brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Ruby Blood Dragon Witch Light)
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.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Light Pale)
You guys, I amaze myself. I've been writing helter skelter all over the place: Novel, stories, novellas, blogs, facebook, notebooks with various pens, everywhere... in the middle of a postictal migraine and insanely horrific agonizing chronic pain flare-up following recovery from a panic attack. If I didn't have a computer or paper I might write on the walls. I hurt so badly I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel half fire and half water. Wild and raging, and all I want is a crackling bonfire and a rushing river.
I doctored up a photo of myself and it came out half gold light and half blue light. It looks inhuman. But part of me adores it so much. My face is two different parts. I am two entities in one. When I burn, I am cool. When I am cool, I burn. It is ying yang, dragon phoenix, up and down, left and right, I don't even know. I don't speak out loud except to my cats, I just speak through Story. So much Story inside me.
That rock. That rock that my husband gave me, the rock that he held while standing in Room 217 of the Stanley Hotel, in which Stephen King wrote "The Stand" and used as an inspiration for "The Shining". That rock is still next to my laptop. I am covered in words. I am filled up with Words. I may disappear into Story. I may not even see the world until I have to.
Is this what it is like to live in the land of the Fae and then come back to the land of humans?


Maybe it was the super moon. Maybe it is the heat from the sun now. Maybe it is anything.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Light Pale)
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.
(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.)


Jun. 8th, 2013 10:03 pm
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Light Pale)
The thing about brains is... brains are so complicated. Brains are so complex. Brains need outlets, too. Words are good enough for my brain. I just want to feel safe when I say words out loud. All I've wanted to do was help people. To say, in public, loudly, "You have someone who will listen. You have someone who understands. You have someone who knows what it means. You have someone who will hold you through the worst of the darkness. You have someone who will always shine brighter than any light." Ever since I was a teenager, I was told that I radiated a pure sort of light that drew other minds close. And every time someone who has never seen that light tells me that I'm causing upset or wrongness, that light falters, because how could someone slap me across the face just because I want to speak out through the darkness? I will never stop speaking out through the darkness. I don't care what it costs anymore. I will talk about my brain and its ultimate complications and complexities and sicknesses and handicaps, and somewhere, someone will always be listening. And they will talk about their brains, and we will share our stories, because that is how stories begin.
"Once upon a time, there was a warrior princess born with invisible armor to battle all the damage inside her that would follow her for the rest of her life. For a long long time, there was nobody she could talk to who truly understood. And then, suddenly, there were dozens of people who could understand. And the warrior made it a mission to talk to them all and keep talking. She kept talking even as others misunderstood her, scorned her, and scolded her, since they didn't realize that what she was doing was baring her life wide open, so anyone drawn to her light could share their lives too. She was told, 'Stop putting yourself out there. Stop talking so much about what's wrong with you. Stop focusing on the negative.' And she looked at them, finally, and said, 'No.' Because there was nothing negative. There was no wrongness. There was only her life. And her life was only positive and right. There was laughter, and amusement, and silly things, because even as the pain overwhelmed her, she would keep going, keep laughing. She told stories to those who wanted to listen. She helped many people learn about themselves. She became a teacher, an advocate, a true light in the darkness. She became strong and brave because she had to. And she will have stories to tell for the rest of her life."




I admit, I got a little choked up while writing this. Maybe I do feel much more defensive and upset and naked to criticism than I thought. I'm really, really trying to work on letting all that go. It certainly doesn't help my mental health.
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Blood Red Dragon Witch)
"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 husband 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.”
brightlotusmoon: (Snow White Makeup)
Ah, a story to flesh out. With... help, maybe?
This is a story I've been tinkering with for a bit, which I put away for a bit, and I found it again, and and and I really want to continue it and finish it. Short story, novella, small novel, I don't know. Would someone be willing to help??

Read more... )
brightlotusmoon: (Fae Dragon Alien)
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.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
How you know you can tolerate and love me:
Get comfortable and preferably join in while I watch the Futurama episode "Where No Fan Has Gone Before" on repeat while mouthing the dialogue, while I also wonder out loud what it must have been like for the actors in the recording studio, such as who messed up the most takes by laughing so much. Plus all the inside jokes.
And then I shall start talking about animated versions of Babylon 5. Especially certain characters' heads in jars at the Head Museum. Because, you know, Walter Koenig. And the comment about "Look at Walter Koenig. After Star Trek, he became an actor." Smirk, cough Alfred Bester Psi Corp cough*
And then, of course, get comfortable while I start Netflixing Babylon 5. And later, My Little Pony Friendship Is Magic. You think I'm kidding.
This is not the height of my nerdity, but it is close.
Also, I still need to find that Bab5 Psi Corp book series. Hello, Ebay, maybe?
brightlotusmoon: (Pixie Model 1)
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.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
How it all began:
Click on the '1 Share' button to see comments that inspired the title of Peaceful Dragon.

