Another night following a glowing evening in spring.
We are sitting on my kitchen floor.
No ice cream, this time.
„Layla, I have been screaming too loud, lately“, I say to my witch. „It‘s your turn, now.“
„My turn?“
„Yes, this is your story, after all“, I remind both of us.
Layla grins her witching grin. „That‘s right“, she says and strokes the purple hair out of her face. „This is my story. About my witchcraft.“ And her voice feels soft and smooth. The story about a little girl dreaming of growing up, and a world not being there anymore, once she got there. The story about people leaving and horrors becoming true.“ And she laughs.
This night we are having a salad.
A salad, and I feel refreshed and hungering to enjoy this spring.
„Is your witchcraft simply about that?“, I ask. „About surviving anyone else and being left there in the end?“
„Yes, but there is more“, Layla responds and gets distracted by her new fascination for avocados.
„You mean transformations“, I giggle and realize that I love it when my voice sounds like her’s. „Any metal into gold? A soul into something evil?“
My witch roles her eyes. „No. Not just transformations. Showing things how they really are, without changing them.“ She waits patiently for a moment. „Many things are invisible, until you do so. Just like those thoughts flashing up in your eyes. I cannot read them, but they are there. No transformations. No sparkling spells – just running right into a wall and showing that is has always been there.“
This made me think.
It made me think about having been alone in these four walls for over a year now.
It made think of all these moments in which I could not find the right words to explain the things that were happening and felt like everyone was blind.
„When the wall has no door and no window and keeps you from entering your witching garden, it has no right to be“, my witch continues. „And your smashed head is just the first step to show this to the rest of the world.“
Thanks God, we still have wine.
„Layla, what did you show?“
My witch took her time to answer this, and eventually painted the following words into the night on my kitchen floor: „That having a body can be so unfair that people forgot they even had a heart once.“
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 