken. It would be awfully difficult not to make any noise here.
She kept her hand on the handle of her sword, hoping the threat of it would be enough to scare the witch away if she saw her. All she had to do was get to that fire…
“Who’s sneaking around in my home?”
Janet jumped at the voice behind her, drawing her sword. Before she could move any further, a force knocked her backward, into the opposite wall. The witch had a magic wand, and her sword was no match for it. She pulled herself up again. “I just need fire and I’ll leave, I promise!” she said, “I can trade for it, too, I wouldn’t steal!”
“But you would break in, and you would bring a weapon? No, no, no, no, no… You’re a magic thief if I ever saw one, girl!”
Janet jumped out of the way of the next blast of magic from that awful wand. She tripped over the witch’s mess, and toppled to the floor. She stuck out her foot as the witch came for her, knocking her to the floor as well. They both rolled, struggling to get to their feet, crashing into tables and shelves, crushing more bottles, releasing potions that made strange hissing sounds as they emptied. The witch tried to knock away her sword as Janet was trying to knock away her wand. Though she wrestled her with all her strength, Janet didn’t strike with her sword. Instead, she fought to keep her weapon away from the witch’s prying hands, while struggling to free the wand.
It didn’t take long for Janet to realize the witch was afraid of her sword, perhaps even afraid of her. There was something strange in her dark eyes, something Janet thought was only fear. Maybe the threat would be enough. She knocked the witch hard to the floor, and pointed her sword at her hand, motioning like she was going to cut it off unless she released the wand. To her surprise, the witch did so. She dropped the wand and lay motionless, completely at Janet’s mercy.
Unless it was a trick. Janet didn’t dare turn her back, even though she only wished to light the portal stone in the witch’s magic fire and get home. She was sure she could do all of that quickly, but this old witch might be playing with her, pretending to be helpless. She pointed her sword at the woman’s chest, threatening to strike.
“They told you to kill the evil witch, didn’t they? Go on then. Do it.”
Janet’s hands were sweating. Her whole body was shaking. “I just want your magic fire. Then I’ll be gone, poof, I swear. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You want more than that, girl. What did you wish for?”
“What? How did you—?”
“Be a hero, Janet. Kill me.”
Janet was speechless. Not only did she know her wish, she knew her name. “I’m not falling for your tricks,” she whispered. Something in those eyes was trying to speak to her, she just didn’t understand.
Is this what heroes are all about? She didn’t feel heroic at all, pointing that sword at that old woman. And that’s all she looked like right then, a poor, crazy old woman. Janet could barely move. She couldn’t kill her, couldn’t even hurt her, and especially not on Christmas.
Janet’s heart was beating so hard she felt something banging on her chest with every beat.
“What are you waiting for, girl? Go ahead. Be a hero.”
Those eyes… Could it be? Gina’s voice echoed in her mind. “Remember her face.” Something hitting against her chest… The vile! The fairy dust! “Stay where you are!” Janet said, “I’ll show you what heroes do!”
“So be it,” the witch muttered, and closed her eyes. Janet grasped the tiny bottle of fairy dust, and popped the cork over her.
A cloud of glittering dust enveloped the old woman, and she shrank before Janet’s eyes. When she sat up, her face was different. Younger. Still a grown-up, and maybe still a witch, but… No, just a confused, harmless woman.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, looking around as the dust slowly cleared.
Janet knelt down beside her. “Sierra?”
“How do you know my name?”
Janet pulled out the picture Gina had given her. “This is you, isn’t it?”
Sierra’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, it… it was.”
“I… I came here the same way you did,” Janet said. “I think… I think you were cursed.”
She sat up slowly. “You wished on a star?”
“Yeah,” Janet said, holding it out to her.
“I remember now!” she cried. “I found this, I wished for magic, I…”
“You’re from my world?”
“Yes! I came here as a little girl! The fairies said they’d try to make me a portal stone, but I waited for years without seeing any progress. I was desperate, so I… I started gathering magic on my own. All the magic I could get my hands on… I didn’t realize it was so dangerous. I didn’t know how to use it. It was all too much, put together in so many different ways… I didn’t know. It’s been so many years…”
“It’s okay!” Janet said. “They finished the portal stone for me! Well, it’s almost finished, all we need is some of that fire to complete it, and we can both go home!”
She shook her head sadly. “I’m afraid a portal stone will only work for one person. You should go. It’s too late for me anyway, any life I had in your world is over. At least now, I’m free from all this mixed up magic.”
“But the portal stone will return you to the time you left, and you won’t have aged! I think… I think you should take it.” Janet let the words fall out of her mouth without thought, just feeling. She missed her home so terribly. She so badly longed for a cozy Christmas morning, waking up to a house smelling like pancakes and bacon, and digging through a full stoking of gifts… But they always said Christmas was about more than gifts, and this was a chance to give Sierra something she couldn’t get in a box.
“Please, take it,” Janet said.
Tears were streaming down Sierra’s face. She reached for the stone with a trembling hand. “Are you sure?”
“Completely. Go home.”
Sierra embraced her. “T-thank you, child… Oh, thank you…”
Janet just nodded as Sierra pulled away, lit the fire, and watched the stone begin to glow.
A window opened in the wall, and Janet saw a room not unlike her own. A little girl’s bedroom. She watched Sierra the woman, formerly the evil witch, step inside. Years melted away from her body until she was Janet’s age. She watched her face light up like Christmas as two figures entered the room to greet her, and she ran into their arms. The window slowly closed, leaving the image of the child Sierra, reunited with her family at last, burned into Janet’s memory.
Then she was gone, and so was the portal stone. Janet sat down in the wrecked room, held her wishing star, and started to cry. “I did what heroes do, I think,” she said. “I just wish I could go home now…” Her tears fell on the tiny wooden star. How did something so small and ordinary teleport her here, and why wouldn’t it work again? And why was it suddenly… glowing?
“I wish I could go home!” she said again, picturing her bedroom, her parents, Christmas morning… Light enveloped her, powerful blinding light, and she remembered one more important thing she had to do… “Go to Gina next, little Wishing Star,” she whispered. The star vanished from her hand as the light grew brighter than ever, and she squeezed her eyes shut as her body lifted off the ground, or maybe the ground was falling away beneath her… Then, everything was quiet.
The first thing she was aware of was a warm, familiar scent. Pancakes! She opened her eyes to find herself in her bedroom. She heard Mom and Dad’s voices from the kitchen, chatting quietly.
“Yes!” she shouted, and sprang out of bed. “Mom! Dad!” She raced down the hall, and straight into her father’s arms.
“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Dad laughed. “Hugs before presents!”
Janet glanced at the pile of presents under the tree, but didn’t run to them just yet. “I met real fairies last night,” she said. “I don’t need a bunch of fake ones.”
“Well, Santa still popped by last night,” Mom said. “It’s a little smaller than usual, but you’re a good girl, and he knows it.”
“This is all I need,” Janet said, squeezing her tightly. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”
Her parents beamed at her. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Stories of the Early Days