Copied from Facebook.

Now I am too exhausted to... what was I saying?
I'm going to bed now.

Also, someone just called me a "Mediterranean Warrior Fae with coffee cognac amber eyes." That makes me feel happy, and also strengthened.
Today is a day of pain too extreme for mere words.

But that's why my favorite eyeshadow is called Psychedelic Sister.

My mind has special places in which I can safely lose myself during transcendental meditation, in which my imagination and sensory perceptions can be shaped, molded, and altered bit by bit to work alongside damaged neural pathways, to become fully psychoactive on my own, through my own private power.

This will take years beyond years, but I have eternity in the spirit world. Sometimes my senses are surrounded by and colored in various shades of purple, with color shifts, duochrome shimmers, and iridescent glimmers of every color I can think of.

I know Psychedelic Sister is just the name of a shimmery deep amethyst cosmetic pigment, but it has a special meaning. Just like various other eyeshadows.

Urban Decay
Loaded: Deep metallic emerald
Evidence: Shimmery deep navy blue
Hijack: Deep metallic teal
Lost: Medium metallic brown
Snakebite: Shimmery dark bronze
Shattered: Shimmery gold turquoise
YDK: Shimmery cool bronze
S&M: Shimmery steel gray taupe
Midnight Rodeo: Glittery silver taupe
Maui Wowie: Metallic golden beige
Last Call: Metallic sugar plum
Darkhorse: Shimmery deep mocha
Half Baked: Shimmery golden bronze

Too Faced
Midnight Mist: Midnight Sapphire Violet Duotone
Poison Orchid: Midnight Amethyst Gray Duotone
Firefly: Shimmery Antique Gold
Petals To The Metal: Metallic Brown Blue Duotone
Violet Femme: Shimmery Lavender Gold Duotone
Enchanted Garden: Golden Espresso Duotone

Maybelline Color Pearls Marbleized
Downtown Denim
Persuasive Plum
Lawless Lavender
Navy Narcissist

It really is amazing and powerful to me, how color can help alter the way I see myself. The instant I apply concealer or foundation, it begins.
Urban Decay Naked Skin Foundation in Shade 2.0
It Cosmetics Bye Bye Concealer in Light
Lauren Brooke Creme Concealer in Warm Light
Lauren Brooke Creme Foundation in Warm 2
CoverGirl Olay Tone Rehab Foundation in Classic Ivory
Raesin Images Creme Foundation in Linen 2
Korres Quercetin Oak Concealer in Fair

Obviously this is a lot, but my memory is quietly being gently destroyed bit by tiny bit. I always write everything down. All it matters is that I can alter my palette constantly and see myself in new colors, in new ways, every day. I am art.
In the lair of the Peaceful Dragon.
Filled with strong colors and shiny things.
Thing I have most recently learned about myself: When I am having a pleasant conversation on Facebook about something enjoyable regarding a status or a photo, I should feel absolutely no remorse in deleting critical, snide, or rude comments that have nothing to do with the conversation. I have learned that if I really want a critical opinion, I would be happy to privately message the critic and figure out why they decided to be critical in the first place. I like learning new things about myself!
Stupid news: Having a temperature over 99.1 and being ragey over ridiculous whims of ridiculous body and ridiculous brain.
Fuck It news: Planning the weekend no matter what. Peaceful Mediterranean Fae Dragon Warrior is fucking peaceful, damn it.
Really Fucked Up news: Actually literally being too weak to finish editing these fiction stories or do anything but limp and stumble.

Time to crawl into bed and rage against the dying of the light so hard that in every dimension beyond this one I erupt into a wild flare and shine brighter than a fucking supernova - until every spirit, alien, and interdimensional entity all rush to gather around, break out the sunglasses, and share popcorn.

Peacefully, that is.

I will be a good Mediterranean Dragon Princess. With many shiny things. Including coffee and chocolate and honey, and chocolate honey coffee.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
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?
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
My wish and desire for tonight's Dreaming:
To be in a dimension where I have no body and can change shape at will, and where my syndromes are astral Creatures that I can battle with a glowing psychic sword named Serenity that can transform into energy shapes of all sorts and skills.
That is all I know for now. I wish and desire for many things.
Baby steps, Annie. Always.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
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..."
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
fan·tas·tic   [fan-tas-tik]
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.


Aug. 9th, 2009 05:02 pm
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
"Who cares what label gets attached to it? If it's a good story that makes you think, then it's good speculative fiction. If it doesn't make you think then, well, it's just entertainment."

And this is why my novel in progress is science fantasy, and why all those hard SF authors who turn their noses up at fantasy can stare at my middle finger.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
One of my favorite authors, Catherynne M. Valente (she wrote the stunning Palimpsest), stands up for fantasy writers who are often "looked down upon" by some science fiction writers and readers.


brightlotusmoon: (Default)

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