And the greatest of these is...

"Would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"That thing you are doing with your fingers. Stop it. It's annoying."

"I'm bored. Aren't you bored?"

"Of course I'm bored. But that doesn't mean I should be annoying."

Grace rolled her eyes at her twin sister and went back to entertaining herself. Hope was just jealous that she had never mastered lightning the way Grace had. The trick to getting it to walk between your fingers was to understand that a big storm and a small storm were really the same. It was all about concentra....

"Hey!" Grace barely ducked out of the way of the fireball the Hope hurled at her.

"I told you to knock it off!"

Grace stood up and spread her hands wider making the electricity bounce between her palms. "You want to fight? Fine!"

"Fine by me." Hope faced her sister with her hands facing up. Pockets of fire glowing in her palms. She curled her fingers to make them form balls and got ready to launch them at her sister.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING? Are you trying to burn the whole house down? I swear to Bast I can't leave you alone for a second."

Hope and Grace both dropped their hands and looked down at their feet, "Sorry, Charity, we..."

"I don't want to hear it. I really don't. Look I know you two don't get along, but I need you to try to act like humans. Faith needs us. She wouldn't have asked us here if it weren't important. So just act like grownups for a change."

Hope and Grace both sat back down each with a loud sigh and a prominent eye roll. If there was one thing that could unite the twins it was their disgust in being bossed around by their older sister. It didn't mean they would do anything about it, nobody took on Charity, but it didn't stop them from resenting her.

---------------

And that's it. I've had this scene in my head for a week. What is going on with Faith that she needs her sisters there? Obviously a play on the names, but who are they? Where did they come from? What is the background?

It's stuck on repeat and no matter how I try to sneak up on it I can't get more. But I have been spending a lot of time imagining lightning dancing between my fingers as I think....

Muscle...

Before I got in to the shower today I was distracted by something in the mirror. It was a muscle. A muscle I have never seen before. Well, that's not accurate, I've seen it before. On other people just not on me. External oblique. Only on the right side, the left didn't stand out no matter how much I twisted. Which had to have looked ridiculous but I still tried. But on the right side? When I turned and bent? There was a muscle.

Thank god.

As you all know I've been more than a little frustrated with the lack of progress in my new plan. But that one muscle? The one I've never seen before? That will keep me going for the next 6 weeks. It means what I am doing is working. That there are changes being made. That I am getting stronger. That I am growing. It's enough to push me along. It's not a huge muscle. It's not one anyone else would ever notice (and not just because I don't bare my stomach to people much) but it's my muscle. It's my mark of progress.

Sometimes that's all we need. Some little bit of proof to let us know we are on the right track. To keep us going. It doesn't have to be much. Just something.

A few weeks ago when I told the story about the two wandering children in Target to Brent he said something to me that he does every so often, "You are a really good person." It's a pretty simple sentence and usually it's said after I've done something that, to me, seems like a fairly obvious thing to do. Once it was because I made sure to talk to some fans of the opposing team at a hockey game so they knew that we were glad they were there supporting their players. Once it was for standing up for someone who couldn't stand up for themselves. Once it was for listening patiently to a confused old woman who just wanted to talk. There are other times as well, but as you can see none of them are really big deals, just things you do. But he tells me, "You are a really good person." It makes me feel really good. It reminds me to keep doing what I do. That it's important, even if it's small.

Last night I posted a quick rant and a quick free verse about something that has been making me crazy lately. This morning I had comments on the post including one from someone who isn't even a normal reader of my stuff. Yay! Positive feedback for a simple post! That keeps me going. It means that there are people out there reading my stuff. That I'm not writing in a vacuum. You all keep me going.

We need things like that in life. Little atta girls. Little gold stars. Dots on a fitness tracker. Likes on a post. Muscles on your abs. A smaller notch in your belt. A smile from someone who loves you.

And a thank you from a wacky writer who really appreciates that you take the time to read her stuff. It's small, but it makes a big difference to me in my day. Thank you.

It drives me crazy...

