I wasn’t going to write this. I was going to have my little private rant with my friends and fret over the fate of Patty Jenkins touching the Star Wars universe and go on with my day.

Then, today happened. I’m not going to get into the long drawn out melodrama of it, I’m just going to say it’s not a great day, and when I sat myself down on the couch, I was stream surfing in a bit of a mood.

I needed to laugh. And, though I wouldn’t typically admit it, I also needed to cry.

Somehow the fates (and Amazon recommendations) aligned and gave me Alice Fraser- Savage. It was hysterically funny and sad and raw and enlightening and transcendent and fearless.

(I know, I’m going the long way around here, hang in there, I’ll get there, I promise.)

I finished drying my face when it was all over, and watched Turia Pitt’s Ted Talk that was discussed and felt the power of what Alice had said all over again.

And when I thought about how honest and full of heart and how those two women had fed my soul in half the time it took Gal Gadot and Patty Jenkins to utterly destroy a comic book character… well, it was time to write about it. Especially since the first one had done just a little tiny piece of feeding the soul, too.

Spoilers, duh.

It’s a shampoo commercial, guys. The bold and brave Diana who left her entire home thinking she could do some good has become an aloof coward who connects with no one and no thing. She spends her days preserving art, then callously destroys art when it suits an action beat. The flick spends so much time focusing on physical beauty and grace that it turns the main character into a disgusting caricature- an empty shell of a person who believes in nothing and has nothing to give back to the world anymore.

And as a viewer, you can’t invest yourself in someone that empty. So she flies now? Sure, whatever. Golden armor? OK, yeah, oooooh shiny.

The plot device doesn’t take itself seriously.. it makes up rules as it goes. And forget supporting characters.. they are all flat and one dimensional and ultimately pointless. A woman is pretty and on camera or utterly unimportant. Men exist to hit on Diana and whatever the Kristen Wiig’s character name was when she’s hot, and ignore her when she’s not.

It’s shallow, bankrupt, silly, narratively messy, and boring as hell.

The worst part? There’s going to be another one.

I managed to keep myself so busy this morning that I badly needed a nap by one… and I got one. Baking cookies and brownies and making a double batch of warshonka kept me from worrying about what happens tomorrow… mostly.

I also started my yearly reading of my favorite book- A Prayer For Owen Meany. It is the only book I have ever read that still has the power to make me laugh and cry. From the scattered narrative of a perpetual witness to the coming of ageness of it, to the deeper themes of magic and faith… it never gets old to me.

Because, of course, the other thoughts on my mind have to do with my own little tale, being set adrift come midnight.

Will it make people laugh? Or cry? Will people see the characters as I meant to draw them, filled with love and as real as they are to me?

Please don’t let them read it and shrug and toss it aside.

And when they come to the end, oh please let there be the reaction that there should be.

And then, please let them pass it on, and on, and on. I’m not John Irving; I don’t deserve to be read each year, but please let someone see in the story something real and something they want to share.

That’s what I want for this book, for all my books. I don’t care if I’m a bestseller, I don’t want to be sold.

I want to be read.

On the couch after a long day of work and errands, during which, somehow, Rick managed to pull something in his foot.

Me, watching Rick try to get comfortable on the couch and failing- What can I do? Want me to grab you a pillow?

Rick- Well, the problem is I’m not short like you, my feet hang off the end of the foot-

Full stop as he feels the side of his head getting warmer from where I’m glaring at him.

Me, a little too sweetly- We could go into the office and you could prop your foot up there, where there’s room and all.

Rick- Uh yeah… that’s why I go in there to sleep sometimes, so the blanket doesn’t hang off-

Me- Nuh uh. Go ahead, and you said it before, say it again.

Rick- Because I’m just too tall-

Me- Nope, that’s not how you said it! You know what you said!

Rick, dropping his head to my shoulder and giving me puppy dog eyes- I’m hurt!

Cue uncontrollable laughter, during which Rick knows he’s off the hook cause I can’t be mad and laughing that hard.

Rick- I gotta get something out of this stupid foot.

Just so’s you know, that title, in my head, is being screamed out by Kermit the Frog introduction style… I’m so happy to be able to say it, and at times, I absolutely was NOT sure I was going to be.

So I’m keeping my promises- the new book is done, and I will be ready to sign, seal, and deliver it by December 20th.

