It’s one thing to be called a liar, it’s another thing to be called a liar about your lived experience. Sare from my novel, An Impossible Dream, knows this all too well. She notes the “righteous fire” that comes from the injustice of it. For her, the experience she lived is one multiple characters continually seem to struggle to wrap their brain around because it is not a story many would have heard before. It is shocking to them, uncomfortable, and maybe even challenges their views of the world as they think they know it. Her frustration goes a step further, in someone digging into her past without permission. That, on top of not being believed, she does not even have a say on who she chooses to share said experience with. As is stated in the novel, “Never mind not even her own history belonging to her.” This idea of the preciousness of our personal stories is an ongoing theme in this series, as well as the violation of that sacredness from others. In book 1 of the same series, Be, Ari deals with this, too. In her case, along with the dismissing or discounting, she also deals with her eldest brother, Nick, using her lived experience to his advantage, making it about him, and trying to dictate how he feels she should respond to it. In that moment, she reflects: “It’s my story, she wanted to tell him now. It’s mine. It happened to me. And it’s mine to do with as I wish.” This becomes a central theme in book three, Where the Heart Is, with the Queen and the realization of the erasure of her overall story over the course of the first three books, and the eventual reclaiming of her narrative in book four.
It felt like a sort of rebellion against the patriarchy. That she was going to speak regardless of his response or his purposely deaf ears. It felt inevitable that speaking to “her father” would mean never being heard the way “her father” assumes he would and, even, should be heard. As Dr. Karen Ward says in the preface of the Girl God Anthology, Re-Membering with Goddess, “Speaking about trauma is political.” It is as “liberating” and “revolutionary” as she says “understanding trauma is” and “healing trauma is.” When it comes to CPTSD, one of the common struggles people face is the re-traumatization that occurs when they try to share their stories. The dismissing, the discounting, and even the excuses people make for why the abuse or trauma occurred. I know this from firsthand experience and have seen others sharing across social media of similar experiences. It’s not just mental health, either. What immediately comes to mind is my mother’s experience as someone who lives with chronic illness. One of her many, many experiences that she shares in her book, The Unchained Spirit, involved an intrathecal pump that was meant to aid the “intense, unrelenting pain over [her] entire body” that caused further problems and torture. She came close to losing her feet and “finally, the pump was removed at [her] insistence.” She was back to dealing with the horrific pain, but as she notes about advocacy and pushing to be heard, “What was important was that I spoke up and followed my instincts. I knew what was causing the problem and, despite all those who said otherwise, I insisted the pump be removed and the meds stopped. And, I was right.” It’s worth noting, my mother and I are straight, cis, and white. We’re conscious of all we do not have to face because of the privilege that comes with that. We are conscious of the devastating consequences that come with not being heard, not being believed, with someone else trying to take over the story or erase it, with not being allowed to decide who gets to hear our stories or when. We’re also conscious that we are not the authority on someone else’s lived experience and that no one owes us their story. That someone else’s experience is not about us.
When someone tells us their story, we shut up, we listen, and we believe them.
