I Write Tragedies, Not Sins

I have always thought of magic as the language that we use to speak to the universe. Many Witches use words of power, chanting, and sigils to communicate their intention in their spellwork. That is practical magic, intended to use language to work their will.

Spring Magic

“I should pour a little of this back onto the roots,” they say as we dip spoons in the maple syrup and argue about whether to reduce it more. “Pay it back.” “Why wouldn’t you give it something from your world?” I ask. “It gave you something of itself.” “You want me to give it blood?”

In the Cards

The magic that I do has the same grit-teeth determination as any other chore. I need to wash the dishes. I need to take out the trash. I need to light a candle and tell Hermes that I am afraid. I need to tell the Puck I love him. But the baby is coming in a month and a half.

Christmastide

“What if,” I say idly, “I started celebrating Christmas again, but in an Arthurian sort of way?” “Camelot is the Christian wart on the face of pagan England,” my husband grumps.

Changeling

“She pushes me under the water quickly, but there’s no violence to it,” writes Luke Babb in a searing encounter with the spirit world. “Still, I panic. I hold my breath, struggle against her, but this is the sort of thing she is. I am the sort of thing that breathes, and so, despite my body’s stubborn refusal, eventually my lungs pull in and I taste the water in the back of my throat.”