Shrine Updates, August 2017

So it’s been a bit of a quiet month, but that’s okay. There’s been a lot of prep work and putting things into place and sorting things out and trying some other things out, too. The last two days have been very Spring-like: warm and sunny and nice. I got into a bit of a cleaning mood, and have spent the time redoing my shrines, and my spaces, doing a little decluttering, and moving a few things around so they work better for me. I think I’ve also decided on at least one piece of fiction to include in the anthology, it will just need some work and editing and world-building first.

There’s a part of me that just wants to ramble on about the shrines, but honestly, I feel like I’ve written too much about them and I’d just be repeating myself. But I made some videos, so take a look at them, and I’ll ramble about them just a little.

Continue reading

Advertisements

Myth: Something I’m Not (Wesir as a trans* god)

A/N: So I’ve spent the evening writing this, because apparently Wesir didn’t want to wait or anything once I’d figured out how to translate the experience of being transgendered as a human into something that would work for a god (He suggested daft humans who don’t want to listen to their god :D). Five thousand words and a lot of snark later, have a mythfic.

I wouldn’t consider this to be a very canonical retelling of the Osirian myth, though. It kind of became its own thing as I wrote it, particularly given how Wesir wanted to begin it, and where He wanted to go with it. I feel this sits more on the fanfic side of things, rather than the mythic side of things, but anyway. Enjoy?

Something I’m Not

He found there was nothing more exasperating than being a god, and seeing all the mortals just not understanding him. After all, Amun’s form, his true form, was known only to Amun, and they seemed to have no trouble with that. But somehow, Wesir was stuck with a priesthood who seemed unable to listen to their god when he spoke to them.

It wasn’t as if Wesir hadn’t tried. Sure, he was a god of fertility in this tiny region, the god who allowed the crops to live or die, but somehow, he hadn’t managed to get across to his priests that he didn’t want them to keep referring to him as a goddess. “I’m not a woman,’ he would whisper to his high priests when they opened the naos at dawn, but they would not listen. For some reason unknown to him, they had managed to completely misunderstand him when he’d said that it was his body that gave birth to the seeds. In retrospect, perhaps his choice of words might not have been wise, and perhaps he would have been better with a less poetic and metaphorical description. Instead, they had decided that the only way to make sense of such a thing was to erect statues to him, depicting him as a pregnant woman.

He sighed, and praised Ma’at that he only had any power in this tiny little region. Still, it was beginning to get to him, particularly since no one seemed able to recognise him unless he conformed to his statues. To deal with it, he had begun adopting that image, since it was all they recognised, and tried his best to not abandon them out of spite. He did still care about them; he had several temples and an active priesthood in several towns. It did no good to turn your back on that.

Continue reading