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As I explore in my Acorn Tops Blog, The Universal Toy, dolls, within a historical context, were a source of companionship. They were discovered in graves across countries, a sign that they were thought of as precious. They can be seen as an aspect of innocence and childhood, as they were dedicated to goddesses when outgrown. Dolls were used to display clothes, such as the Bartholomew Babies in England. They were used to promote and prepare for socially acceptable roles and expectations. There’s a lot of meaning one could derive from just the historical context of this toy. What I find in writing, though, is it is not just the research of the outside world that contributes to play of symbols in stories. It is our personal connection and experience. Dolls remain an ever-popular toy of choice today. Plenty of children have had or played with dolls growing up, from brands such as Barbie to American Girl to Cabbage Patch. My favorite doll growing up was a hard plastic Molly doll from the children’s show, The Comfy Couch, and she’s been so well loved that my mother had to use nail polish to fix the red of her nose and sharpie to fix the black of her shoes. Another hugely influential doll in my own life is named Edna. She is one of the few possessions my great grandfather was allowed to keep of his mother, for who I am named, after she passed away. She’s been this incredible touch stone of connection and family history that has survived house fires and multiple moves, including one across the country. Perhaps then, given these personal ties, it is no surprise that dolls and character’s relationships to the toy become an ongoing symbol throughout my Be book series. This was something, I, as the author, did not fully realize until @DailywriterQ on twitter asked about symbolism in author’s stories. It starts in Be with Ari and Peter’s niece, Rosy, and a cloth doll with yarn hair named Emily… He forced himself to smile, fist curling tight. “I still believe in fairy tales, even after everything.” He hesitantly whispered, but a breath of hope left within him. “I know you don’t. I know you think it’s foolish.” Childhood is often denied to children where Ari, Peter, and Rosy are from. It was something denied to Ari, who makes it a point to ensure others receive what she never had. For Rosy when she receives Emily, it is hope and wishes coming true. It would be her equivalent of Santa Claus. As my mother always said, it was something to believe in that was bigger than ourselves. It is something magical in a world that does not offer children like Rosy much magic. For Peter, who was doing everything he could to try to get Rosy a doll, it is connection and community. Which carries over to when Rosy lends Emily back to Ari in a moment where Ari is feeling very isolated and alone. It then transforms for Ari into a type of companionship, comfort, and touch stone of that same hope she gave to Rosy. I would not say there is a larger cast of characters in An Impossible Dream than in Be, but where Ari feels very isolated as a young woman surrounded by men, as I explore in my interview with Jenn Romano in The AjennDa Blog, Sare in An Impossible Dream is surrounded by other young women, allowing for more of a comparing and contrasting of circumstance and symbolic meaning. “Every lil’ girl needs a dolly.” Gilly said like it was a simple matter of fact. For Sare, who has been a servant her whole life, the very notion of a doll confounds her. She associates it with pretend work, rather than play. As her conversation with, one of “the ladies,” Gilly progresses and she tries to riddle out this popular toy, dolls become a look into the divide of haves vs. have-nots, as she “would argue only certain little girls ever had a doll,” and even then, what those dolls come to mean within those varied circumstance.
Sare does not know if her friend, Gracelynn, had a doll growing up, but imagines, knowing what she knows of her home life, that it would have been treated the way Gracelynn was treated: “to sit on a shelf out of… reach, as a means to have something else to brag about.” In that same vein, both Be and An Impossible Dream, discuss the row of unblemished porcelain perfection sitting in the princess, Rochelle’s, windowsill. In Be, Henry compares it to his mother’s books which he calls “well loved” and looked it. In comparison to the cloth doll like Emily or Elsbie’s unnamed rag doll, Rochelle’s dolls, too would have been expensive and rarely played with. She is another girl who is seen as little more than an object by those in her life, a comparison Sally, another of “the ladies,” later makes about how Elsbie was treated by one who should have loved her most. Even as Sare comes to recognize a more positive benefit of the doll, beginning to see what her friend, Elsbie, saw in her doll specifically, companionship, it acts as another layer of a metaphor for Elsbie and a bit of foreshadowing when thinking about why Elsbie never took such a precious thing back with her when given the chance: “It was safer where it was.” Ultimately, for Sare, the doll comes to represent the ever foreign and elusive “before” she alone among her peers does not have, the love, family, and memories of a time before she donned an apron and scrubbed chamber pots, as this unnamed rag doll was made specifically for Elsbie by Sally and Gilly keeps it and the rest of Elsbie’s childhood treasure safe. What do dolls symbolize for you? Did you have a favorite doll growing up? If you are a storyteller, do dolls make an appearance