I’ll leave Greenwoman up, because I am proud of the things I accomplished on the blog, but for the time being I won’t update it. This isn’t the first time I’ve left Greenwoman–and every time before I’ve come back. I don’t know if that will happen this time, but I’m reserving the option. I’m a fickle, fickle woman, there’s no denying.

I’m still debating the future of First Sunday Short Fiction. I’ve got some new goals for 2012 that might make it impractical for me to continue with that project. I plan to decide by the end of January, and let you all know if FSSF will make the leap to the new blog.

Thanks for all the fun and friendship and let’s continue over at my new place. Hope to see you there.

Edit: You can read the final installment in Steph’s series here.

This month’s story might not be new for some of you: it was the winning entry in a flash fiction contest on Writer, Writer Pants on Fire earlier this year.  I didn’t intend to use it for December, but life happened! So here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

Cruelty-Free

This is not my morning. I’m running late for Introduction to Faerie Combat, the latest rain shower just plastered my hair to my skull, the iron poker sticking out of my backpack keeps banging me in the back of the head, and I can barely read the handwriting on my class schedule. As if that wasn’t enough, I’m pretty sure something is following me: if I had the sight, I’d be able to tell if it was something under an invisibility glamour. But no, I had to get stuck with unreliable prophetic visions instead.

I finally reach Building 6 as the shower ends. When I stumble through the door (which creaks loudly, of course), 17 blank faces turn my way. 17 pairs of eyes scan me, and then dismiss me.

“You are not Ronald Hayes,” the instructor says.

The light glints off her fangs. They are very white and very sharp. I notice that all the windows are completely covered. And that 9 of the 17 students in the room are vampires. The other 8 appear to be human. I wish for the second time today that I had the sight.

I wonder why vampires would take a Faerie Combat class.

I clear my throat. “No. I’m Carrie Manchester.”

She shrugs. “Well, we have an empty chair. Take a seat.”

My wet sneakers squelch loudly on the linoleum as I walk to my seat. All the vampires are dry; I wonder how they got here in the daylight. There must be a tunnel or something. Of course they are all perfectly groomed, even though it’s the middle of their night. Sometimes I hate vampires.

I drop my backpack on the floor, and the iron poker thumps on the linoleum and then makes a louder clang when the top of it hits my chair leg. Why couldn’t I have found a rail spike or something?

“All right.” The professor only looks at the vampires as she speaks–it’s like the humans aren’t even in the room. “Welcome to Cruelty-Free Feeding. Most of you are here because you wish to seek a career path that frequently brings you into contact with mainstream human society, and you need to be able to drink from humans without draining them.”

Wait . . . what? I raise my hand. The teacher ignores me and continues talking.

“We have a collection of volunteers present to help us practice exercising control when we feed. Be aware that I am armed with Rowan and will not hesitate to use it on you if you don’t stop when you are told. The stakes were blessed by a priest, a rabbi, a fundamentalist preacher, and a buddhist monk. Even a non-fatal blow will leave you in pain for weeks, and will run the risk of serious infection. I have a perfect safety record in my classes, and you will not ruin it.”

I wave my hand. She keeps ignoring me. I’m just about to jump up when I feel a vision coming on; the room tilts and my head starts to spin. I grip the edge of my desk and see the door to the classroom opening, and a man bursting into the classroom with a flame thrower. He sets the teacher (and the teacher’s desk) on fire. The human students–all except me–jump up and rip the black-out curtains off the windows or produce stakes from backpacks and pockets. Flames crackle, blood splatters the desks and walls. The vampires retaliate by ripping out throats and breaking bones, but the sunlight and fire reduce them to piles of ash.

I don’t realize I’m screaming until the vision clears. The room has gone quiet, and everyone is looking at me now. I want to shrink into my seat, but I never know how long it will be before a vision comes true. And though I might resent the vampires’ perfect grooming, I’m not willing to let them be slaughtered.

They probably won’t listen to me if I talk, so I jump up and grab the messenger bag of the student next to me, tipping it upside down before he can protest.

A dozen Rowan stakes, a vial of holy water and a crucifix clatter onto my desk.

“Someone is coming with a flame thrower,” I say. “He was following me through the woods. I don’t know how long you have. They’re all in on it.”

