My thoughts today are in my witching garden.
I don‘t even have a garden, but for some time within the past lockdowns I have helped a friend with his while hiding away in there from everything going on around me, and since my sweat pants radius has grown with each of these times for a few kilometers, I count all the pretty flowers I could find on my walks around the fields as well.
Witches belong into their gardens. They live in houses overgrown by ranks and have their recipes ready to cure all the petty issues desperate strangers pour out of their hearts to them, right?
As with every other stereotype, things are not as simple.
Reading about trials of witchcraft, I realized that it most often were not these wise women or healers who were trialed and executed, but rather individuals falling victim to a believe of an own complexity.
After everything I have found out about witches so far, I still deeply associate them with a garden, but not necessarily with one to gather ingredients for potions and spells from.
Witches were impossible beings, believed to hide among humans and endanger their souls. Witches had grown although they never were supposed to.
They were able to dream of things forbidden in this world and were able to feel things no human would ever be allowed to enjoy.
Witches are the blossoms of Dystopia and I feel close to them whenever I see roses with raindrops on all my Dystopia walks.
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 