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A Quick Update

2/17/2019

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Oops!

It seems that "life" is "getting in the way."

The blog will be on hiatus until further notice.

Love you all, thanks for your patience.

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Wednesday Word: 29 Life Lessons in 29 Years

1/30/2019

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I turned 29 on Monday, so for my birthday, I'd like to do a Jenna Marbles inspired blog about what I've learned over the years.

You don’t have to turn your favorite thing to do into a career just because that’s everyone’s best case scenario. Your passion is still valuable if you don’t make money from it. You need a way to make money, and you also need a way to be fulfilled and happy in life, and those two things don’t need to come from the same source.
If you're mother asks you what "FML" means, say "Um... Eff my life?" She'll get it.
Embrace the confusion of life, and remember we’re all in it together. I can overthink myself into an existential crisis ever other week. But it’s okay, because I’m not the only one who’s confused, and when I return to who and what brings me joy, it’s a lot easier to lighten up and laugh at the confusion.
Even if no one saw the two of you kissing last night, everyone will know the next morning.
Don’t ignore your dreams (at night) because they’re “not real.” Who cares? They’re fun. Enjoy them. Better yet, learn to lucid dream. We spend so much of our time asleep, lets have all the fun we can.
And of course, don’t ignore your life dreams because they’re too big, out of reach, whatever. Find small ways to get closer. Do what you can in the moment while planning for the future.
Music makes everything better. Always have a playlist of “pick-me-up” songs.
Don’t put the future too far in the future. Like, don’t be one of those people who says “we’ll do that someday” all the damn time. Someday never comes. Get your schedule together, plan for the thing, and do the thing.
Never trust your brain when your body feel like crap. If your sick, injured, have a headache, stomachache, even just sore muscles, do not listen to all the negative crap your mind might tell you. When those thoughts come, check in with your body first. How much sleep did you get last night? When did you eat or drink last?
Don’t be miserable in your teen years just because you heard your teen years are supposed to be miserable.
Try not to get too wrapped up in emotions from other emotions, like feeling bad about feeling bad. Asking yourself, “Is it okay for me to feel this way?” or wondering if your anger is justified, isn’t helpful or productive. The answer is yes. Feelings are feelings, and it’s okay to feel them. You don’t control your emotional responses, all you can do is choose what to do with those emotions, and what you act on. Instead of wondering if it’s okay to feel that way, think about what to do about it.
When you get excited over things, nerd the hell out 100%. Does it really matter if people are giving you crap for having too much fun? They only wish they could be that excited. Plus, this will draw the right people to you.
Don’t waste your time with negative people. Don’t let someone who is dead inside try to tell you how to live.
Never be the person who shuts down someone else’s dream. However silly it might sound to you, it might mean the world to them.
There’s no perfect life path for everyone. We’re all driven by different things. If you’re a writer, just think about the main goals for each of your characters. Is it success? Happiness? Money? Love? Power? Wisdom? Someone’s life isn’t worth more or less than yours if their focus is different than yours. We all find fulfillment in different ways.
Mess around with your physical appearance every now and then. Not necessarily in drastic ways, but try out different hairstyles, new ways to do your makeup, different styles of clothing. I was discouraged from dying my hair in high school, but I really wish I’d done it more before entering the corporate world. Do it while you can, because someday it won’t be allowed. Just watch some Jenna Marbles for inspiration. You’ll build confidence in loving what looks right, and even more in deciding not to care about what doesn’t look right.
Notice your judgements. When I was in a group dynamics class in college, one of the girls in my group looked like a complete stereotype to me. Blonde and tan with a full face of makeup, I thought FAKE ALERT! I mean, she had “girl-you-hate-in-high-school” written all over her. But I noticed that judgement, realized it was 100% based on appearances, and moved forward from there. She was actually a really cool person, and not at all “fake.”