This one was a long time coming, and it took some core realizations about how women define themselves to get to. I always thought it would be cool to do a whole cycle, Maiden, Mother, Crone, but I never felt tuned in enough to the state of motherhood to be able to clearly speak to it as Nessa.

Well, life’s a funny, funny thing. Sometimes there’s a thousand little pieces laying around that don’t snap into focus until it’s time for them to… and this year, with all of the chaos and crazy- they did.

If I’ve committed to a Mother cycle, does that mean there will be a Crone cycle? Yeah, probably. The time jump will be extreme, that’s for sure, but I can’t see why it’s undoable.

Here’s the other good news- I give a pretty decent recap of books 1 through 3, so if you want to dive in here, it was written for that. As always, if this isn’t quite your kind of read, but you know someone who would enjoy it, please pass it on.

And hey, if you’re not sure if it’s your thing, let’s go ahead and give you the first chapter and see what you think.

“Who Am I?”

 There’s things that I wish I had been told about the once mystical, unimaginable state of being a grown up. 

Some of them are fairly prosaic, about always reading all the fine print. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Vampires are charming, but that’s because, like everyone else, they need to eat. Never make a significant purchase at a county fair. If the service is free, then you’re the product. If someone is telling you everything you want to hear, they want something. If there’s a week in April that feels like June, you’ll be back to February in no time. There’s no such thing as a free lunch (though, come to think of it, that’s kind of going back to the vampires again.)

And if  an extremely powerful entity makes a deal with you, they ain’t doing it for the warm fuzzies.

Now, at the time, I desperately needed the assistance and protection of someone much more powerful than the adversaries I was up against, and they needed me. But you see, I missed that fine print part of things- my cooperation extended far beyond the crisis.

How far beyond?

It’s been more than ten years since I agreed to serve as the manifestation of the Maiden, Goddess of Spring, Youth, et cetera et cetera on this plane of existence. To be fair, ninety nine days out of a hundred, I go about my own business, living my own life in my own little corner of the world. The youngest aspect of the goddess, to give her full credit. definitely pulls her weight around here. As I’ve run into my counterparts, as one does from time to time while out on business, they have expressed a certain wistfulness for life before (or after) their duties have run their course. Or maybe the world we live in already does a solid enough job of worshipping youth, so that the Mother and Crone aspects need a little extra oomph to be appreciated.

And let me be super clear about this- I’m no more or less pretty to look at than the next hundred girls you’ll see passing you on the street. If I have learned anything through my years of service, it’s that all of the glamours of the Maiden- the exuberance, tenderness, innocence, passion, hope, and joy- every woman I’ve ever met and will never meet can embody each face of them at will. As easily as she remembers a first love, or just how it feels to be young and alive on a spring day, the Maiden’s blessing is upon them all.

In case you missed it- that was literally me saying that every woman is beautiful, it’s all in how she uses her power to see herself. And then to project it.

That’s been a piece of who I am.

Another piece, a far larger one, is harder to understand from a standing start. But that’s very much where I find myself. I had two sets of running journals, as most of my kind does. One’s a book of shadows, all about magickal theory, things I’ve learned and accepted as true. The other is a personal recollection of my thoughts, for myself. It helps me see patterns in events from my impressions. And, frankly, bring a little bit of order to my extremely chaotic thoughts and vivid imagination.

Did you happen to take note of the use of the word ‘had’?  

It seems that someone planned themselves a little heist and helped themselves to ten years worth of my work.

I’m sitting back down staring at a blank sheet of paper all over again, and for the first time in quite a while. It’s strange how simple it is to keep a daily running narration of life, and yet, so difficult to start over and try to rethink all the thoughts. How am I supposed to know which of those events I recorded so carefully are important versus just plain trivia?

And yet, here I am, playing retrospective. 

I am Nessa Ysbelle, daughter of Robert, goddaughter of Cliche, Aspect of the Maiden, empath, partnered to a fallen angel, teacher to any that ask that I think will play by the rules. My hair and eyes are still dark, and I can just barely ride the really good roller coasters. I brought down a centuries old order intent on stamping out magic in the world and made more of an impression on supernatural society than I think I deserve. I’m 29, and have been given to understand that in terms of longevity, I’ve just started walking. I am a member in good standing of the Coven, friend of both Winter and Summer Fae Courts, and if I lack popularity among werewolves, they at least don’t try to start any shit.

