THE PASSION STROLL...
a blog by author Ashavan Doyon
This is where the fantasy starts to get real. Thommas has entered the realm with Janice to show her the shadow of the world that her son Jordan sees, taking her to see her son face to face as he exists in the realm: a child of Om. This chapter also brings the introduction of the Prince of Zaharoth.
I know the story takes some time to get rolling; this is where the shit starts to really hit the fan.
Behind? Check out chapter one of The One That Feels. Confused? Want to know more about one of the characters? Let me know in the comments! (Don't forget to click on the "Read More" link to read the whole chapter)
Janice clutched my hand tightly and I heard her begin to form words several times, but each time she thought better of it and simply followed me through the dull gray existence that made up the realm in this place.
When we finally walked into Jordan’s room, I heard a little gasp from her as she pulled her hand away from mine, but I did not let her go. I pulled her into the room and then I closed the door and upon its surface I drew wards of power. And only then did I allow her to slip her hand away.
The only light within came from the radiance of her skin, that infusion of life and power that I had made to sustain and protect her in this place, for few in the world of the living have such a love of life, not now, not in the modern age. But in that glow she saw something very different than the mortal world, for Jordan lay on a great bed of pillows, silk, and over him there was no roof, but only the shade of an immense tree whose branches rose above the room in a great canopy. And the walls, the walls were stone and etched, so carefully etched with runes like those I had scribed upon the door.
I had a really busy day today. Where yesterday was characterized by my elderly pug having issues, today was the sort of work day where I really wanted to cry a little. Okay, a lot. I won't go into the whys or wherefores, but the essence of it is this: something not in any way under my control at work got messed up and it impacted a major deadline for Friday. In the meantime, the precious few days I have to accomplish this task have been swallowed whole by a multitude of appointments.
It has me a bit stressed out. Which is not unusual for the writer with the day job.
I'm bipolar, and have social anxiety that impacts my ability to function on a daily basis. People don't get that, because I do really well at appearing to function. When I read Poppy Dennison's post today about the importance of being nice, it couldn't help but resonate. See, I'm on social media a lot—as an author I need to be. But social media, especially Facebook, can be a den of nightmares. Everything seems to be a judgment: You must do THIS. How dare THEY do THAT. If THIS doesn't happen, your world will be over. Everything you eat is DANGEROUS. Don't you care about THIS, and THAT and the OTHER THING! You are a horrible human being for not caring enough!
The problem is that I do care. I care so much that I've had to shut most of those notifications off. And even shut off through careful filtering and unfollowing, I still get notifications. It creates a field of negativity. Between that and the work stuff, I've struggled to keep my masks on. I've done the usual stuff. I've kept the whiteboard notices on my door. I've played music (mostly upbeat dance), I've set aside the critical work to do the things in my job that keep me going. But I still have this task, and it weighs on me.
When I know I'm going to have a day like this I dress for it. In college that meant wearing a suit to feel powerful against it. I still do that sometimes. But usually I settle for a tropical shirt. A bright cheery reminder. Something that will look good even on a guy my size. I have a couple dozen to choose from in sizes from XXL to 4XL—just to be sure that I have one I can wear. Because as silly as it sounds, that bright fabric between me and the world matters. It's a shield, and yet it's me.
So tomorrow, a day I've isolated from the appointments and on which the main task giver is away, I will wear a tropical shirt. A new one in 4XL that won't tug against my chest. I won't worry about looking fat. My tropical shirt will be my shield. My quirky whiteboard message will be my wingman, providing just enough distraction that I can get my job done.
I don't know if it will be enough.
I know I'm not the only one who gets stressed out at work. How do you deal with it? Let me know in the comments (and don't forget to sign up for the newsletter)!
True believers (no, really, I'm not Stan Lee), I'm making a brief post tonight about posting. Why? Because posting hasn't been consistent, and it needs to be. So here's the deal:
The goal is for there to be two posts that are part of the The One That Feels serialization every month. These are intended to be posted on MONDAYS - once in about the middle of the month and once at the end.
There will often (but not always) be a post on off weeks. I am really trying hard to make those posts happen on Mondays also, but this week—because of this post—it will happen on Tuesday instead.
There will be occasional posts relating to current events (sometimes about how they relate to my stories, and sometimes just because I'm a person and current events are important) outside of this Monday-as-posting-day framework.
So that's the schedule. How does that look? well, for starters it means that this month fudges that schedule good. For serial posts the schedule looks like this:
That should put us back on schedule for The One That Feels, and come September we should be back to the schedule as planned. I am working hard at balancing content between platforms, and the introduction of Dreamspinner's update feature is both a blessing and a curse. My latest post "Sticks and Stones" was made entirely on their platform. I was feeling really good about that until I remembered it created a gap for readers here.
So I will be making a concerted effort to be posting regularly, with a particular focus to making sure my serial posts are on time and that posts elsewhere are not resulting in this space for readers being abandoned.
Today is All American Pet Photo Day. Who decreed this, and why, I'm not sure, but it coincided with the day Facebook decided in its wisdom to show an old post from when I first moved into the new house (that's a year ago) of Piggy, one of the first times she actually got comfortable in my new office. It made me think a lot about her. She was determined to always be in the same room as me, but didn't like to be held, so pictures of us holding her are pretty rare. Most are like this one, and she has that terrified "I'm being held" look that means that probably two seconds after this was taken she was trying to wriggle out of my grasp. One never really got to hold Piggy for more than about 10 or 15 seconds. Still, because of that look, which was so very like her, it is a poignant reminder for me of what I lost when she passed in November.
Do you have pets? Tell me how you feel about pets in your gay romances in the comments!
Writer of the mysterious, fantastic, and the romantic. Sometimes sappy. Often angsty. Always searching for the sexy. Stories about men who love men.