Don’t ever let the thought, “I won’t be good at that,” keep you from trying something new. I’m a terrible artist and I draw anyway. Also, I used to think I couldn’t sing, but I did it anyway. Actually, I probably couldn’t sing back then. But I can now, because I practiced. Do things for the fun of it rater than to impress.
Don’t hold things in. Say stuff. Even the hard stuff. Maybe you think you’ll feel bad/awkward/whatever for saying it, but you’ll feel so much worse if you keep it inside.
Notice when other people are having those “I need to say this to get it out” moments with you. It may be hard to hear, but try to appreciate that it was also hard to say. And most of the time, they’re saying it because they care enough to. The alternative is they keep their mouth shut and give up on you changing. So, even if what they’re saying hurts, listen (as long as they’re saying it in a caring way, of course), reflect, and try to respond with compassion.
Always remember to do basic things to take care of yourself, and try not to get too caught up in whatever your doing to put them off. Cold? Put on another layer. Thirsty? Hungry? Take a break to eat and drink some water. Take time to talk to your friends. Get outside every now and then for some fresh air and exercise.
Notice the people you want to be like to learn from their example, but also notice the ones you don’t want to be like. I’ve never known how valuable this perspective could be until meeting an actual real-life narcissist. Since then, I’ve been more aware of myself in conversations with others, and if they’re actually balanced. How much am I talking about myself? Have I been interrupting? Am I actually listening, or just thinking of a way to draw what they said back to something in my own life? I don’t know if I fully believe the “people come into our lives for a reason,” philosophy, but it’s helped to get something out of bad situations.
If you’re an introvert, learn how to manage extrovert-friendly situations, like, practice small talk, etc. It’s a skill like everything else. However, don’t let anyone convince you to try and change your introverted nature. Introversion is a personality trait, not a character flaw.
For the most part, you will regret the things you don’t do more than the things you actually do.
If you’re not good at something, notice the way you talk about it. Like, don’t just say “I’m bad at that,” because you’ll never get better, but don’t say “I used to be bad at that,” because now you’re complacent. “I’m working on that,” is always best.
Remember you never really stop growing—at least, you really shouldn’t. Often times we’ll have growing pains, or go through a mini personal crisis, and think “this shouldn’t happen to me, I’m (however many) years old!” But what happens if you stop growing? Ever met an old person who acts like a child? Ever met someone who thinks that because they’ve achieved a certain age, status, whatever, that they’ve got everything perfectly together and now they’re the ultimate thing? What happens to those people? They stop trying. They stop learning. They become narcissistic grown-up babies who can’t take direction, criticism, or anything that doesn’t align with their worldview. Self-reflection really sucks sometimes, but it’s so necessary it’s not even funny.
On the other hand, don’t let anyone tell you not to do something they find “childish” just because you’re a certain age. I mean things like tea parties, cartoons, and coloring books, not anything that’s going to hurt others. You know how when you grow up, you think you’re “too cool” for kids stuff for a while? Then when you hit your twenties you rediscover all of it, and it’s amazing? Suddenly stuffed animals and Disney movies are awesome again. Some people might laugh at you for loving them. Don’t worry about those folks. They just aren’t grown up enough to have re-discovered their childhoods.
Never forgive someone unless you’re actually ready to mean it. They say forgiveness is for you personal good rather than the one who wronged you, so make sure you’re being honest with yourself first. Real forgiveness heals. Lying to yourself makes everything worse.
Remember what your parents told you every time they dropped you off somewhere, or left you home alone: “Be good! Have fun!” I wonder if they knew they were giving us the top two rules to live by.