The classroom erupts. The vampires all jump for the humans, and I wish I’d thought more carefully before I acted. I’d rather nobody died today. Fortunately the teacher’s hiss freezes the vampires before they hurt anyone. I don’t blame them–I wouldn’t mess with her either.

“You,” she says to me. “Wait by the door with that ridiculous poker. Looks like you’ll get to use it this afternoon after all.”

I nod, grab my poker, and assume the position.

“As for you,” she says to the humans. “Out the back door right now. And if you aren’t far away by sunset, I’m going to let my students track you down.”

They’re all white and shaking. The instructor doesn’t have to tell them twice; they scurry.

The back door has barely shut when the door beside me opens and the man with the flame thrower jumps through. I whack his hands with the poker, making him drop the metal nozzle and trip over the fuel hose. The professor is on him before he hits the floor, picking him up by his shoulders.

She smiles, and I’m glad she’s not smiling at me.

“So nice of you to join us today,” she says to the man. “Have a seat. I have some questions for you.”

I slip out the door while everyone is looking at the man. I suspect that Cruelty-Free Feeding is about to lose it’s perfect safety record.

We’ve got leftovers, and a fire in the fireplace, and a bright day. Not quite sunny, but not raining either, and sometimes the sun shows herself.

We’re going into the city tonight and we’ll probably have dinner. So I guess it’s not entirely Buy Nothing day for us. But we’ll hit a local place, so I still feel good about that.

I sort of hate the holidays. People get so weird, and I struggle to walk a sane line between my kids’ wants and my personal values. I don’t want them to feel deprived, but I also want them to be able to look realistically at the world, and at their desires. Tricky business, and never more so than the last month of the year.

I think we do all right. I think they understand that there are many things of value that don’t come from a store. What they’ll do with the things we’ve tried to teach them is already out of my hands, even though they’ll depend on me for a few more years.

And even if I don’t entirely succeed in living by my values all the time, I know I’m glad I passed the morning spending time with my partner and taking pictures instead of fighting crowds at a store. That’s the best reason I can think of for Buy Nothing Day.

The cards that came up today were Geeeeeooo the Slooow, The Fairy Godmother (reversed), Epona’s Wild Daughter, The Friends, and The Piper (reversed)

Geeeeeooo the Slooow would like to ask us: “Where’s the fire?” In other words, why are we in such a HURRY all the time? He thinks maybe we’re rushing everywhere so we don’t have to think too hard, or pay too much attention. He thinks maybe we would benefit from sitting down for a minute and having a good think. He would like us all to just stop right now and pay attention please.

The Fairy Godmother could also be called grace. She is the unexpected, unearned gift. She comes to us reversed to ask us, do we feel like we never receive the blessings that we need and want? Do we feel cut off from the flow of grace? She would like to suggest that the solution to this feeling is to become agents of grace ourselves. To give to others simply because we can; to increase the amount of unasked for blessings that circulate in the universe. She reminds us that the more we give, the more is available to all. And as we tap into the energy of generosity and grace, we open ourselves to receive it as well as give it. She also asks; are our hearts open? When we are offered a gift, do we accept it graciously? Do we have our hands open, or are we so focused on our feelings of lack that we can’t see what we’re being offered? The magic of participating in grace is that we cannot exclude ourselves from the flow of blessings. Once we engage the energy of grace, we are in it, and surprising things happen.

Epona’s Wild Daughter comes to us when we are stuck, to tell us that we will never move forward until we face the thing buried inside us that holds us back. Her presence indicates that facing this troubled place is a high priority right now; that circumstances are coming to a head, and we need to deal with our crap. This kind of sucks: it means that we have to really look at the parts of ourselves that we aren’t proud of. It means we have to listen to the nightmares, we have to engage with our ugly places. Not fun. On the other hand, we are pinioning ourselves with our fear of looking at the truth. There is no way to flow harmoniously through life if we are at war with ourselves. There is no way to live fully and joyfully if we are bound up in our insecurities and resisting what is. Fortunately for us, we don’t have to do it alone. Fortunately for us, there is grace. Fortunately for us, there is friendship. And most fortunately for us, when we willingly engage in a process of self discovery, the universe steps in to help us, and the answers come to us in flashes of insight, in our dreams, in stories and songs and the words of strangers. But we have to take that first step of looking in the mirror, shining the flashlight into the dark closet, opening that box labeled “Danger”. Epona’s Wild Daughter says it’s time to get started.