in your story? It’s been a bit since I’ve done a blog, but when I saw The Picky Bookworm’s blog, 10 Books That Changed My Life, I was inspired and thought it might be fun. It wound up being longer than I anticipated and apparently I'm even a rebel or indecisive (depending on how you look at it) when it comes to this, so there's also three-five honorable mentions. So, here we go… 1. My Mama Had A Dancing Heart by Libba Moore Gray This has remained my all-time favorite children’s book. My Mama Had A Dancing Heart meant the world to me as someone who loved ballet and dancing from a very young age. When I was in dance class (about five years, I think), I loved that my mother took dance when she was that same age. My mother was in a wheelchair for about eight years, but that never stopped her dancing with me. This is something we wrote about in our upcoming children’s book (also co-written with my brother). I have many fond memories of sitting on her lap as she spun us in her wheelchair or dancing in the pool as we loudly and off-key belted out “Ten Minutes Ago” from the 1960’s Cinderella. When she began walking again (a journey you can read about in her book, The Unchained Spirit), I have fond memories of blasting music with her and wiggling around the room. My brother and I still joke around about the earthquake she would make stomping her feet on the wooden floors in the house of our teenage years as she rocked out to the opening of “Rolling in the Deep.” The connection doesn’t just end there, though. My mother always tends to make things magical and a celebration. The joy and wonder of the seasons and the various aspect of those seasons from the lemonade to the seashells to the falling leaves really matched all my mother offered me and continues to offer me in my day to day. Just like in the book, too, this influence is something I have taken with me in my adult life. The two of us often joke we are more Gilmore girls than the Gilmore Girls, but in a lot of ways this book is a reflection of what our relationship has always been. I have such a thing for word play and the flow of words when reading and writing. Looking back, this is probably one of the origins. The lyrical prose of the book still excites me and I can see its influence in my own writing when I get really into it. 2. Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery Perhaps not a great shock, my connection between books and people doesn’t just end with my mom and My Mama Had A Dancing Heart. Her love of reading and the freedom of exploration with books that she gave my brother and I was handed down by her own parents. My grandmother’s all-time favorite book was Anne of Green Gables. I’m pretty sure she owned every book L.M. Montgomery ever wrote. I still have most of her Anne books that still have her name written in them. I also have her Anne doll and figurine, too. She had hats and visited Prince Edward Island so many times. So much of these books and the first two of the Megan Follows movies are a huge part of my lexicon and references that even my boyfriend will occasionally reference them. My best friend and I call each other kindred spirits and bosom buddies. Of course, it’s not just this connection. Though as Emma Marsden in To Miss the Stars says, “Somehow the story of the book enhances the story within it.” Anne Shirley was my literary kindred spirit and mirror-friend. She is so beautifully human. From her passion and her stubbornness to her creativity, intelligence, and hope, she made me feel a little less alone in a world that is not always kind to little girls who don’t always fit in. 3. Treasure of Ravenwood by Barbara Lieberman I have written multiple times before about The Treasure of Ravenwood and what it means to me, between my small business blog and on Vocal (free to read there, too). My mother says I learned to write so I could write down my stories. My Pop-Pop used to tell my mom that when I was alone in the car with him, I would start talking when the key went into the ignition until the car was in park. For me, though, I always felt like I became a writer at my mother’s keyboard. It was part of my nightly routine. I even was permitted to stay up passed my bedtime to listen to whatever more she wrote so long as I brushed her hair. I often was disappointed when we reached the end and I had to wait until the next night to find out what happened next. She is a pantser, so often she herself did not know, either. I always looked forward to those evening, just the two of us, smiles illuminated by the glow of her computer screen, heart beating to the pulsing of the cursor. To see the evolution of the story and the process was pure magic. I had a front row seat at watching inspiration turn to ideas and watch my mom weave words into a story. I think there’s a disconnect between books and storytelling. There’s an almost fantastical, other-worldly feel. An unobtainable dream that gets laughed off, the way an adult placatingly pats the head of a child who declares they want to be “a superhero” or “mermaid” when they grow up. My mom, who of course is a magical superhero in her own right, wrote this book from beginning to end because I asked. But, my mom was someone tangible. She wasn’t some black and white photo on a back cover or a name in a textbook. She was real in a way other authors never felt before. And, in seeing her do it, it made me feel like I could, too. It was the same way when she published Treasure of Ravenwood in 2014 (my first publish book was a year later). It took the writing journey to the next level for