Just a little ranty post to explain the odd little poem like piece I just posted...

There are things that make me really nuts on Facebook.

Memes about needing a man who knows the difference flattering you and complimenting you...spending money on you and investing in you...etcetera..

Reading posts by mothers of teenage daughters who post about their daughter's boyfriends treating them so wonderfully, taking care of them.

Memes about how real men treat their women.

And I get it, I'm not super romantic. I never have been, but the message we send to women and girls seems to be a constant drum beat of needing a man. A good man, sure, but still needing a man.

You need a man who will...

You need to do this once you find a good man...

You need....

Where is the advice to teenage girls that they don't need anything but themselves? Instead of telling them they need to find a boy that will treat them well teach them how incredible they are so they won't let someone treat them like shit?

And women are just as bad as girls. "I need a man who treats me like a princess." Child, please. Treat yourself like a queen and you won't accept anything less from those around you.

We let our girls wrap their self images around the boys they are dating. We should be past that. Don't encourage that anymore. Make sure when your daughter grows up and finds a partner she is finding someone she wants in her life, not finding someone because she thinks she needs something she is missing.


You need a man...

You need a man...

You need a man who knows how to treat you right

You need a man who respects you

You need a man who cherishes you

You need a man who would never hurt you

You need a man who understands how important you are

You need a man who knows what a precious gift he has been given

The voices droned in her head over and over

You need a man...

You need a man...
You need a man...

Then one day a stronger voice rang out

You need to treat yourself right

You need to respect yourself

You need to cherish yourself

You need to stop hurting yourself

You need to realize you are important

You need to see that you are your own gift

Once she understood that she did not need a man she saw the truth

Treat yourself right and you will never let anyone else treat you badly

Respect yourself and you will not tolerate disrespect

Cherish yourself and you will not be taken lightly

Treat yourself with care and you won't let anyone else hurt you

Know your own importance and no one can steal your voice

Once you understand your worth you will not give yourself to the unworthy

She did not need a man.

She did not need more than she was.

She was enough.
She always had been.

Explanation 

Now that's really scary...

Thursday afternoon I sat down to work on that Rosetta Stone puzzle that I've been working on for a few months. I hadn't touched it in weeks, too many other things going on and so it just sat on the table where I dusted around the pieces and tried not to lose any. But Thursday I finally sat down to it again. And as I put in the first piece I thought, "The scariest part is..."and I had a blog idea. So I left the puzzle again and came in to the study to write that blog. But on the walk from the kitchen to the study I realized that if I posted a non-fiction blog after leaving a cliff hanger on a short story (which is really awful of me to do, I mean it's a SHORT story, there shouldn't be cliff hangers!) I should probably wrap that up first and then write the other one. So I did that instead.

Wrote quickly (as I do) posted it and then read it one last time realizing it was full of odd little errors so I was editing while the story was in the wild. Eek!

And then I realized that completely tied in with what I was going to write so it actually worked out fine. So Friday's blog was set.

Then I had lunch with a friend on Friday and it turned in to a 3 hour lunch (honestly could have been a few more but we shut the restaurant down!) and then by the time I made it back to this side of town it was time to pick up Brent and finish up a few things to get him ready for his trip to Germany so the blog got pushed again.

But during lunch with Marcy we talked about writing. I shared a story with her about the first story I let a lot of other people read. I've written about that before and how in today's society of "Oh won't someone think of the children!" I would have had a very unpleasant experience out of it. And even telling a quick version of it yesterday I realized it makes me sound completely crazy and slightly unhinged that I could think that up. And I have to admit that I think up much worse now. You've all read some of it. And some of you have been on the other side of a riffing session where we come up with more and more bizarre things. They are all in there. Just waiting for their own story.

But then that tied in with the blog I wanted to write on Thursday so that worked out as well.

Because the scariest part is...

Right after I hit publish.