The Friends are here to shed some more light on this subject. You can see in the image how one friend holds the other up, but the one who is held has the light-up tail. Working together they can discover more than they ever would alone. It’s time, they say, to think communally. To recognize everyone’s need for support; to accept that no person is truly and entirely independent. We all need others. This goes two ways: we must be willing to accept support, and willing to offer it. Continuing to refuse help because we are ashamed of needing help is not going to serve us going forward. Continuing to look down on others for needing help is not going to serve us going forward. Finding a way for everyone to receive what he or she needs is the only way we will get to a better place. Good friends help us to see the truth of who we are, and help us to embrace our whole selves. Once again, if we feel there is no one to provide this service for us, we might ask ourselves if we are open to receiving, and if we are open to giving the same service to others. It is hard, uncomfortable work. It requires courage and enormous compassion.

The Piper reminds us that the best way to get what we need is to use gentleness. He comes to us reversed in this reading, as a reminder that grasping and clutching lead to breaking and losing. This is the second reminder in this reading that we can cut off our access to blessings by clenching our hearts and fists. The Piper suggests we look at our needs as shy creatures, and consider how we might call them to us rather than chasing them down. Open our hands. Open our hearts. Offer our song to the universe, and see what responds. The Piper would also like to remind us that this gentle approach applies to ourselves as well as to others. Are we willing to treat ourselves with gentleness? Can we accept ourselves with tenderness? Can we be friends with ourselves? Being friends with ourselves doesn’t mean we think we are perfect. It means we view ourselves–flawed, limited, broken–with compassion and love. It means recognizing how we are perfect in our imperfection (as a friend of mine often says). When we let go of that grasping energy, when we let go of our resistance to what is real, the universe opens to us. When we stop trying to force ourselves into a shape that is not our own, we discover the beauty of who we already are. That’s when life really gets good.

This reading was a general message from the faeries for the readers of the blog. If you’re interested in purchasing a reading specifically for you or someone you love, see my Etsy shop.

To learn more about the creator of The Faeries’ Oracle, please visit the World of Froud website. I am not associated with the Brian Froud or Imaginosis in any way: I just love his work.

I’m feeling tired, and overwhelmed, so let’s just look at the pretty pictures, shall we?

We can think of it as beauty therapy.

To this:

But we still have plenty of this:

And this:

And these:

Sweet little mushrooms! I think I’m becoming obsessed with mushrooms.

This colony is like a little village clinging to the edge of a mountain. So cute!

Not really related to mushrooms, but I was thinking on my walk (as I often do). Today I was thinking about depth of engagement with place. About how I wander the same few miles over and over again and always find something worth taking a picture of, worth telling you all about.

And I was also thinking about broad connections. Lately some events in my life have thrust me into a wider spectrum of experiences and involvement, and I’m finding myself heading into the city more, connecting with new people, doing new things. It’s delightful and fascinating and it makes my head spin a little. After all, I’ve spent the last 8 years or so living a life of relative quiet and isolation. But I’m enjoying having my world stretched a little bit. It’s good for me.

I love it that I can go into the city and have all this interaction and stimulation, and feel connected to more people and part of a larger community  . . . and then come home and spend my morning on my knees beside the road taking a million pictures of teeny little mushrooms on a tree stump. I love that my either-or concepts are once again getting challenged. I love that there is room to connect to bigger and bigger things, and still room to connect more and more deeply to the tiny pocket of the world that I occupy.

I love it that life is both deep and wide.

Now I need to change, because the knees of my jeans are muddy.

I also seem to be incapable of forming a coherent thought, so this post is a jumbled listy thing and I hope you will forgive me.

So. First. I am behind on my NaNoWriMo word count. Horribly behind. I would be ashamed but . . . no, I wouldn’t be ashamed. Never mind. I don’t have time for shame. I am mostly behind because I thought I could pants it–and I’m just a plotter. There’s no hope for it. So yesterday I did some plotting, and hopefully now I’ll catch up. Hopefully.

Second, I finally finished the pattern for the plot bunny. It’s for sale on Ravelry.

Third, I have made it very easy for you all to find my patterns to buy! I’ve added a Patterns page to the blog. This means you don’t need to go search for them on the Ravelry site. You don’t need to have a Ravelry account to purchase them either. Just click the picture and you can purchase the pattern with either PayPal or a credit card. Check it out.

