Ex Umbras

I lived in the darkness,
in the shadows of a primal cave;
I was a force to be reckoned with,
and all who heard it, feared my name.
I thrived in the dark there,
living for the hunt, the chase.
I was the only one I needed;
in the darkness I was safe.

And when the light came in,
     I was blinded and then
     the nighttime had come to an end.
At first I was scared
     until I saw you there,
     with your hair all a-stir in the wind.

You were everything I wanted to be.
     Suddenly it all made sense to me:
I’d spent all my life trying to survive,
     not realizing what I’d been missing.

When I lived in the darkness,
in the heat of a hunter’s race,
when I was a force to be reckoned with,
when everyone knew my name,
I was alone in the dark there,
where I thought I was safe;
but now that I have found you,
nothing is ever going to be the same.

Because the light came in,
     trailing songs on the wind,
     and you shattered all of my doubts.
It was strange and surreal
     the way you made me feel;
     there could never be anyone else.

For you are everything I want with me;
     you’re all of the stars in the sky I can see.
I’ve spent all of my life barely half-alive,
     not knowing it’s you I was missing.

And I’m not letting go,
     now that I finally know
     what love is supposed to be like.
I’m never leaving you,
     now that I have found the truth:
     you are the source of the light.

Dumpster Chickens

My primary companions at the moment. Well,
the most talkative ones, at least. Pic from here.

I’m stuck in a desert again.

The last time I was in a desert, it was an empty, near-lifeless expanse of shifting sands. No vegetation to speak of, not a cactus nor a scraggly shrub in sight; it was just endless miles of sand stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction. The sea of sand ended eventually, of course. But I wasn’t stuck at the edge of the desert. I was stuck in the middle.

This time the desert is a little different. There’s a bare dusting of vegetation, to start with, although I would hardly count the calf-high scrubs as much in the way of plant life. There are also quite a few ravens flitting about and cawing about this and that. I think the ravens live mostly off the human population here, and by living off of us I mean they eat our trash. They have a nifty little nickname (which, fond as I am of ravens, I happen to find mildly offensive): dumpster chickens.

I still hate being in a desert, however.

Furthermore, while stuck out in this rocky, scrubby, sand-sea, I’m separated from my Orion. I’m separated, once more, from my friends. I’m separated from my Soldiers.

I only have a few months left as a Platoon Leader, and I’d really like to be able to, you know, lead my Platoon. Unfortunately, I keep getting selected to participate in details not only in different states, but different countries. If you recall, the last such detail I was on took me to a sparsely populated speck of Germany. And now I’m in another desert.

I hate deserts.

On the positive side—and yes, there is one—I’ve had even more free time here, than I did in Germany. This means I’ve had time to actually be creative. So, without further ado, I’ll just come right out and say it:

After almost a decade of writing, I have finished my novel.

That’s right, folks. Circle: The Spinner’s Journey is completely written. There’s still a long ways to go before it’s ready to be published, but this is a huge accomplishment for me. All twelve chapters, a prologue, and an epilogue are written. I’m currently sitting at 220 pages typed, and as those are full-sized 8.5x11 computer paper pages, it’d be a bit longer in a teensy paperback format. Regardless, I’m quite proud of myself. I’ve already begun the nasty editing process as well as the selection of my first readers. If you happen to be interested in joining the first reader list, shoot me an email! I’ll be happy to send the manuscript to you once my own edit is complete.

After that, well, it’s just a matter of finding an agent…although I’m also considering the self-publishing route. I have no problems whatsoever being a free-download on kindle.

Goodbye, Graf! Hello, Ninja!

Grafenwoehr Tower. I couldn't seem to
track down who drew it originally.

I’m leaving Germany early tomorrow morning. Although the work part of this three-week detail was not nearly what I expected (and far from productive), it has been a productive trip in other respects. I managed to track down a few cute Yule presents without which I would have been hopelessly lost. (What does one get a boyfriend’s parents when meeting them for the first time? My solution: German gingerbread cookies in a cute little cookie tin that sings a German folksong when you open it up. Couldn’t get that in Texas!) I’ve also finished writing the 11th chapter in Circle: The Spinner’s Journey, which will be my first ever novel…if and when I ever try to publish it. I have even written the first five pages of the 12th and final chapter. All that’s left after the actual writing process is complete is the massive editing. Since I began writing many years ago, and went years without touching it, there’s a noticeable style difference between the first few chapters, the middle few chapters, and the final few chapters. On a personal level, I like how my story currently displays my progression as a writer; on a practical level, I want it to reflect the peak of my abilities the whole way through, and that will require an editing mostly for stylistic consistency.

The whole first three chapters, and almost certainly the prologue, may get re-written…but at least I know where I’m going to have the most problems.

In other news, I am the best big sister ever. Well, at least when it comes to Yule presents. Last year I put together a Zombie Apocalypse Survival Kit for Little Brother, which I had pieced together from various survival necessities from Ranger Joe’s and Amazon. You’d be surprised what you can find online. I found a water filtration straw—literally you can use it to drink out of a puddle in a rock and be perfectly fine—and a few other unique (but necessary, in a survival situation) items. I thought that was going to be difficult to top, because my brother is as much of an apocalypse nerd as I am. However, this year I managed to outdo myself. Because I am 100% confident my little brother does *not* read my blog, I’m going to go ahead and spoil the surprise right here.

I got him ninja swords.

Not just any ninja swords, but rather a set of high-quality, full-tang, tactically finished in black stainless steel ninja swords, complete with their own carrying case you can sling across your back. He’s going to faint when he sees them. I’m so excited! I literally can’t wait to see his reaction.

I’m actually even kinda jealous that I got them for him…because I definitely want my own pair.

