I was going to write “D is for Druid” because I got a piece of Witchvox mail that irritated me which honestly v. rarely happens. Usually Witchvox mail makes me feel happy and full of sunshine and unicorns and kittens and like I’m really a writer with an opinion of value (even when that scares the piss out of me).
But now, we’re going with dreams. Because I keep having the same reoccuring one lately where I’m in this beautiful gorgeous play where I’m with a company of actors who I, like, NRE love (I feel NRE in dreams a lot, I’m not sure how weird that is) and who NRE love me and I’m acting these beautiful scenes – death scenes, ghost scenes, love scenes (where I get to boff really hot actors and Jow’s permission is not just implicit in the dreams but sometimes explicit as well), dramatic scenes all in beautiful clothes. It’s the most amazing and fulfilling experience I can imagine. Except. . .I have to give some of my teeth to be able to stay. The more I dream of this, the more willing the sacrifice of my teeth becomes and the more teeth I give. The last dream I gave like all my right side back teeth. It was at least six teeth. I woke up running my tongue over my teeth for at least a full minute to make sure they’re still there.
There are two theories about this, both of which fit together like a puzzle.
Theory #1: Gordon‘s Theory: Mouth stuff is voice stuff. Voice stuff for me is writer stuff. I’m freaking out because I’m not quite hitting my word count the way I want to be yet and freaking because it’s A Book. Also perhaps worried about not being heard. Better write.
Theory #2: Blue’s Theory: Teeth falling out = anxiety dreams. Sacrifice in this context means that everything that I have and love comes with a price.
Both are true. When I started this journey when my company went under, I was constantly listening to “Rabbit Heart” by Florence + the Machine and watching the video obsessively. It was pretty and I liked it. It felt meaningful but I didn’t really know what it meant yet.
And . . .I’m starting to. And it’s terrifying. This sums up where my subconscious is right now:
This is a gift/ It comes with a price/ who is the lamb/ and who is the knife/ Midus is king/ and he holds me so tight/ and turns me to gold in the sunlight/ I wish I could just be brave/ I must become a lion hearted girl/ ready for a fight/ before I make/ the final sacrifice/ We raise it up . . .
Introduction to The Arte of Glamour is complete. The first part of the first chapter is complete. I sent it to Gordon and Jow to read. I have been hesitating to show it to anyone, even Gail which is weird, usually I spew out words and then want immediate praise so I show it to as many people as possible but I held it tight to me for a few days which is weird and not like me. Gail has been an amazing editor/midwife in the process so far, giving me lots of praise but also telling me what I need to fix and giving subtle praise guilt trips which I frankly desperately need because I was flailing really hard. I’ve been having panic attacks about writing this, but so has The Blogess in writing her book which is weirdly comforting.
Because it doesn’t stop. Not the constant child sickness that gets me sick and gives me little free time to write during the day, not the crazy hours at work, not the craft shows, not the needing to split my business into two different businesses, not the wedding planning, not the need to learn how to brand and distribute, not the need to craft, not the housework, it just keeps going and sometimes I feel completely flattened by it and I wonder what I’ve done.
But I have to believe. I have to believe this will be worth something and December 31st will find me in a gown feeling as complete as I will ever feel and I’ll know that I finished what I started.
I will finish what I started.