beginnings, pt. iv

When the empire started collapsing around us, one of the first things I did was try to think of everything that had changed as the beginning of something new, rather than the death of the old. For instance: I had been a scholar in the employ of the principality; when there was nothing left of the principality to serve, it marked the beginning of my tenure as an itinerant scholar, one who served no master but the truth.  (It was a construct, of course, but then, so is royalty.)

It's hard to figure out where to draw the lines. When, for instance, did the scholar's robes I wore become so tattered and worn? They were once new and clean, a symbol of the status I enjoyed as a servant of an empire that had not yet realized it was dying. At what point, do you think, did it begin to die? At what point did it cease to be a living empire and begin its eternal existence as a dead one? At what point will people begin to see it not as an entity with a real effect on the world and begin to see it as lore and legend? I had often traveled far and wide in my efforts to uncover the secrets that too often are buried and lost by the sediment of empire, but at what point did my travels begin to feel so lonely? When did it begin to feel like I was not so much unearthing that which had been forgotten, but archiving that which we could not afford to forget? When did my curiosity begin to feel so important, so urgent?

As you can see, it became something of an obsession. Perhaps it was the only thing between my conscious self and the revelation that everything I had once known was gone, that the world was a colder, harsher place than I had believed, that I may have been the only living soul trying to make sure that, if it could not be saved, it could be remembered. Or perhaps my mind simply latched onto this new challenge because it seemed so insurmountable, because the very notion of a beginning is ultimately arbitrary. When does night become day? When does a kitten become a cat? When does a difficult task become a fool's errand?

When I first enrolled at the university, I believed that I would be finding answers, but of course it has always been the case that the deeper I delve, the more questions I find. The end of all things, though it has changed many things--my relationship with the wilderness, the way I dress, how my thoughts are formed--has not changed that.

But that's enough time on this little aside, I think. There is work to be done; time to begin.

beginnings, pt. iii

It was, I suppose, the snowstorm that ultimately sparked the beginning of our relationship. It was one of the winter festivals we would throw at the palace, something to keep the city's nobility entertained during the cold and the dark, complete with fencing and dancing and music and feasts. She was there to fence, and she defeated the city's best and brightest with such grace and such little apparent effort that of course I fell in love straightaway. It's hard to imagine someone who wouldn't have. I was too dedicated to being a good hostess to our guests to offer more than a perfunctory congratulations on her victory, but I couldn't stop myself from watching her as she navigated the crowds, so effortlessly confident, so carelessly charismatic, and every now and then she would catch me staring and just grin.

Her confidence cracked when my father announced that the storm had picked up, that lodging would be made available for those guests who could not make it home. I found her on the balcony, staring out into the blizzard, shivering against the cold. She was still there when I returned with tea. I don't think she realized who I was when I pressed a cup into her hand at first, until she turned back to look at me, a faint smirk on her lips. "A princess serving a mere commoner tea? What will your court think?"

"I just--you looked cold," I stammered, instead of something clever or even something passingly flirtatious like "I won't tell if you won't."

But she smiled, and turned back to the blizzard. "You don't have to be afraid of me, you know."

"I'm not afraid," I said, and hated how shrill, how unconvincing my voice sounded as I did. But I stood next to her on the balcony and gazed out into the storm with her, and if she found my presence as irritating as I knew she must have, she was too polite to say. Then, hating myself all the while, I said, "Are you all right?"

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Someone brought me tea, so I'm going to say yes." A long pause followed. "Tell me your thoughts, princess. You must see something when you watch the snow bury your city."

I decided to take my time in answering. "It reminds me that everything can disappear in an instant, that everything I do will one day disappear. But it's beautiful. I could watch it for hours. And that makes me hopeful, even if it's a stupid reason to be hopeful."

She smiled at that. "Me, too, princess. Me, too."

beginnings, pt. ii

New York felt like a liminal space, too familiar to be foreign, too alien to be home. It was a place to disappear, to leave behind all the old trappings of our lives--one last "fuck you" from Sean after someone finally killed him. We shuffled into the city looking and feeling nothing like ourselves, after spending four hours on the bus, if you can imagine. I kept looking over to say something to Nora and thinking someone else was standing beside me. But nobody looked twice as we hauled our overstuffed luggage out of the terminal, and that was the idea. We could have been anyone. I thought that comfortable anonymity would have set my mind at ease, but instead I felt exposed. If something went wrong now, this far from everything, what could we do?