Gods of Winter

Winter Goddess of the North
by IndigoDesigns

The dead have followed the Raven’s song,
and no longer among us they roam.
~ Damh the Bard, “On Midwinter’s Day”

As I walk between the buildings, the snow packed hard from the daily press of thousands of boots, I am struck by the stillness. Winter used to always strike me like that: silent and still, a memorial to sleep. I had almost forgotten the affect this season can have on me, likely because I haven’t seen snow in almost two years, and I had stopped loving Winter and its gods of death long before that. Perhaps it was digging my car out of two feet of ice every weekend while I lived in New York that made me grow so bitter towards the season, or perhaps it was trudging to class through frozen puddles while I studied in Russia, or perhaps it was simply that I had forgotten that just as I need my nightly rest, the land needs its yearly sleep. Regardless of the reasons, I had grown to dread the period following Samhaine despite the joy with which I always approach that particular holiday.

And yet, now, surrounded by the stillness of cold, far from anywhere I’ve ever called home, I find myself reconnected to the Earth in a way I have not been since I last walked the forests of Virginia. I certainly never felt this connected in Texas, and most definitely not while deployed in the Middle East. Here in Germany I am in a nearly constant state of awareness, of connection, of prayer. The gods of winter are thriving; they sent their messengers forth to peck the ground for frozen morsels, cawing at the curiosities they find buried beneath the white. Every time I pass such a scene, I smile to myself and nod in appreciation to my black-winged brothers. The crows are out in full force now. I often wonder if they are as amused by humanity as I am by them.

I had been dreading coming here. I had convinced myself that this temporary duty would consist of nothing but work, work, work and DFAC food (never a relishing thought). No one else from my unit was going, and I was the lowest ranking officer on the invite list. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which this detail could possibly have been worthwhile, and I was so worried about what would happen to my Platoon with neither myself nor a Platoon Sergeant to look after them and shield them from higher HQ for three whole weeks (he’s on leave en route to a new post, and I am, as I have mentioned, out of the country serving a larger mission). However, despite the frantic emails I receive once a day from my Commander or the XO, things seem to be at least—if not running smoothly—continuing to run. The realm I left behind is not, in fact, imploding; nor am I quite so alone here as I anticipated. One other officer I knew who used to be in my unit is also here, and I have since developed a few good friends among the younger Captains. They all still outrank me, but since my little gold bar turned black, no one seems to care whether you have one black bar or two. I still salute them when we are all in uniform, much to their chagrin.

Thus, as reluctant as I am to admit that I was wrong, I have to say it: I’m glad I came to Germany. I may even go so far as to admit that I am glad I came to this particular, forgotten spot of the former Soviet-controlled Eastern half. The woods here are dark and full of history; and, blood-stained as much of that history is, it still adds a richness to the fabric or the land. Perhaps that history is what the crows are searching through the snow for, or perhaps it’s just my imagination getting the better of me again, but the gods of winter have rekindled a flame I thought lost. I am now looking forward to Yule, to reuniting with my family and my forest, or at least the few trees that remain of those I grew up among. The rights to their wood has long been sold to loggers, builders, and other contractors, as if the forest itself were something a man can own.

The puddles here are glass, solid and still. The ripples froze in place, creating a mottled and unique texture on each one. Part of me is glad that they are frozen in their judgment, unable to reflect the faces that pass them by. Sometimes as I walk by them I am struck, not by the stillness, but by a still thought: the gods of winter are quite alive, and we are the ones who sleep eternal with dreams of a world we control.

Alive auf Deutschland

Weiden im Winter by Kerstin Borchardt

I realize it’s been far too long since my latest blog entry. So much has happened that I can’t even begin to encompass it all. First, and likely most importantly, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve met my Orion. At least, as sure as one can be in such circumstances. More on that fabulousness later. And by later, surely by now you know I mean eventually. In other updates, I’m also currently stuck in Germany—and I use the term “stuck” rather loosely—on a three week detail for my unit. They wanted to send a Military Police officer who speaks German to support some sort of multinational endeavor. I really don’t know why they decided I was the best fit, unless perhaps someone was watching Inglorious Basterds and thought, “Well, if those are the requirements for speaking the best Italian…” Yeah. In my unit I *speak* the best German.

I certainly studied the language for three years back in high school, but I’m still horribly out of practice considering I haven’t made a concerted effort to speak it since 2007. And really barely made an effort then. Languages were easy once upon a time. I saw the patterns, they just clicked in my mind, and the grammar and vocabulary was a breeze to memorize. Then I went to college and either a) got dumber or b) just stopped being linguistically smart. Russian was way more difficult to learn than German or Latin or French had been, and now that I finally started to get the hang of Russian, anytime I attempt to speak one of the other three…Russian spills out of my mouth. Or, best case scenario, a Russian-German-French linguistic mishmash hybrid language that really doesn’t do credit to any of the three. Occasionally I’ll even throw in some Latin-inspired grammatical constructs, since that’s technically the language I studied longest for a whopping five years.

But I digress.

The point is that I am currently in Germany, doing a job they wanted two Captains to do (and I’m definitely still a Lieutenant, and there is definitely only one of me), and yet I’m also pretty sure that a monkey could do my job. It amounts to forwarding emails, sitting through briefings, and highlighting semi-useless information just so I can say that I was “tracking” it. Like I was saying, a monkey could do it, and not even a particularly intelligent one. Speaking German? Totally not required. However, I have at least made good use of the time--Germany has some very, very cute shoes--and the food has been fantastic, at least for a schniztel and bratwurst fan.

Anyway, it is roundabouts that time that I need to go make my presence known at a briefing in which I will have no speaking role. Don’t worry, I’ll bring my highlighter so I look official and important-like. At least I get a nametag??