It's that moment where the blog or story now is out of my hands and in yours. When it's not mine anymore but ours. Sometimes it takes a lot to get it from me to you. Sometimes it's just a few minutes. There is a varying amount of care that goes in to crafting a blog or a story. Some of them take ages of thinking on them. Working through feelings and ideas if it's a nonfiction piece. Figuring out what to name people in short stories. And also seeing if that one great line of dialog that popped in to my head is a story or isn't it? Is it part of something I'm already working on or is it a new direction?

And then there is that moment where I've been working on something, I go back to read it and realize that it's actually horrible. Not at all the brilliant piece that I had in my head. And why did I ever think that I could write in the first place. I swear to god my friends are all really nice or completely crazy when they pretend the shit I throw at the wall is art and....

And even that moment isn't as scary as when I hit publish.

Because all of that doubt and work is in my head right up until that point. Once I hit publish it's out there. Errors that I let slide and didn't notice that change the meaning of what I was trying to say. Names of characters that inexplicably change mid story. Ideas that might be a little off for most people. All of it. Now it's free. What will people say? Think? Do? Will they like it? Won't they? Do I really care? How much feedback do I need? What happens when I get rich and famous and the interwebs dissect my old blogs and discover that I held a deeply unpopular opinion and now must be driven off to a cave to die by myself....

It's a deeply personal thing when someone creates something and then shares it with others. I think that's why people tend to think of artists as slightly neurotic. When you are making something, making up something, painting, sculpting, sketching, writing, it's all you. You are giving people a look right inside your brain. That's really very personal. You are opening up your work to criticism. Which is opening up the very heart of who you are to criticism. You can't help but take it personally, it is personal. You can tell yourself that not every piece of art is for every person. Not everything I write is going to be your cup of tea. But that doesn't mean that I want you to tell me it's shit tea.

I always try to keep that in mind when I am looking at a piece of artwork, or readying a story, or listening to piece of music. Even if it's not for me, not my style, that doesn't mean it took any less for the artist to put it out there. To open themselves up to the judgement. Reviews on Amazon and Goodreads are enough to make any aspiring author run for the hills. Walking through a First Thursday showing of a new artist's work and listening to people who couldn't paint by numbers if they were spotted the primary colors talk about what drivel this or that painting is makes my blood turn cold. Because it's hard enough to put it out there. And I know that once I do you are free to tear it apart.

The scariest part is right now...

The bigger the job the bigger the problems (part 2)...

Prelude

Part One

Janet was trying to compose herself. She hadn't expected to find blood magic in this store. She turned around to face Delores, "This really is blood magic."

Delores smiled pleasantly, "Yes, I have all of the paperwork here." She held out a notebook that Janet was fairly positive hadn't been in her hands a moment ago. Paging through Janet saw that all of the paperwork was indeed in order. There was the spell page listing exactly the ingredients including a signed statement of consent from the blood donor. Then there was a signature page for people who had purchased this particular potion. There were only a small handful of signatures on this sheet. This was interesting though, there was an extra notation next to each signature. Consent form and page number.

"What are the extra consent forms noted here? Are they other blood magic potions used in conjunction?"

"No, before I allow purchase and use of this particular potion you have to try the temporary version for 60 days. Once you have passed the waiting period then if you still want the main potion you may purchase it. This notebook contains the consent forms and signatures for those who started down the path but did not choose to continue as well as those that did. You can cross reference those signatures and page numbers with the forms in this book." Delores put her hand on a much thicker book that was now on the table in front of Janet. Janet opened that book and saw a spell sheet much like the other, but made with sweat from the same donor instead of blood.

Janet looked closer at the ingredient listings for the two potions. There didn't seem to be any reason for such care. There were the standard base herbs from multiple spells, a few ground minerals and then the blood or sweat from the donor. But nothing that jumped out at her as significant. "Are there side effects?"

Delores laughed, "It's not the side effects that cause people to not want the main spell, it's the main effect. And once you take the full strength potion there is no reversing the result."

Janet looked closer at the spell. "Anti-charm. What is an anti-charm?"

Delores smiled at Janet, "That's not an ingredient, that's the spell. Once you take the potion you are immune to charm."

"I've never heard of a spell that could do that."

