The Return To Innocence

And... some days I wake up from ethereal dreams I barely remember having the intense sense of former pointed ears, former wings growing from my shoulders, and a former unicorn horn growing from my forehead. If I look in a mirror before the dream is fully shaken, my eyes still have a faceted crystal glow, white enough to show every color, ringed by blue-tinted midnight black, and my skin shines from beneath, light rippling across my hands, like reflections in rivers.
Sometimes in those moments I just don't feel human. And it makes me feel wonderful.

Why is it that, in most dreams where I am in physical danger, I am unable to scream or move quickly?
My last dream involved a bad fall and crash at the top of the stairs, while a large group of people were downstairs having a small quiet party. Something supernatural was with me, something insidious. I grabbed the stair ledge and pulled myself up to a kneeling position. I yelled my husband's name, but it was only a whisper. I couldn't call for help, not with the shadowy creature surrounding me. I was moving so slowly. It felt as though nobody was in the house but me, me and the cats.
And abruptly, I realized that nobody was in the house. Adam was at work. There was no party. The cats were all downstairs. It was only me and the shadow entity. I struggled to call on my internal resources, my spirit guardians, but even my psychic voice was muffled. I was not afraid. I was determined. I was badly injured, and I only had myself, and my powers to create weapons and defenses were drained. I stopped trying to stand. I knelt there and mouthed words, calling on the water in the bathroom, the air circulating around the house, the earth under the house, the fire downstairs used to light the gas stove. I pulled in all into me, and with a desperate burst, I unleashed it. The shadow creature shrieked and vanished.
Without any warning at all, the house filled with presence again. There was that quiet downstairs party. I whispered my husband's name again, struggling to turn it into a cry. Someone must have heard. Adam came up the stairs and found me, sagging against the door of the bathroom, my nose bleeding. He spoke to me. He half-carried me to the bedroom and helped me lie down. He brought damp towels and tissues and water with electrolytes. I managed, somehow, to tell him that a negative spirit had entered the house and stole my strength, and I pulled all the elemental power I could to drive it away. He was very proud but also puzzled, since the house was supposed to be powerfully shielded and guarded. I was crying but I didn't mean to cry. It was just a reaction without intention. He stroked my hair and curled up with me, and me took my hand and fed me energy and power and strength, and he said, "Go to sleep, my darling. I'll be monitoring you through our psychic bond and everything will be okay. I will strengthen the wards." He needed to check on our friends. He would back be up soon.
The dream ended there.

It has been something of a recurring thing: My slowness in dreams. My exquisite agony in dreams. My whispering words in dreams. Sometimes I can barely walk for the pain in my hips and knees. Sometimes I can only speak with thoughts instead of physical words. Sometimes my body is wrapped in a floating translucent shell and it is the only way I can move. In my dreams, the pain is so much worse than in reality. But I have access to weapons of all kind and I feel safe, even if something horrible grabs me.

When I was a child, I had flying dreams every night. Even astral projection. Like my father and cousins in their younger years. And if a harmful person appeared, I just waved my right hand fiercely, shouting "Shoo! Shoo!" to make then disappear.

When I was a child, I dreamed of dragons, of ancient tortoises, of unicorns mixed with white tigers, of phoenix birds with feathers of every color. Dragons have never been dangerous to me. Even if some were, there were always other dragons who were benevolent.

It is why I always bristle when I read an article comparing chronic pain to dragons. The only way I can see such battles happening is dragon against dragon. And I am a human amalgam of dragon, phoenix, tortoise, unicorn, white tiger, and fae, wrapped in the skin of a moonlight witch.

Then, why do my dreams cripple me? The only reason I can think of is to teach me to use the insides, the powers coming from my spirit and not my body. My body is very important and vital to me. But perhaps not so much in my dreams.