me and I sat back and thought, “Maybe I can, too.” 4. Number the Star by Lois Lowry Number the Stars was a book my class read in third or fourth grade. I believe I was the only Jewish kid in class. I am half Jewish. The holocaust was something that I just sort of always knew about. I, also, knew my family was affected by it but the story my brother and I were told was a sort of fuzzy jumble. It’s only been recently, the past year or two, that I learned the exact details. This book, however, was the first time pretty much all of my classmates heard about the Holocaust. (By the way, if anyone is looking for a book to introduce their kids to this part of history, I highly recommend this one!) This book will always hold a special place in my heart. It plucked those ancestral strings for me. It was the first time that part of my identity was represented in a place like the classroom. It was the first time that part of me felt seen. It was also the first time this fuzzy jumble that cut so deep had words, had a reason for being, could air out. It was like realizing I was bleeding for the first time and finally getting some Neosporin. I wish I had more words, better words to explain it. 5. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo Fast forward to eighth grade. This was during the height of the Twilight phenomenon. I will not bash a book that others love, but I will say that it was not a book for me. Somewhere across space and time, at least ten people are randomly feeling the need to shout “THAT’S AN UNDERSTATEMENT!” I wanted something heavier, something deeper, something more meaningful, something more challenging. About a year before, we had moved across country from a fairly progressive suburban community and schools to a rural middle-of-nowhere, minds were as small as the town itself kind of community and schools. There were thirteen kids in the graduating class of the entire school to give a little more perspective. Everyone was reading and lauding Twilight as though it was the finest literature had to offer. I grew up with Les Miserables musical, the 10th Anniversary Dream Cast VHS to be exact. My brother and I would make our living room couches into the barricades and we were so young my brother pronounced it “ang-grah-gen” when doing a rendition of “Do You Hear the People Sing?” It would be about two-three years later that my mother would take my brother and I to see it live on a special trip to celebrate our high school graduation (a story for another time). This book remains one of my all-time favorites. It took some perseverance to finish, as well. There are parts I struggled with (really Hugo, I can’t say I care about the history of a piece of furniture that has nothing to do with the rest of the story). I also struggled with the book because of school. Reading in terms of school was always horrible for me for a number of reasons. This time, though, there were moments where it often felt like the teachers also were punishing me for my reading choices. At one point, there was a Read Across America activity that involved making a reading chain based on the number of books everyone in class finished. There’s a huge difference between a 200-400 page book and Les Miserables. Fortunately, I had the support of my mother and the love of the story I already knew. As for the book itself, it was amazing to see what the writers of the musical kept, left out, and changed and why. I was excited to learn that they even kept some of the direct quotes. It was also interesting to see how the newer version of the musical and even new movie added elements to stay even more true to the original work. I was also fascinated to learn the history behind the book and the author. It was exciting to get lost in the rabbit hole for a while and I still remember a great deal of that history itself. One of the things that always struck with me about the story itself was that for a book called “The Miserables,” the amount of hope and beauty and love within the darkness. It’s something I’ve taken with me in my own life and, once more, see a huge influence in my own writing, as well. It’s a common theme I can’t help but explore. 6. I Am An Emotional Creature by Eve Ensler One more a book from eighth grade and I’m beginning to see a pattern that I never realized before. Eighth grade sucked. There’s no other way to put it. It just royally sucked. I hated my teacher and I hated school (funny enough I wanted to be a teacher because of that). See above for some reference on this year of my life in particular. On top of this, I have been a feminist since before I could properly pronounce the word “feminist.” I was the youngest member of the New Jersey NOW chapter when I was eight and even did a presentation on Title IV. I’ve done deep dives into women’s rights and women’s history since about that time, too. So it was yet another way I struggled with this backward town and the people in it and the isolation among my peers. Probably not a shock by now, but my mother introduced me to Eve Ensler around this time. We watched The Vagina Monologues (Netflix was a life-saver even back then) and she handed me I Am An Emotional Creature. I swear my mother and this book of poetry was the only thing that got me through this year. Her poem, My Short Skirt, became my saving grace as I battled outrageous dress codes at school, rape culture and the sexism of everyday society that I was keenly aware of. The entire book returned to me that feeling of power I used to get in NOW meetings and it is a book that I will never part with. 7. