„Have you ever wished for all of it to never have happened?“, I ask my witch as we change our scented candles from summer‘s garden flower to autumn‘s cinnamon, and Layla smiles wickedly sad.
Being broken means laying scattered
as pieces ready to be taken
and be put together
for just another attempt.
I threw my heart out
and I forgot the shock of pain
so focused on the light
I forgot the fear the dark.
I trust you
because I‘m leaking
and I know that you are too.
Please leak onto me
leak it all out to me
and please don‘t ever stop.
The darkness must never win.
„You crying gets closer and closer to oil painting style“, my witch giggles.
Because it turns into tales worth remembering?
Let‘s hope so.
Otherwise, getting up over and over again is fucking exhausting for nothing.
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 