And I think this piece of art, beyond anything, is one of the greatest ways I can understand myself. Every time I look at it, I weep. I even have that same cane. I know Shinga and I barely know each other, but she knows chronic pain. She knows what being a warrior means. She was in the US Army and was badly injured and treated so poorly during therapy that she has severe PTSD. She is disabled badly. She knows battles. And I want to hold her and hold her and tell her what this means to me.

http://shinga.deviantart.com/art/Awaken-Warrior-and-Rise-378439320

(Note: Please please refer to Shinga before borrowing or using this image. Please use the Deviant Art link. This is her work. Copyright Shinga. The only reason I displayed the actual image was in case someone can't click on the link.)

"Only Glass"

It was shortly after she had woken to the sound of glass breaking that she began to investigate. It was two in the morning on a Sunday – or Saturday night, still, technically. She sat dangling her feet over the side of the bed, stretching and slowly preparing to move more fluidly. She took the metallic blue cane that was always propped against the wall next to her nightstand. She kept canes in various rooms for that sort of reason. Her wife was away on business again. People might say that a young disabled woman home alone should never go out at night. Those people were background static. She had been born like this and it had never stopped her.
Slowly, she dressed fully: socks, panties, jeans, bra, tee shirt. Hiking style pull on boots. Her arms shook a little from the spastic hypertonia. She considered at least bringing a couple of daggers. Of course, if it wasn’t a physical kind of danger, the daggers would be somewhat useless. She grabbed a charoite wand and a black tourmaline wand and put them in her back pocket. Next to the daggers.
The sounds had come from well outside the house, so she turned on the hall light, went casually downstairs, and unlocked the door.
Taking a deep breath, she said out loud and mentally, “I am armed in both manners. I am willing to face you. If you represent a threat, you must understand what I will do to you.”
In the utter silence, the sound of glass breaking came through much louder and much closer.
In her front yard.
She opened the door, hands at her sides, right palm open to the wind while her left hand kept a firm grip on the rubber head of the cane. The glass-breaker seemed to hesitate.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said verbally and mentally. “I don’t need the cane all the time. Now. You woke me up. But you haven’t disturbed my cats yet. So you may just want something. I’m willing to talk.”
The leaves on the maple tree in her yard rustled. The entity made the sound of a wine glass striking a wood table and materialized.
“Ah,” she smiled. “It’s just you again.”

http://io9.com/5916970/the-22-rules-of-storytelling-according-to-pixar
I have astounded myself by realizing how many of these tips I have NOT been following. And that realization has now crystallized in my skull and now I know so much better and now I know everything I want to do.
Dude. Whoa.

However, endings are easier than middles for me. I have the worst problems getting from Start to End. I've had my novel's ending in my head for years, but the problem with writing a novel is that there has to be that Middle so other people know why the End happens.
Characters are easy. My college thesis was the first three chapters of that novel, on which I got the highest grade, and I was praised for how the story centered so much around characters in a future world where some technologies needed explaining, although at this point not really, because every single 22nd century technology I wrote about in 2001 has already happened, except the cars that drive automatically, although I'm waiting. Also, the fact that my story's 22nd century science is already happening means I am not creative in the least with science fiction. Which is why I never like to write about brand new technology, which is why I would be shuffled into a future fantasy subgenre and also a slipstream speculative subgenre, even though most the stories would always take place after the end of the 21st century and there would always be psionics involved which is still considered a trope of science over fantasy fiction.
http://io9.com/5671816/why-doesnt-more-fantasy-take-place-in-the-future
http://www.writing-world.com/sf/genres.shtml

My townhouse has been named "Wonderland" - it is perfect.

We are all mad here. But I am Alice, and I have been completely twisted from my years of Wonderland journeying, and my madness is the control center.

Luna is my Cheshire Cat.
Rose is my Dinah.
Jupiter is my White Rabbit.
Adam is both my Mad Hatter and my Caterpillar.

I am very glad and grateful that I created the character of Alicia as a psychic guide to help me through seizures and pains. I have no idea what part of me invented her, but I thank that part.