"That's because it's my recipe. Took me years to perfect. It would be almost impossible to duplicate. And as you can see there really isn't much call for the full strength potion so there isn't a strong incentive for anyone else to try."

"Why did you?"

"It started as a labor of love. My sister was a very talented witch. Much more so than anyone else I had ever met. But she was an incurable romantic and easily misled. The third time she married badly she told me she wished she was able to recognize charm instead of thinking it was love. A pocket full of fool's gold doesn't make you rich. So I started work trying to come up with a 'cure' for charm. I came close a few times, but they were never exactly right. Here are the notes on developing the spell."

Another book was now on the table in front of Janet. An older and well worn moleskin. Janet opened the book and looked at the first few pages. Recipes with ingredients crossed out, amounts changed, notes in the margins. Test results were listed after each batch. Stains and pieces of dried herbs dotted the pages of the notebook. "You tried a lot of different recipes. What led you to using blood magic?"

"Ah! That was the big break through. Talking with friends one night they were sharing stories of a man that they all knew. He was known to be a rascal, but they all laughed and said he was just so charming that he got away with it. Then one said, 'Well except for with Suzanne.' Then another said, 'Yes, she is immune to charm, always has been.' And that was when I knew I needed to meet Suzanne."

Janet looked at the blood forms. Suzanne Hotchins age 34. "So she consented to give you her blood to experiment with?"

"Eventually. We talked for awhile about her seeming immunity to charm. She said she recognized it. Understood it. But was not affected by it. Never had been. In fact when someone was actively trying to charm her it seemed to have the opposite effect and would repulse her. She wouldn't trust them. Couldn't understand why everyone else did. She had always thought she was missing something in her psyche that everyone else had. I convinced her that instead of missing something she actually had something extra. After that she agreed to donate the sweat and the blood."

"Why both?"

"You are familiar with the differences in spells correct? Blood magic is stronger. It's elemental. It's a life force. Sweat is an echo of that life force. When testing blood magic one should always start with a sweat based spell. Always. You wouldn't want to find out that your spell was wrong after you made the results permanent. The first tests we did were with the sweat spell. It took a few times, as you can see in the book, to get the portions down exactly. Then I let my sister try the spell. I was so excited for her new life free of being lied to."

For the first time since Janet had entered the shop the spark in Delores' eye seemed to dim. The barely held back laughter quieted. "It didn't work?"

"Oh no, it worked. And she was miserable. She said it felt like living in a stranger's skin. There was some piece to her life that was missing. It turns out that though the fool's gold wasn't making her rich, it was still something shiny to look at and she loved the shine. So she never took the full strength potion. She continued to fall for the wrong man and eventually it was her undoing."

Janet looked at the books, "But you decided to keep it in stock?"

"Yes, just because she chose not to use it it was still good magic. It's still a valuable spell. But because of her experience I am very strict about the waiting period. And I also remind people that you cannot unring a bell. If you find while you are on the trial that your true love is actually a con artist in disguise that knowledge won't go away once the effects wear off. You will still know. You will just be susceptible again to falling for his, or her, smooth words and charms. However you will know that you are doing it. Which is worse. To know you are being made a fool of and still letting it happen? There isn't much worse than that.

There is also a large dose of Cassandra Syndrome. Just because you know that your friend's boyfriend is full of false charm doesn't mean she will believe you. Even though you can see your brother's new wife is slick as glass doesn't mean he will ever want to know the truth. It can be a very frustrating and lonely life you are choosing. Which is why most people do not come back in for the rest of the potion."

"But some do, obviously."

"A few over the years have. A couple of people who were hurt so deeply and so badly by someone that any way to avoid that in the future was worth whatever spark they might lose. And a few lawyers who felt that this knowledge would help them on their career paths."

At that Janet looked again at the list, pointing to a familiar name, "Is this the..."

Delores cut her off, "It is. She's done very well for herself. She would have anyway, but this helps."

"Have you ever been tempted to take the potion yourself? I can imagine there are times it would be very handy. I can sense magic being used around me, but pure charm? I think knowing if someone was trying to charm me that would be very useful."