We met our contact--when I insisted she give me a real name she said, and I quote, "You can call me Charlotte, because I'm kind of a lot"--at a diner that was far too brightly lit, its colors too garish. I couldn't focus as she told us about the tech she'd added to the cheap, sensible car we would be taking west, or about the work she'd done on constructing identities for us in the event things went wrong. I didn't even have enough focus to be suspicious.

"Nothing's untraceable," she was saying, in response to something Nora said. "But anyone trying to trace you will have to get past me, and I'm fucking awesome."

The car she'd prepped for us was waiting in a nearby parking lot, where she assured us the parking fees had been taken care of. It was a far cry from what I imagined when I thought of Nora taking me on a road trip somewhere--this car was too cramped, too weak, too bland. There was no room to get comfortable, no room in the back to sleep.

It was supposed to be fun. We'd earned some quiet, Nora and I, after everything that had happened, but there was no peace to be found on the path we'd found ourselves on. Still, there was nowhere to go but forward.

beginnings, pt. i

There is something powerful about the fear of being alone that drives even the most resolutely introverted among us to make strange decisions. So I found myself at a party on new year's that, by virtue of being a party, I didn't particularly want to be at. At the time it sounded better than the alternative.

I must have been giving off some strong "not having fun" vibes; most of the people who talked to me started with "Are you okay?" and I had to force a smile and say something like "Yeah, just tired," and then we'd engage in awkward party talk until there was a pause long enough for one of us to make our excuses and wander off, or, occasionally, just quietly slip away. But, credit where it's due, the woman who had commandeered the bar made some pretty solid drinks and I did enjoy the excuse to dress up.

Shortly before midnight, when I'd ducked outside to get some air, I encountered someone else who seemed to be having as much fun as I was, and we just sat on the back porch and talked. The exact sort of quiet conversation I enjoyed, with someone who was interesting and who laughed at my jokes and didn't seem to find the sound of my voice annoying. At midnight she told me, "I think I'd like to kiss you," and I told her I'd be okay with that. And once it was no longer impolite to leave I walked her back to her house, which was not far, and then walked back to mine, which was.

There was a time in my life I really loved the idea of having a meet-cute, something spontaneous and romantic that drew me together with my partner. I even dated a few people where I tried to manufacture that moment, with limited success. Back then I would have scoffed at "We met at a party where we were both older than everyone else there and we just found that we liked talking to each other" as a story of the beginning of a relationship, but it feels comforting now, like drinking tea in the winter, wrapped up in blankets, watching a fire. And sometimes comforting is what you need.

back in black!

My friends, the blog fields have lain fallow for far too long. The years have been hard, it's true, the winters harsh, the summers unrelenting, but there was a time when a traveler could walk these lands any week of the year and find blog fruit ripe for the taking, fresh from the vine, and it is my intention to make that happen once again.

I just spent the first few days of the new year reading over the old posts from 2013, the last great year of this blog, and you know what? I really enjoyed that project. It was fun to visit and revisit stories, and reading over them there's a few entries I was really pleased with. The thing I had forgotten, in my intro, is that this had started as an idea I apparently had in a conversation with someone which I have since entirely forgotten (I think I might remember who it was, though) to just give each month a theme and write on it. I'm doing that. That's the plan.

It is, to be sure, a far less ambitious project than 2013, which was about points and counterpoints, and calling it a project may be a bit of a stretch, but now is as good a time as any to get back to writing something regularly on here. I've missed it.

The year got off to something of a rocky start, but today was a good day. Good enough that I found myself actually thinking of doing this, and then sat down and started putting it down where people could see it. So let's start with "beginnings" as a theme, and hopefully by the time February comes around I'll have thought of a good one.

And now, because all good content concludes with a call to action and because the idea of readers suggesting themes sounds much more charming than it otherwise would have: do you have any good monthly theme ideas? Let me know in the comments, and don't forget to like, share, and subscribe!

does that joke even work with a blog? what did bloggers say when they got insufferable? do blogs even still exist?