Would any fellow fans of "True Blood" like to speculate on, discuss, and pick apart the final episode and such? There WILL be SPOILERS in the comments. There are too many things I loved and too many things I disliked to write here, so can someone just start so I can chime in?

Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."

Part One: (and also this story is mostly stream of consciousness and probably will not make sense...)
"In an alien dimension, a thousand years in the future, I lived near a palace. My name was Annalira Lotus Rose Fox. My two middle names came about because after my birth, our ponds and gardens grew multi-colored lotus flowers and multi-colored wild roses when it should have been impossible.
My family was full of shapeshifters; the favored creatures were foxes and cats, falcons and owls, and so the family names reflected all of that. My parents were Foxes, and I should have been as well. I was the odd one out because I couldn't change shape, but parts of me could change in other, weird ways. My eyes changed between coffee and honey and periwinkle, my hair changed between dark chestnut and golden auburn and raven black, my skin changed between snow white and warm ivory and light bronze. Usually none of these color shifts matched and there were always bizarre shifts and combinations. I always wore cosmetics because I saw too many problems, always wanting to conceal blemishes and brighten colors. I became very skilled at mixing oils, creams, and skin potions for my siblings and cousins and friends, because I needed to for myself. I looked very young even as I approached adulthood, and one of my best friends decided that I would never look old. I laughed nervously every time she said that. She thought I was the most beautiful woman she knew, and I let her think that because beauty is always subjective. Her brother hinted that she was in love with me. One day I will tell her that I always knew and that I love her too. One day, I will learn telekinesis from her, because that is her biggest talent, and that day might be our first date. I will probably marry a man one day but I will probably marry her too.
I was the smallest and shortest one in my entire family. They nicknamed me Little Bright Fox, and said that while my voice was soft it carried for miles. My aura was giant, they said. When I played with magic, I could make my energies visible in a way nobody else could. Those energies were extremely shiny and multicolored, which was uncommon.
I didn't have any specific talent the way most people in my country had. I had several small skills that I often blundered through. I was a born storyteller and artist, a psychic sensitive and an empath in many ways. My parents sheltered me too much. My birth was upsetting and I nearly died several times. An Owl uncle and a Cat aunt both said that I was too close to the Veil Beyond and to other realms, that entities beyond the veil could sense me as much as I could sense them. I grew up with physical and neurological pains that the best medicine couldn't heal, neither technology nor sorcery. My family made sure I had the best they could offer, but the Owls and the Cats kept predicting hard and intense life roads for me. They gave me medicines for the brain seizures and the mental imbalances, for the muscle spasms, the body fatigues, the nerve damages. I would be lame and weak, delicate and fragile for the rest of my life, but the Falcons predicted that on the inside I would become steel and diamond, supernova and volcano.
When one of my Falcon cousins discovered that I was able to cross dimensions without suffering the usual side effects, she was unable to keep it a secret, and the royal family asked me to work for them. After reviewing my medical disabilities, they set up a special financial and benefits account for me so I would be protected during my interdimensional travels. Walking into the Between never damaged me in any way; the Queen and the royal doctors assumed it was because I had been born partially gripping the Veil Beyond in my psychic hands. All of my Walks in the Between actually felt good, energizing and electrifying in powerful ways. It was how I discovered some of my stronger hidden talents. By the time I had finished an unheard of dozen Walks in the Between without any negative effects, my name had spread across the country, for both good and ill..."

fan·tas·tic   [fan-tas-tik]
adjective
1. conceived or appearing as if conceived by an unrestrained imagination; odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque.
2. fanciful or capricious, as persons or their ideas or actions.
3. imaginary or groundless in not being based on reality; foolish or irrational.
4. extravagantly fanciful; marvelous.
5. incredibly great or extreme; exorbitant.

So, my favorite Young Adult series is Kiersten White's Paranormalcy trilogy. The third book, 'Endlessly' will be out soon, and eventually there will be at least one movie. I've been reading Kiersten White's blog, and she is one of the most awesome people in the world - she's also my height, heh.