Delores laughed again, that deep sensuous laugh that almost felt like you could hold it, "I am not sure what would happen to me if I used it." Then she winked at Janet, "Charm isn't always a bad thing. Like any other form of magic it can be used for bad purposes, but it can also just be a lovely gift to give to someone. Now, are you satisfied with this particular section? Would you like to continue your inspection?"

Janet thought about it, "I think I will actually come back for the rest. I need to make my notes on what I've seen so far and compare them to Silvia's last reports and as you weren't surprised by my visit in the first place I doubt I would find anything here that wasn't in perfect order." With that she went to gesture to the notebooks on the table only to find they were no longer there.

"Oh did you need me to bring those back? I thought you were finished with them."

Janet shook her head, "No, that's okay, I was done. Oh one more question though, when I first came in you were talking with a customer about not bringing demon cookies in to your store again, could I get her name and address to visit?"

Delores really laughed then, "You could visit, but you would be disappointed when you found only a dear sweet abuela not a seasoned witch. She is a customer of mine for sure, she buys her star anise from me, says it's the freshest she can find. To show her appreciation she tries to bring me in her famous biscochitos." Delores shuddered, "I cannot stand biscochitos. Demon cookies."

....

Later that evening after Janet had finished compiling her notes from the visit she pulled the folder from Silvia's file to compare.

Shop: The Magic of Taos

Owner: Delores Sandoval

Age of Owner: Unknown

Origin of Owner: Unknown

Shop layout: Trinkets in front room. Real equipment in the back. Dangerous items under lock and key and guarded by familiar.

Paperwork: Always impeccable. Would like to see her library at some point in time. Unclear where books are stored when not called in to use.

Special Notes: DELORES SANDOVAL IS THE REAL DEAL! The council has notes on Delores Sandoval from as far back as 200 years (the oldest on record in America) and it is assumed she was practicing before that time. She has recommended many current leaders on the council as well as trained numerous apprentices. Pay attention to her when she talks. Watch what she does. Again DELORES SANDOVAL IS THE REAL DEAL!

Janet put down the file before reading more as there were at least 6 more pages of "Special Notes." 

Clearly she was going to have to rethink her position on not reading her staff's files before she did an inspection. 

The bigger the job the bigger the problems....

Janet grabbed her logbook ready to inspect one of the new stores under her watch. Ever since her big coup last year in finding a slaver and freeing hundreds of trapped fairies and other magical beings she was on a fast track up the career ladder. She was now regional director for the Western Provinces. Instead of doing inspections and answering emergency call outs for the Pacific Northwest she had added Central and Southern California, Utah, Montana, Wyoming, Nevada, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico to her territory and was now supervising the local inspection crew. Today she was doing a spot inspection on a small magic store in New Mexico, she would do a cold inspection and then compare her notes to her employee's notes to make sure nothing was being missed or hidden.

So far she had been pleased with her crew. Everyone seemed to really know their stuff. It was a tricky territory but she was enjoying herself. New challenges for sure, but nothing she hadn't been able to handle yet. Southern California was mostly making sure the New Age fad chasers didn't accidentally stumble upon real magic they weren't prepared to deal with. It had happened once a few years ago, a Los Angeles store owner was trying to invent the next big mystical thing and accidentally conjured an incubus. He had posed as a producer for 6 months before being found and sent back to his realm.

The Southwestern states were a little harder to work. Magic there was mixed in to the culture in a way it wasn't in her other territories. She was working on a theory that the more Catholic a region was the more actual magic practitioners you would find. The crossovers between the two areas were too numerous to be a coincidence. Incense, lighting candles, saying words of power in an ancient language...and on and on. Though both sides would be horrified at the comparison.

She took her centering breath and opened the store door bracing for that hit of incense and was greeted with...

Well this was a nice change of pace, the smell was quite pleasant. Sage and something else she couldn't quite place. But very subtle. Nice. There was a woman at the counter helping a customer and a young girl at the back of the store shelving books but other than that it was just her in the store. That was good, it helped her to focus.