Stories of the Early Days

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Tuesday Tips: Don't Be a Stereotype

1/29/2019

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Okay, I get to post silly nonsense every now and then, and yesterday was my birthday, so this is a perfect opportunity. My tip for you this week? Don't be a stereotype. I don't mean your characters, I mean you as a writer.

I’ve never identified as “a writer,” and the main reason I give for this is “I’m Crossworlds.” I’ve never been good at pulling ideas out of the air, and just writing about anything I’m prompted to write about. When people say I should be good at so-and-so "because you're a writer," I'm guaranteed to be terrible at that thing. I’m Crossworlds, that’s all I know, that’s all I can do.

But the other reason I’m not a writer is because, well, I just don’t want to identify with some of the stereotypes associated with us, and there are some that I’d really like to disprove/tell other people to stop doing. By the way, I’ve done (almost) all of these, I just try not to do that many on a regular basis.

Correcting other people’s grammar. This is usually the first thing people think of when the stereotypical writer comes to mind, and I don’t think I’ve ever done it. I just don’t care. It’s all about context. I don’t care if you use the “wrong” words in casual conversation, or if you misspell things on Facebook. I mean, if you ask me a grammar question, I’ll certainly do my best to answer, but I'm not going to give unsolicited opinions. If it’s not formal writing, it just doesn’t matter to me. Writing that needs to be done for school or business, or of course, if you want to publish a book—that should all be properly edited. But in ordinary life, who cares? Do you really? I mean, really?