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green My bosom buddy and kindred spirit, sometime after eighth grade, recommended this book to me. She said it was a book about characters who had cancer and fall in love. I remember thinking, absolutely no way. To make matters worse, it was a contemporary YA, which after the Twilight phenomenon, felt over-saturated with superficial drama and love triangles. This was a genre I tended to steer clear of. She said it made readers cry, but it also was really funny and intelligent. It was my best friend, who recommended books I loved before like Alosha, and her recommendations have never steered me wrong before, so despite my initial misgivings, I thought I’d try it. Boy, am I glad I did! Once more, my friend proved to be the best EVER. I fell in love with the works of John Green. It was real. It was moving. It was deep. It was raw. It was honest. I credit this book with making me fall in love with Young Adult books once more. I went on to read a number of his other books and still highly recommend them to any readers. There is nothing superficial about these stories. It is through TFIOS that I learned about Esther Earl, who the book is dedicated to, and the This Star Won’t Go Out organization. This incredible organization supports children with cancer and their families in a number of really amazing and practical ways. It’s an organization that appreciates any support given but deserves so much more recognition and support than it receives. I work with them through my handmade business, Acorn Tops, and part of the proceeds of any of my TFIOS inspired creations goes to support them. I highly recommend checking them out and following them across social media and supporting them anyway you can (they’re also a charity on Amazon Smiles). I also highly recommend the book This Star Won’t Go Out: The Life and Words of Esther Grace Earl. 8. On the Road by Jack Kerouac One of my favorite types of books is banned or challenged books. I have a mild obsession with these books and their history. Around 2014-2015, I got really into Howl and Other Poems by Allen Ginsberg and the Beat Generation. I picked up On the Road and didn’t just love it, but I devoured it. I enjoyed the style of writing greatly and so many quotes felt like it spoke to my soul. Like I’ve said before, I have a thing for words, word play, and turns of phrase. Just one of the ways it changed my life was in the area of writing. I came across the quote “One day I will find the words and they will be simple” and suddenly everything just sort of clicked. It’s sort of like what my mother always said, “Just write.” There’s so much noise, obnoxious noise, about how to write and the rules and other bull shit. That one quote, coupled with my mother’s advice, allowed me space to take all the unhelpful advice with a grain of salt. To take what works and leave what doesn’t, a philosophy I’ve had for a while now in all aspects of my life. Writing simply or simply writing took off the pressure and helped me to tap into the flow and make me the writer that I am. 9. Society’s Foundlings Around this same time, I wrote my first published book, Society’s Foundlings. I’ve discussed the beginning of Society’s Foudlings on podcasts with Over Coffee Podcast. I’ve written a couple different blogs about it here, too. To sum up, I was eighteen when I wrote this and published it when I was nineteen. It was a dark year for me. I was, once more, struggling with a lot and it didn’t help to have the society around me discount the hardships I was facing with mental health and trying to figure out my future, not someone else’s definition of what that should look like. Life was hard enough without having someone else tell me this was the best it was ever going to be. Writing has always been a sort of therapy. It’s like breathing. But, this book was like taking a deep breath after drowning. Once more, a book and people in my life like my mother, got me through. Perhaps most life changing for me, though, was that this was the book that started it all for my writing career. I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil, but my mother published her first book a year previously, as did my fairy godmother, and both I had the immense honor of not only being there through the entire publishing process, but also was a beta-reader. It inspired me to do the same and I have been writing and publishing ever since. 10. The Once and Future Witches by Alix Harrow I wrote a book review of The Once and Future Witches which you can find here. That review pretty sums up my absolute love of this book. Hands down it is one of my all-time top favorites! By no means am I quick reader. Even just a 300 page book can take me months at a time. It doesn’t help that I tend to keep my plate very full and since leaving college reading has fallen to the wayside between writing, illustrating, and my handmade small business, Acorn Tops. This book, however, grabbed me the moment I first heard about it. Witchcraft and women’s suffrage… I felt like it was written for me just from the blurb alone. Then, I read it. And, I devoured it faster than I ever devoured any other book. I’m talking a weekend and staying up until very late to finish just one more chapter. By the end, I was licking my fingers in satisfaction and shoved it into my mother’s hands demanding she read it right then and there so we could discuss it. Since, I’ve read Alix Harrow’s newest novella, A Spindle Splintered, and this same new, strange phenomenon occurred once more. It’s re-sparked that love of reading. It