I have no idea who would want to steal my journals or why, and the idea of all my thoughts being a literal open book makes me feel both violated and deeply afraid. 

Let’s face it, I haven’t been over here thinking up new ways to cure warts.

Couple things before I get going here- yes, I just finished a new book. Yes, it’s a Nessa book. No, you don’t have to have read the previous Nessa books to dive into this one. Yes, it’s more for adults than young adults. Yes, I will be getting a pre order date that will allow this to be your Jolabokaflod pick for this year.

Wait, you don’t know what Jolabokaflod is? Here’s a handy link- https://jolabokaflod.org/about/founding-story/

Let’s see.. oh yes, audiobooks are still being held up by ACX, but my goal is to have the whole series recorded by mid June next year, and available by the grace of ACX before I die and my heirs have to claim the royalties. Yes, I’m a little salty about that- The Witch’s Daughter was submitted for QC at the end of June. The QC cycle is supposed to take thirty days. You may notice it’s almost December. Saltiness.

Onto the post!

I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m fulfilled. I’m bereft. Read on only if you want to listen to my ecstatic moping.

Welcome to what’s called the Book End Blues. This is my fifth book I’ve finished in six years, and I thought I wouldn’t feel this drag this time. Ha.

When you think about it in a particular way, I spend all year wanting to set aside time to play with my imaginary friends. You know, catch up on their stories, see what new shenanigans they are getting into now, really spend some time with them. You know, like folks (read freaks like me who have imaginary friends) do. And now they’ve told me all they are going to tell me, and I go back to living my own life for awhile.

I’m going to miss them. It’s funny, when I finished book 3, and I thought I’d finished following Nessa, this same feeling was here but a million times worse.

And then… crazy happened. I saw Nessa’s way forward, on a theme near and dear to my heart. Now I want to point out that I was strong. I resisted this… until about May. Then I told myself I’d write just a little novella and say goodbye and get it out of my system until I turned to Serious Work.

Well. Author proposes, character disposes, and the novella became distinctly unsatisfying because I was trying to cram too much into too small a space.

Fine, I said, still to myself. I’ll do just one book, just one, and tidy it all away.

Author proposes, character disposes. Having lived in this other world for so long now, I knew a lot of major things were happening, all having to do with my favorite imaginary friends. And suddenly, there’s another trilogy happening. Serious Work is just going to have to sit over there until I’m ready for it.

So… book end blues. I’m happy I finished something I never thought I’d do (and that’s true with every damn book, story, whatever I write, no matter how many times I do it. I’m always amazed that me, Ari, writes books and people like want to read them). I’m sad that all those thoughts have to go away for a while. I’m happy to be able to share the next piece of the story with my readers. I’m sad that I have to go through editing and marketing. I’m happy to get to work with Meredith, my reader, again.

And always, always, a fierce joy and wonder in holding a newly printed copy in my hands and saying, “This is mine. There’s a million out there, but this one is mine.”

To take us home, a tiny Actual Conversation at Casa de Wellman.

Me- Well, that’s it, the book is done.

Rick, a little vaguely as he wanders into my dark emo writing nook- That’s good.

Me- That’s it? That’s all I get?

Rick, grinning after he’s turned a light on- It’ll be great once it’s edited.

Me- lots of words too tender for most sensibilities before admitting he’s right.

You’d think, after as many times as we’ve seen it, we wouldn’t have anything new to say about the Star Wars movies.

You’d be wrong.

This morning, in celebration of Day 1 of Staycation 2020, we laid in bed and watched Return of the Jedi.

Me- I love this part, Chewie standing there on top of the AT-ST and roaring when it starts moving, oh no, little bitches, you are not driving this thing. Gimme that.

Rick- Well everyone thinks Ewoks don’t understand technology! They do just fine… they can drive this thing, and the speeder bike.

Me- Except he didn’t exactly have the height the mass to be on the speeder bike, slight problem there. And what the fuck was up with them being issued vehicles that completely don’t work with the terrain? Here ya go, your standard speedy tree boom death mobile, enjoy that shit.

-a little later-

Me- What was the fucking point of throwing his lightsaber up to knock the platform down? Great, now you’ve got the guy you hope will be your ally and help take out your boss to where he couldn’t defend himself. Great job, momo.

Rick- I think it was a flashback to the high ground situation. You gotta think, the last time a jedi had the high ground, it cost him a limb.. and he got burned.

Me- Alright, point.