I believe that’s all. Forgive the sporadic posting of late. I’m still here, and life is treating me very well!

And at the very least, I should be able to keep my Friday Flora posts going. But I make no promises.

We have two other participants this month.

First, the faithful Steph. You can read her November story here.

And we also have a story from Nemune here.

Thanks for participating y’all!

I . . . sort of forgot about the whole artwork-to-go-with-my story thing. I’ve been mentally preoccupied and forgetful of many things. But, illustration or no, here’s my offering:

Selkie

She walks the ocean floor, following a glistening line of pearls across the rippling sand. Her hair streams around her. She knows if she loses focus for a moment, she’ll float away, lose the trail, lose her way. She can’t let that happen; she’s been searching too long. She knows this time she’ll find her skin, and he won’t be able to keep her anymore.

It’s strange how the watery kingdom she traverses is so like a desert. Nothing as far as the eye can see but sand, except the tiny silver-white orbs, a trail of aquatic breadcrumbs to lead her home.

They told her she wouldn’t be able to survive the sea in this skin. They told her she would drown like a human. Tonight she proves them wrong. She breathes the water as easily as she breathed the air.

But she doesn’t move as well with these human limbs. She misses the warmth of her other form, the speed of sleek fins, the taste of live things.

She has spent so many weeks, months, searching. Drawers and cabinets, basement and closets. She searched his car. She even checked his safe deposit box, though she knew her skin wouldn’t fit inside.

He couldn’t have burned it. He wouldn’t dare.

She doesn’t know how he could have brought her skin down here without her knowing, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know how the pearls got here either, but she knows they will lead her, and everything will be all right. She’ll never leave the sea again. She’s learned her lesson.

Finally, thousands of pearls later, the wasteland around her changes. A cluster of rocks, covered in barnacles and anemones, looms ahead. With her ears full of water, the thrumming of her heart is thunderous. Soon. Soon. She must be careful not to rush. She must be careful not to lose track of the trail. She must do everything right. If she does everything right, she will find her skin.

Passing through the opening in the rock, her hair catches on the rough barnacles. She doesn’t let it stop her; she moves steadily forward, even when a handful of tresses yanks from her scalp with a sharp stab of pain.

She is forced to crouch after a few steps as the cave becomes smaller. Then she must crawl, and finally wriggle on her belly, sand grating over her bare skin.

When the tiny space opens up, she slithers into a perfect dome, shining with impossible lights, gleaming with pearls and crystals.

At the middle of this tiny cathedral is a simple wooden box. It sings to her. Her skin is inside.

Her hands tremble as she opens the box, anticipating the sleekness of her sealskin, the freedom of lifting away from the ocean floor, and shooting through the waters to find her lost kin.

But when she opens the box, ashes rise on the moving water. The ash surrounds her, stinging her eyes and throat. She backpedals, stirring the sand until it, too, floats in a cloud around her, turning the light-soaked air of the cave to a murky soup.

She can’t see, she can’t breathe or swim, and her skin is gone, her skin is gone, her skin is gone.

She opens her mouth to scream, and water rushes in.

She opens her eyes and watches the white bathroom ceiling waver. She’s fallen asleep in the bathtub again, breathing under water. He hates it when she does that, so she does it as often as possible.

Her bath has grown cold while she dreamed, but she doesn’t mind. It reminds her of the sea, where she can never return.

I love the way the misty gray backdrop makes the colors of the leaves seem more rich and deep.

I love the way the fog softens the edges of everything.

Until even the straggling line of trees left in the clear-cut is graceful.

I love the way the fog diffuses the light, the way half-shrouded objects suddenly pop into sharp focus when you get close enough.

Fog is just water. Like people are just people, trees are just trees.

It tells me that mud and magic are pretty much the same thing; it’s how you use what’s there that makes the difference.

Something to remember.

Green and brown are being swallowed up in fiery hues.

Lacy frills have matured into spiky seeds. They’re curled inward now, held in the arms of the plant until they’re ready to catch a ride to a good germination place.

Shift, change, evolution. You can feel it in the air, and it’s beautiful and unsettling all at once.

All this color and excitement around us reminds us to look wide, and look close, and try to really see. To pay attention–and to make our own shifts if we need to.

And I don’t know about you, but I usually DO need to make some adjustments.  I’m glad I have fall to remind me.