Recently, Kiersten wrote a post about how hard writing is, how it makes you bleed and sob and lose your mind some days. And I commented because I was so touched that she put it so well:

"Kiersten, thank you so, so, so so so so much for this post. It's what I needed. See, I've been working on this futuristic urban fantasy pagan polytheistic supernatural psychic power novel since I was 20 (I just turned 33) and I've almost finished it, but many, many things have derailed me. Illness and disability, mostly (I have a disability hearing in July and I'm so nervous I can't brain straight), and also growing up, because when you write, you always grow with your characters. And my characters have had over twelve years to grow, and dear gods, that feels like forever, doesn't it? Why can't I just finish it? Whhyyyyy? *cough*
There were many, many people who told me that I was writing a great book and that it would sell very well (lots of pagan readers out there, people getting tired of sexy vampires, whatever). But I have this shatteringly fragile sense of self that often rears up (especially after an epileptic seizure or a fibromyalgia flare) and points and laughs, "Ha, ha, you suck, your brain sucks, your book sucks, you will never be published, mwa ha ha..." And it takes me a while to do battle. I have a very pretty and deadly mental sword, though. I call her Phoenix.
So. Erm. Yes, well. I think I've said more than I'd expected to. Anyway.
Erm. Thank you. Yes! That's what I wanted to say. Also, that I pre-ordered Endlessly and am now clawing the couch the way my cat Luna does when she gets excited (get off the couch, Luna)."

The characters in this book are finally starting to yell again, so loudly that I can actually hear them, and I've been writing as hard as I can before the blocks rise again. Pulling myself away to work on the short stories has been also fantastic.

fan·tas·tic   [fan-tas-tik]
adjective
1. conceived or appearing as if conceived by an unrestrained imagination; odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque.
2. fanciful or capricious, as persons or their ideas or actions.
3. imaginary or groundless in not being based on reality; foolish or irrational.
4. extravagantly fanciful; marvelous.
5. incredibly great or extreme; exorbitant.

So, my favorite Young Adult series is Kiersten White's Paranormalcy trilogy. The third book, 'Endlessly' will be out soon, and eventually there will be at least one movie. I've been reading Kiersten White's blog, and she is one of the most awesome people in the world - she's also my height, heh.

Recently, Kiersten wrote a post about how hard writing is, how it makes you bleed and sob and lose your mind some days. And I commented because I was so touched that she put it so well:

"Kiersten, thank you so, so, so so so so much for this post. It's what I needed. See, I've been working on this futuristic urban fantasy pagan polytheistic supernatural psychic power novel since I was 20 (I just turned 33) and I've almost finished it, but many, many things have derailed me. Illness and disability, mostly (I have a disability hearing in July and I'm so nervous I can't brain straight), and also growing up, because when you write, you always grow with your characters. And my characters have had over twelve years to grow, and dear gods, that feels like forever, doesn't it? Why can't I just finish it? Whhyyyyy? *cough*
There were many, many people who told me that I was writing a great book and that it would sell very well (lots of pagan readers out there, people getting tired of sexy vampires, whatever). But I have this shatteringly fragile sense of self that often rears up (especially after an epileptic seizure or a fibromyalgia flare) and points and laughs, "Ha, ha, you suck, your brain sucks, your book sucks, you will never be published, mwa ha ha..." And it takes me a while to do battle. I have a very pretty and deadly mental sword, though. I call her Phoenix.
So. Erm. Yes, well. I think I've said more than I'd expected to. Anyway.
Erm. Thank you. Yes! That's what I wanted to say. Also, that I pre-ordered Endlessly and am now clawing the couch the way my cat Luna does when she gets excited (get off the couch, Luna)."

The characters in this book are finally starting to yell again, so loudly that I can actually hear them, and I've been writing as hard as I can before the blocks rise again. Pulling myself away to work on the short stories has been also fantastic.