also helped put into perspective other books I had been struggling to read. This was beyond a five star and I loved it. Other books were a bit of a frustrating drudge to get through and it reinforced the idea that it was okay to not finish a book I wasn’t madly in love with. That if books like this exist, you don’t have to dig through the rocks to find the ones that are diamonds for you. The story itself, as discussed in my review, made my own righteous anger feel seen and justified in a way it rarely does in the world at large. It talked about what it meant to be a woman in a way that left me feeling powerful and my tongue and fingertips tingle as though I was reading a spell. It excited the reader in me, the writer in me, and the woman in me. Honorable mentions... Go Ask Alice by Anonymous To fully explain this book, we have to go back in time a little bit. My mother blames my Pop-Pop for this and, somewhere beyond the pearly gates, he gladly takes the blame. When my mother was in fifth grade, my grandfather was on the school board and the school wanted to ban the book from the library. Around the dinning room table, he asked who in the house had read it. My aunt said she did. My uncle said he did. And my mother, the youngest of the bunch, said she did. He asked what they all thought and unanimously they agreed that it scared them and made them never want to touch drugs. He listened and went back to the school board and said “Absolutely not” to banning it. Fast forward. I’m in fifth grade. My mom hands me the book and I go to town reading it. I read it at home. I read it on the bus. And, I read it in the classroom. Where the teacher stops by my desk, takes a look at the book, takes a look at me, and promptly says in a very disapproving tone, “Does your mother know you’re reading this?” Now, I come from a household that firmly believes in reading anything and everything. No books were off limits, because my Pop-pop always said that. We’ve dealt with the school questioning this somewhat before. My mom often had to write letters to our teachers stating that she demanded we be allowed to go into sections of the scholastic book fair that were intended for older grades and reading levels. She believed in raising the bar, especially if we showed an interest and when it came to reading. Never had content been a question for me, though. “My mother was the one who gave it to me,” I replied, confused but also annoyed at the implication that something like a book should be considered off limits, especially after the library had already questioned me checking it out. Looking back, this was probably where my love of banned and challenged books come from. Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare and The Crucible by Arthur Miller… That’s right a two in one and on opposite sides of the spectrum for me. That is to say, one I loathed and the other I adored. Once more, we have a bad reading experience with school and my mother who saved the day. Picture it. Eighth grade. Height of Twilight. Les Miserables in my backpack. And, the teacher decides that the class is going to read The Witch of Blackbird Pond. Since this experience, I have heard nothing but amazing and wonderful things about The Witch of Blackbird Pond. I will admit, the fact that I was being forced to read this book and that it was the eighth-grade teacher who was enforcing this probably colored a lot of my opinions about it. Needless to say, this was another one I hated. You might be asking, why then bother to even include it? Well, school life and home life was a bit of night and day at this time for me. My mother once more makes an appearance. This was required reading and was necessary to pass a class. Instead of fighting me each night to do what felt like ridiculous tasks I couldn’t care less about for a book I despised with all the passions of Anne Shirley, she decided, instead], to teach me a few tricks to get through it. “Read the first and last sentences of each chapter” was one of them. These were very similar tricks that she taught her GED students for how to study and tricks that got me through a lot of my college courses. She didn’t just stop there, though. I was interested in history and the Salem Witch trials intrigued me, but was something I hadn’t explored much of before. Seeing me bored out of my mind with Witch of Blackbird Pond and frustrated that classroom “discussions” were all right-or-wrong answers one would find on a test that was designed purely to prove someone read the book, she handed me The Crucible. I devoured it. I adored it. I was hooked. She went a step further. She began discussing allegory with me and the connection the play had to McCarthyism. She went on to show me a movie version (back when Netflix was borrowed DVDs in the mail), the making of the movie, at least one documentary for the Witch Trials and one for McCarthy era, a nonfiction book about the witch trials, and Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Waggles by Evangeline Duran Fuentes and Why Does The Moon Follow Me by Barbara Lieberman