Staying up all night/being a night owl: This is fine, and I’m not at all bothered by people who do it. I personally, cannot. Part of me says maybe I would if I didn’t have to work early in the morning, but then again, I really love sleep. So, maybe there are writers who get inspired by that late at night mindset and inspiration thrives on lack of sleep, and other writers who sleep a ton and get more inspiration from dreaming. Let’s just stop saying all writers do things one way. You're not better or worse if you enjoy sleep.

Talking about your book way too much: Okay. Most of us don't do this because we're scared of being annoying. To the people who let us go on and on, we love you. We appreciate you. We only want to talk a lot because we love what we do, and we're really excited to share. Your feedback matters to us. Seriously, thank you, because not many people understand how much it means to be able to have someone to share with. But there are writers who have given the rest of us a bad name, and ramble on when someone clearly doesn't want to hear it. Why do you think most people think writers are annoying, and immediately roll their eyes and say "oh, that's um... interesting, I guess," when we say we're writing books? Be self-aware, please.

Calling your work in progress "my novel." Okay, this is just a weird pet peeve of mine that probably makes zero sense. But when we first start writing, if we're truly carried away in a story and not just trying to cross something off our bucket list, we don't know where the story will go. Before I self-published, I called my stories "my stories," because I didn't know if they would be short, long, or anything. Now that I've self-published, I call them my books. I don't know what it is about hearing an aspiring writer say "my novel." It just sounds self-important and pretentious. Like you care about status more than passion.

Telling the same writer jokes over and over. I used to post statuses on facebook like “Here’s what I did today instead of editing,” or “This is terrible! This is fantastic! No, this sucks… Wait, it’s great again!” about my book, the writing process, etc. But I got annoyed seeing other similar posts. No more of that, it gets old really, really fast.

Being crazy, talking to imaginary people, being a shut-in, etc. I'll freely and shamelessly admit this is 100% me. But I'd also like to put it out there that not all writers are going to be this way.

Reading all the time: Let’s all keep this up please, this is the only stereotype that should be true for every last one of us writers. This has zero negatives, and I'd love it if not only writers would embrace it.

Second reminder that this is all for fun. Please don't be offended if you do any or all of these. Everybody's weird, and everybody should be.

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Monday Music: [Electro Swing] Freak Power - The Afterbeat

1/28/2019

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It's my birthday, and I can't think of a single more appropriate song. Let's party!

Stories of the Early Days

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Wednesday Word: The Lost Girl's Philosophy

1/23/2019

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Well hello. It's been a while.

I did mean to return to the blog sooner, but I have been so sick lately my brain just couldn't do anything normal. So, happy super late New Years!

I've been wanting to post about something I write about a little bit in the later Crossworlds books. I figure it's a good thought for the New Year, and may be something you need to hear if you're going through a difficult time right now. So... what exactly is "The Lost Girls' Philosophy"?

Here's a clip from Acapella Angels:

“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me smile.”
“It’s all thanks to Tally, and her family’s lessons. Drain the poison, make the light, and when you’re in pain, just be proud you’re still carrying on. It’s the Lost Girl’s philosophy. Look at you, standing as tall as you are, even as hurt as you are. That’s something, isn’t it?”

When we're going through something difficult, the emphasis of the Lost Girls' Philosophy is on going through. Even if you've only taken one step, you're better off than you were before. Being in it means your closer to the other side of it.

Recognize how strong you are for any forward motion through what your going through, and take more strength from the fact that you've already been strong. Everything around you might be insane, and you might feel stuck in the dark, but just by moving forward and realizing you're still carrying on, you are creating your own light. Which gives you strength to keep going. Which makes your light brighter. Which gives you more strength to keep going.

This doesn't just apply to extreme situations. Here's an everyday example of how the LG Philosophy might help you:

Let's say you have a tough day at school ahead of you. You might be in your first class of the day thinking, "this is a nightmare, and it only just started, how am I going to get through the rest of the day?" But then you realize you already got the worst part of it out of the way. You already dragged yourself out of bed, got yourself dressed, left home, and made it to school. Look how far you've already come. But it's only been twenty minutes! But... It's already been twenty whole minutes. You've survived up to now. You can do more.