We really are pretty easily entertained, I guess.

So, my readers know that I may have an opinion on peanut butter. For those of you that are NOT readers, this will take a little explanation-

Excerpt-

There was one other major difference of opinion that reared its head from time to time, over the unlikeliest of topics.

It began as we were putting away groceries. “That’s weird, I messed up and grabbed creamy peanut butter. Good thing there’s still plenty of crunchy left,” I said, putting it on the counter.

Luke picked up the jar with a proprietary air. “Nothing weird about it at all, I put the creamy in the cart. After all, it’s the only real peanut butter there is.”

I stopped cold in the act of putting milk in the refrigerator, eyeing him carefully. “I know you didn’t just say that. Creamy peanut butter is just spackle. It has no character, no purpose. You can’t make a decent peanut butter and jelly sandwich without crunchy peanut butter.”

A corner of Luke’s mouth wanted to quirk into a grin, then was ruthlessly suppressed. “I’m starting to understand the low quality of my pb&js all of a sudden. I hate to have to be the one to inform you of this, Nessa, my dear, but you’ve been doing it wrong!”

I gasped in horror. “A heathen, it’s a heathen I’ve been feeding! There’s only one way to make a pb&j, and that’s with crunchy peanut butter!”

Luke tsk’d his tongue at me, then began to demonstrate by layering his hands. “Wrong, wrong wrong! It’s a layer of creamy peanut butter and a layer of jelly on one slice of bread, then a layer of creamy peanut butter on the other.” He brought his hands together. “And THAT’S the only way to properly make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Crunchy peanut butter has no place here!”

“Blasphemy, sir!”

“How else do you keep the bread from getting all jelly sogged up?”

We were in each other’s faces now, giggling but still earnestly wagging fingers at each other. “You eat your damn sandwich as soon as you damn well make it sir!”

That argument, which was never going to be resolved anyway, dissolved into giggling. I took his point and made his stupid sandwiches his way, and all was well.

And back to today.

This bit is super special to me, cause it’s in memory of an actual conversation that Draz and I had… a lot. And this being the time of year it is, he’s on my mind lately.

Well.

Today while feeling thoroughly bummed out by our covid numbers… again… and the lack of non Cartmanesque behavior… again… I got a package.

There was a beautiful unsigned note with it that made me cry.. and it was filled with-

That’s right.. all these beautiful little containers of crunchy peanut butter.

I laughed and I cried some more. Whatever else I do in this life, I feel like I’ve touched some folk, and today… well that’s a very big deal to me.

I was cozily ensconced in my spot, typing frantically on today’s 1500 words when Rick clomped down the hall, flicking on the light over my shoulder.

Me- NO! Do not turn on the light for the muse will only speak to me while I am clothed in the darkness! Brighten not my cave!

Rick, flicking light off and considering me- And from the way you squinted, the glare coming off your screen must suck.

Me- Well, yeah, that too. But muses and darkness sound better.

We’re playing hooky today, and lazing around and generally doing things we feel like doing. While flipping through Hulu, we decided to watch some Sons of Anarchy.

And it was great.. Otto busted in Agent Stahl’s nose, Gemma was creepy Gemma, Jax was a Kurt Cobain rip off.. everything we loved about the show.

And then… the commercials came on.

Cue a bunch of random, malformed cucumbers, carrots, peppers, etc appearing on screen, and a confident, concerned tone asking if your guybits resembled the items on screen. Our mouths were hanging open as this gentleman waggled a carrot with severe issues in front of a guy dressed like a doctor, who frowned authoritatively.

Guys, we LOST it.

Rick, still laughing- I was fine up til the doctor is looking at the carrot… I mean, how does that play in a waiting room?

Me, wheezing- I’m seeing all these sad guys wandering around the produce section, looking at the misshapen vegetables for that perfectly shaped one that fits their particular problem!

We’re bad people who probably shouldn’t get too much free time on our hands.

While NOT laughing at drug commercials today, we made a thing. It’s a word association puzzle, kind of like a giant web. It goes on for nine panels, has 198 answers, and it’s free. Because we’re all seasonal and stuff, it starts with Halloween.

Have fun!

Sitting here this morning, not really awake yet, and hear this.

Bree, at window, staring out judgmentally at the world- Bork! Bork! Bork!

Rick- Bree, I know the world is an ugly place right now, but please stop barking at it.

Me, helpless laughter, instant typy type.