These two books were the first ones I ever illustrated. These were the start of my illustrating career and since I’ve illustrated books for a few other authors, as well as my own. Both these authors were a pleasure to work with and I couldn't have asked for a more positive beginning in the world of illustrating. Let me start by saying there are no words to describe just how much I love this book. I really struggled to write a review, because everything I write pales in comparison to what is worthy enough for a book of this caliber (it only took me like a month to sit with it before actually attempting, and like two hours to come up with this). This book is pure magic! The writing is like a spell in and of itself. The way Harrow describes magic is the exact way it feels to read the book. I had goosebumps. This was only the second book I read this year and I can already tell it is THE book of 2021 for me. I’m looking forward to the paperback so I don’t drain my entire bank account when I buy copies to give to everyone I know. It has become THE favorite book for me. And EVERYONE needs to read it. I do not read books quickly, let alone books of this size, but I devoured this masterpiece. I probably would have been able to in a single sitting if not for those pesky responsibilities. Even then, I found this book occupying my thoughts when not reading (it really sticks with you) and certain responsibilities fell by the wayside (when I could get away with it)! The Once and Future witches is like nothing I have ever read before. They say that there’s only truly a finite amount of stories out there. Well, this one breaks the mold. Not only is it a “just one more chapter, oh look it’s now four in the morning” and an “oh the dishes and work and life in general can wait because I MUST know what happens next” and a “I just can’t get it out of my head” book, but it’s also sooooo much more. I have a small obsession with “everyday” magic. There is nothing I love more than the intersection of the mundane and the sacred and never had I met a book that so perfectly captures it. One phrase that comes to mind for the book is “divine feminine,” but that word is so fraught and this book is more inclusive and diverse and open than that word sometimes means. The unique takes on popular fairy tales and concepts like “mother, maiden, and crone” felt more right to me than anything else I’ve ever read. I connected with it more. “Soul deep” might be the closest I can come to a phrase that fits. I found myself wondering how this author I never heard of before could know me so well, and on such a personal level. My anger and my passion and my fire and my wanting and my hopes, my muchness felt justified. All of me felt justified. I was seen, all of me, in a way that is so rare. You don’t consume this book. It consumes you whole, body and soul. It speaks to the depths of your entire being and the entire being of the world. I’d go on, but I have a nasty habit of spoilers and to spoil even a fraction of this book would be too great a crime that no one should commit. To put it simply, I have loved many a book before, but never have I fallen for a book this hard. "I don't merely want to survive. I want to live..."~ Society's Foundlings, Ellie Lieberman Survival vs. living is a theme commonly found in my books, including Society's Foundlings when resources and finances are limited or Solving for X when fear rules the world. It can also be found in my upcoming books, like Be (a prequel short story can be found in The Playlist Anthology). When we first think survival, we often think Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. In a nice, geometrically organized pyramid, it lays the foundation for the necessities in life. First and foremost are the physical needs in this structure. Food, water, rest, etc. Next are the psychological, going in order of safety, social interactions, self-esteem, and the such. The idea is you can't get to the more complex psychological levels until the physical needs are met. There is a truth to this. My grandfather always said, "Feed them first." Whenever anyone came to the door in need, the first thing he would do is offer them food, because it's easier to come up with solutions on a full stomach. Child Development shows this, too. If a child hasn't eaten breakfast before class starts, there is more difficulty learning. When one level is achieved it is easier to move up the hierarchy. That being said, we often forget that we need all of it. If a physical need is not met due to poverty, for example, or a safe environment is not or has not been provided, whether through abuse or war or natural disaster or what have you, as human beings we crave all aspect of the pyramid, still. There is often the idea that people who are missing one of these levels need solely that level. Kids in poverty just need food, often forgetting they are still kids. Yes, they need food for breakfast before class, but they are also kids who see their friends at school getting bags of chips and cookies with their lunches or coloring with sparkly crayons during free time. If you donate to charities or gift drives for kids in need, yes, necessities are essential (underwear, socks, toothbrushes), but also realize they need the magic of holidays and special events, too (toys, games, candy, things that allow them to be a kid despite limiting circumstance). When a fire burned down my mother's house when she was younger, a friend of the family made shoe boxes of toiletries. It had tooth brushes, deodorant, etc, but it also had perfume and little extras that weren't necessarily a necessity. There's a reason why there are hairstylists that spend their free time offering free services to people who are homeless. Sometimes what is needed when a lower level isn't achieved is what Maslow considered a higher level. Often times, Maslow's pyramid is the wrong shape. Like life, it cannot be so easily organized. Often times, what is needed is not survival, but living. This blog was technically written months ago, but only just found it's way to this site.