I feel like I'm doing a terrible job of explaining this. So, while this next thing isn't exactly a work of great, classic poetry (it's embarrassing, actually), I think I have to post it. Because even though it does come across as a bit "I'm 14 and this is deep," I feel like it gets my point across better than speaking conversationally. Which is why poetry exists, right? To show the things you can't really tell.

I am a Lost Girl
And I have a Lost Girl’s dream
And this journey of wandering
Is my Lost Girl’s journey
I celebrate this feeling
This scared uncertainty
I embrace the knowledge
Of this scared child in me
I may be lost in the dark
But my voice can make the light
It is my guide, my power
When I look around I see the dark behind
The dark ahead
And the light that I create
To be Lost is to be in the dark
In danger
In fear
But to know you are still standing
To know you’ve come so far living in the dark
We make the light
We sing to celebrate
And we celebrate all of it
The frightened child
And the strong, proud woman
We have nothing to be ashamed of
For being Lost, we know we can survive
Creating our own lights
Celebrating our strength
And when other lights catch our eyes
We know we are not alone
There is another light, another dream, another Lost Girl on her journey
And when we come together, we can light up the dark
And celebrate our journeys
Because everyone has been Lost

Side Note: This philosophy knows no gender, despite being called the Lost Girls' Philosophy. "Lost Girl's" is just an acapella choir in the other world who came up with this way of thinking. Men, women, and everyone in between can be part of this, "because everyone has been Lost."

Stories of the Early Days

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Tuesday Tips: Don't Show Off Your Warm-Up

1/22/2019

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This year, I want to review a wonderful book on writing called “How Not to Write a Novel," by Howard Mittelmark and Sandra Newman. I’ve read this hilarious book several times, and it really gets me thinking about what the best writing tips are. I'm not going to offer the tips the book already discusses, just the thoughts and tips it inspired for me. I'll be giving some extra tips, some ways to fix the common mistakes described in the book (as it doesn't always offer solutions), and very occasionally, some exceptions to the rules.

We'll start where they start: Beginnings.

Several of the ways not to open your story listed in "How Not to Write a Novel" are various forms of the same thing: too much description delaying action. Too much backstory, too much time spent setting the scene, info dumps, etc. When I'm reading a book that doesn't have a strong beginning, it feels like I'm watching the writer warm up.

This is a weird pacing issue I find pretty often in self-published books (and yes, some traditionally published books, too). The beginning, no matter how big or small it may be, is overflowing with description. When very little is going on, it makes the book boring and dragging. When there is action, it’s turned into a weird, slow-motion movie scene, where sometimes it does add drama, but often falls flat. The strangest thing about this is, the pace changes after the first page or so of super drawn-out description.

It’s like the writer is trying to tell the reader, "look at my beautiful writing! I know how to write!" and they do so by attempting to "show off" in an inappropriate place, for example, "watch how beautifully I can describe a character taking a shower!" What's really going on is a desperate attempt to beat the blank page, and that's what shows. Once the story actually gets going, the pace picks up a lot more—again—completely regardless of what’s actually happening.

It makes sense that we, the writers, don’t always hit the ground running with perfect flow. Learn to notice those places where it took you some extra time to find your voice, and smooth them over later. Recognize how you sound when you’re “warming-up” vs when you’re in the middle of a “flow” state. The best way to do this, and to minimize how much time it takes you to “warm-up” is to write more often.

So, are there exceptions to this rule? Maybe you've read books that open with lots of description, and it's praised by your English teachers as beautiful. Personally, I feel like there's nothing more dangerous to young aspiring writers, because they will try desperately to imitate it. Don't fall for it. Did you really enjoy wading through such thick descriptions? Are those really your favorites to read, or were you sitting in class feeling frustrated and bored? Consider your genre, too. Don't compare an old classic work of literary fiction to a modern, young adult fantasy novel. You don't have to "show off" that you know how to write. Sometimes it helps to forget about "writing," and focus on telling the story.

Stories of the Early Days

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