"...and don't you bring any of those demon cookies in to my shop ever again!"

Janet's head snapped around to get a good look at the woman the proprietress had been speaking too but all she caught was the back of her head as she left the store. She would make a note after her inspection was finished and come back to it later. Looking over the shelves there was the normal mix of trinkets and crystals. A few extra things nodded to the Native American heritage of this area. Kiva shaped incense burners. Kachina dolls of varying fashion. More turquoise than any other stone.

"I assume you really want to see the back of the store?"

"Excuse me?"

"The back of the store, where we keep the real items. You won't find anything worthy of the council's attention out here, though by all means keep scanning."

"You know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Silvia's new boss. My name is Delores, this is my shop, as you know."

"Did she tell you to expect me?"

Delores smiled at Janet and cocked her head to the side, "How could she have done that when you didn't tell her yourself? Come, let's go to the back so you can spend more time where you need to be. You can review the front room before you leave. Celia, hija? Watch the counter for me please, we will be in the back if you need me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"She's a good girl, you are going to want to watch her, I think she could have a very promising career as a seer." The younger girl ducked her head in modesty and Janet could see both the pleased grin on her face and the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Walking through the curtains separating the front and back rooms Janet felt a press of power she wasn't expecting to find in a small tourist attraction magic shop. The smell from the front room grew stronger for a second and then faded away. "Sage and?"

"Piñon. The sage is due to the large volume of people we have coming and going, consider it a constant cleaner running in the background. The piñon is for calmness. So everything in the store is always clean and calm. The best for clear heads. I enhance it at the doorway between the fun and the work."

Janet looked around the space they were now in. Shelves of books, locked cabinets with jars of potions inside, spice racks with more ingredients than she had ever seen outside of headquarters. The magic was thick enough in this room she could feel it crawling over her skin. Coating her in a layer of warmth.

"You might want to re-shield yourself. I should have warned you, I guess. This room can have the effect of a warm fire on a cold day. If I left you alone you might just curl up in that corner over there with Syar and go to sleep."

Janet looked to the corner and was greeted with a slow yellow eyed blink from the largest cat she had ever seen.

"We think he might be part puma. But we aren't sure if it's that or he's just fat." Delores laughed a full throated deep almost sensual laugh. Syar made a chirping meow at her and rolled over to go back to sleep which just made Delores laugh even harder.

Janet wasn't sure where to start in this room. Everything radiated real magic. She decided that the only way to approach it was by using a focusing spell. She would quickly scan over everything and anything that warranted special attention would spark. There were a few books on the shelves that called to her for a deeper look. They held spells with real power. Though nothing illegal. One of the books was set on a shelf by itself. Janet reached for it and it moved away from her. She reached again and it slid away again. Delores smiled, "You have to sneak up on it from the side. It's why we have it all alone. It kept knocking all of the other books off the shelf. It belonged to a very reclusive witch and took on her personality. It's actually a very handy book once you get it in your hands. But all things being equal it just wants to be left alone."

Janet pretended she was looking at the books on the shelf below and casually reached up to grab the lone book. Once she had it in her hand it held very still, not trying to get away again. "Go ahead, think of a spell you might want." Janet could only think that she wasn't prepared to find a book with a personality in a small shop in a tourist town.

The book quivered in her hands and then opened to a spell for increasing awareness, then quickly turned to a page on a draught that would help you be open to new experiences. Then finally flipped to a page on a medicinal herb that would lower your sense of superiority. Delores saw the last one and laughed again, "It's a very helpful book, you see, the woman that owned it and wrote most of the spells in it was very knowledgeable. But she had no patience for pretension.  Don't feel badly though, every time the book gives a series of spells it ends on that one. It's not you, it's well....it."

Delores produced a key to potions cabinet and unlocked it for inspection.

Janet focused again and was rewarded with a blazing spark toward a bottle on the second shelf.

Reaching toward the bottle she turned on Delores, "Is this blood magic?"