It's 1:14. I shouldn't be up late. I have two new, big ventures that fulfill more dreams than I could possibly explain. I need to get up before noon. There's things to do, general life to live. But, I can't stop clicking on Button Poetry links on Youtube. It started with things I couldn't possibly know. Things I will never experience. Searching for a hint of understanding because spoken word poetry can sometimes move a heart ore than anything else. If a picture is worth a million words, spoken word poetry is worth an infinite amount. What this late night foraging turned into was stumbling on ones that hit a little too close to home. And like a sadist, I continued to watch. Searching once more for that hint of understanding. To not feel so alone in my loneliness, to not feel so insane in my insanity. I have a life to live come morning. I should go to sleep, instead of haunting my personal skeletons at some god forsaken hour. But, sometimes we need that understanding more. Sometimes we need the power of words. Maybe just another poem. Home and belonging is a common theme in my books. Whether it's the dragon from A Dragon's Treasure in A Horde of Dragons. or it's Math from Society's Foundlings wondering why what feels like home can't be where he rests his head at night.
For the dragon, belonging is a chain around his neck until a friend tells him, "There's a difference between being someone's treasure and being treasured by someone." For Math, home transforms from a brick-stepped, light-flickering sanctuary where no one can trespass to a hand that catches you when you fall. Home, what it is and how we define it, changes as we do. It doesn't always look the same, but there are common elements. As Billy Joel sings, "Home is just another word for you." One constant is the people. Those you've known all your life who become more than just family, and communities, no matter how big or small, who become more than just friends. These Shadows, as I like to call them, like Shadow from The Treasure of Ravenwood. Those bosom friends and kindred spirits as Anne of Green Gables called it. For Jenna from Solving for X it was the memories within the place or the person. The plaid blanket where she and Erik watched fireworks. It was the line of photos. For Erik, it was the smell of salt water and the old basketball courts. Sometimes home is in the traditions. Mom's coffee in the mornings. Jenna's painting. Decorating for the holidays or Friday night dinners with the grandparents. And, home can be a place. Where love abounds and there lies a type of safety one can only find in those four walls. Home for me is a lot of things. It is paint and pencils, notebooks and sketchpads. It is an orange, furry hug. It is a steaming cup of tea. It is laughter and kisses goodnight by a porch light and under stars. It is a hand on my knee, fingers that tickle mercilessly, and his hat that I wear like a crown. It is smiles and shared dreams and a hand to hold and a hug I've known since birth. It is my mom. It is a Christmas tree decorated the day after the turkey is cooked. It's dancing and singing Ten Minutes Ago from Roger and Hammerstein's Cinderella. It's Chinese Food for Christmas. It's stories I now know by heart. It's a neighbor who I count as family. A blessing in the form of fabulousness. Another Pheonix- I am so fortunate to be surrounded by so many! My Fairy Godmother! Filled with as much wisdom as magic. Who could touch dust and turn it to gold. Whose sparkle always makes the day brighter. It is a goddamn masterpiece. A modge podge worth of 21 years. Home is where I rest my head at night. I think Sally Fingerette said it best, "Home is where the heart is. No matter how the heart lives. In your heart where love is, that's where you've got to make yourself a home." What do you consider home? |
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Ellie Lieberman |