So, I lost my minimum wage, on-your-feet-for-8-hours, no respect job.
I couldn't be happier.
I have a small on-call job that I work about 1-2 days a week. I also have Innvogue, but that is sort of on-call to.
Today I went job-shopping and I was so depressed when I thought about returning to any positions where my boss would only see me as a company robot and customers (with few exceptions) would treat me like their hired slave. And of course, where I would not be using or honing my skills, passions, and desires.
I can't do it.
I want to start Silver Moon Creations full time.
I know, I'm crazy. Right? Right. I know I have the creativity to do this--the desire and the need--but do I have the skills? Do I have the motivation?
I've only thought of this as some sort of half-put-together hobby--I've only been sewing for two years. I have no prior experience and have taught myself everything.
I think I can do this.
I've given myself a 6 month leeway to explore this option!
I'll let you know. I'm excited, scared, and apprehensive!
A lot of things are going to change around here!
Three things that need to change:
1) Offer a flawless product (I sew fast and sometimes make mistakes)
2) Blog everything
3) Never forget my God and Savior
What would you do if I showed up with tickets to Europe? What would you do if I wore my heart on my sleeve? Would you go with me?
God is my strength and my redeemer. Every day I love Him more when I see more of the worlds ugliness. I known God is calling my name. And He is curing my bitterness. Because, in a world where God loves me, what do I have to be bitter about, anyway?
One day, when the world was new and humankind not yet a forethought--there lived two little old grumpy gnomes beneath the knoll at Edmond's Steading. They were wizards, both of them masters in the ancient arts of flame, spirit, water and dust. To pass the time it amused them greatly to dabble with the elements of nature, and prank the other--to see who could unweave the others weaving.
The stouter wizard, (he had forgotten his name thrice over, but currently called himself Ryniomlosu) was mixing a potion over his stove when he heard a loud explosion down the tunnel.
A great cloud of dust soon followed, but Ryniomlsu was not interested. He was crafting a ring--a water ring that would allow the wearer to control the essence of water he was nearest too. There were 19 rivers this side of the Isles--and those 19 rivers were the rivers he hoped to relocate to his fellow gnome's study this evening, hopefully accompanied by a surplus of very bewildered fish, and an angry selkie or two.
The ring had 18 stones of crystallized water already attached, and Ryniomlsu could feel the keening of the water coursing through the ring, a powerful summoning that sounded almost like a siren's song. He readied his soldering tool--holding the last bead in place. The earth shook again, as Ryniomlsu bonded that last node into the ring, holding it up triumphantly towards the light.
And that is how the desert was born, Maria. Are you ready for bed now?
No? You want to know what happened next?
Well, my dear, a quest was begun--a quest by elf and fae and nymph alike--the quest for the ring, to save the water and the lake creatures that Rynimlsu had unknowingly trapped inside his bauble. It is said that when the rock walls shook in response to the wizards immense spell that little bit of dust fell into his caldron, and his spell was altered, my dear, locking all that water and trapping all those poor souls forever beneath the glass.
But don't fret, love! Everything will work out in the end. Lets get some sleep. Yes, tomorrow I will sing you the lullaby of the Shadowmere, the legendary horse princess, who turned all her suitors into frogs.
I later used this story as a jumping off point to start my first novel, The Quest to End The Desert. This short story was inspired by a vintage shop I curated and used to run.
A little princess was playing by an old pool. She wore an emerald green frock, covered by a mossy brown apron, and there were butterflies embroidered on her little silk slippers. At the top of the hill, her nursemaid was asleep under an old oak tree, her bonnet rising and falling as she slumbered, a pile of discarded knitting balanced, half-finished, upon her lap.
"I am the princess of the butterflies," Nyniue told a passing frog, as she leaped from stone to stone around the rim of the old pond. She was practicing dancing for her eighth birthday party next week, where she would wear a gown of pale lavender and her thin silver crown.
She stopped to peer into the murky water at her refection, frowning at her freckles. The glint of her little butterfly pin caught her eye, shimmering there in the pool, it's ruddy refection distorted by the movement of the water. She touched where it rested at the crown of her head, then playfully splashed her refection.
As she straightened to resume her dancing, her heel caught on the hem of her long skirts. For a moment she teetered, caught somewhere between the pond and the sky--then SPLASH, headlong into the pool.
When the nurse woke, languidly stretching from her afternoon nap, all she found at the edge of the pool was the little butterfly pin and a mud-laden silk slipper, balanced half in and half out of the water.
These small fable stories were written by me, inspired by pieces I curated from a vintage online shop I used to run. You can read more here.