Adapting

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I was scheduled to go to a writer’s retreat this last week. Three days in a cabin in Glen Eyre, packed with good food, good friends, and a wonderful mentor. Long walks, gorgeous red rocks, sunsets, and laughter.

Obviously, it didn’t happen.

There are a lot of things getting canceled just now—for everybody. Flights, concerts, vacations, work trips. Just about everything. I was expecting the cancelation, but it was a bit of a blow anyway. This particular writer’s retreat has been a yearly thing, somewhere to connect with my group, love on my friends, and get a bit of fresh perspective on my writing and life in general—something I could definitely use just about now.

Unfortunately, the retreat’s been suspended until October, so I’ve got to find my own fresh perspective.

This quarantine is all about adapting.

New ways to connect.

New ways to refresh and recharge.

New ways to love on my friends.

Lately, my writer’s group and I have been adapting. We all need the connection and refreshment of a retreat, but now is not the time to be renting cabins, meeting up, or planning sleepovers. Instead, we’ve found new ways of encouraging each other. Writing exercises and challenges over text, sharing bits and pieces while we write, and meeting up through Zoom and FaceTime.

It’s not quite the same as a weekend in the mountains, but it helps. It’s a way to encourage each other, keep ideas fresh and flowing, and connect in a time when connection feels impossible and friends feel far away.

Physical distancing is important just now. But we need our friendships and all the connection we can get just now, and that means adapting. Finding new ways to relax. New ways to refresh.

We’ve been practicing our new ways this week. Connecting, making up for our missed retreat. I’m still very much looking forward to seeing everyone in October, but we’re managing for now. Life doesn’t stop because of quarantine, and friends are still friends—even if we have to find a new way to get together for the time being.

We can always adapt.

What are some ways you’re adapting to quarantine—and loving on your friends in the process? Tell me about it in the comments! I’d love a few new ideas.

Howling at the Moon

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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This has been a strange week.

Stranger than normal, I mean.

Yes, I know, the whole world has been strange for the last few—millennium. But this week has seemed a little stranger than normal. From crazy warm weather to snow when I definitely didn’t want snow to changes in my work schedule to projects I didn’t expect to be working on to howling at the moon, this week has been strange.

Yes. I said howling at the moon.

Allow me to explain.

See, with all the virus stuff going around, we’ve been stuck in our homes a lot. And for us, it’s not so bad. We have thirty five acres, right? So we can wander around, run through the woods, find turtles, chase squirrels, and generally keep ourselves busy.

Okay, I lied.

I’ve never found a turtle on our property in all of my whole life.

But I’ve dearly wanted to do so.

The point is, we’ve got it pretty good quarantine-wise. Plenty of space, people we love, etc. But some people are stuck in their little homes and apartments, and some people are ferrying back and forth to work in the hospitals and take care of those who are getting sick.

So, we’ve been howling.

Because our healthcare workers are the heroes of this story, and one of the things that are being done to support them right now—at least in Colorado—in the eight o’clock howl.

We can’t have a parade, see. Because social distancing is important right now. So instead, we’re all coming out on our porches at eight o’clock and howling like coyotes to show appreciation for our healthcare workers and remind our neighbors and communities that we’re still here, even though we can’t come out just now.

Obviously, our ‘neighborhood’ is a little scarce on neighbors.

I’m not even sure they could hear us.

But it was the spirit of the thing that counted, and we had fun doing it. I posted a video on my Facebook and Twitter pages of the howl, but I won’t inflict it on you here. The point is, things have been a little crazy around here lately. And when things get crazy, sometimes it helps to go out and howl at the moon.

Are your communities doing anything nightly to celebrate your healthcare workers? Tell me about it in the comments!

Finding A New Normal

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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I’m working exclusively from home these days.

I think most of us are, right? Those who can anyway. I’m so, so grateful to have a job that transferred to my house as easily and smoothly as mine did, and that continued to supply the same amount of hours that I’d been working before. Still, the transition has been a little strange, and I am still getting used to my new routine and the changes it’s brought into my life.

For one thing, I dropped the eight-to-five-with-a-lunch-hour routine and now start my workday at six AM on the dot. My best writing time is always in the early morning anyway, and this new schedule leaves me with an afternoon that’s free and clear.

I’ve planted a lot of seeds.

And found a lot more time for my own writing projects.

Mostly though, I’ve been learning to balance things again. To find the routine and the rhythm that gets me into work in the morning and out of it when I finish up in the afternoon. See, before, I had my commute to rely on for that. An hour’s drive with an audiobook or with my dad for company went by much quicker than you’d think, and by the time I reached home, I was ready to be home instead of still having my head stuffed with work.

Now, I finish work on one computer and immediately feel like I should be picking up the second one to ‘get on with it’.

Except that’s not realistic.

Neither is starting work five minutes after I’ve dragged myself out of bed, which is also tempting.

So, I’ve been making habits. Habits with alarms in the morning, workouts in my tiny living room, showers and a change of clothes after work is done, time in the sun, and time with people I love. The little things make all the difference right now, and I’ve been seeking out the things that keep me sane—sunshine, fresh air, new growth, and space to breathe.

Basically, I’m building a new normal. Something sustainable, until the world starts up again and life outside our homes can continue on safely. I hope you all are doing the same!

What are you doing to keep yourself sane in your ‘new normal’? Tell me about it in the comments!

Marshes

Posted on by A.R. Geiger

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They left her to the marshes.

That’s the rumor, anyway. The women in the kitchens whisper about it when they mop the floors, and the men tell the stories in the stable. I’ve heard it both places.

It’s always the same.

She spurned a lord, and the marshes took her soul.

I’ve spurned my own lord. Time and time again. He’s told no one yet, but stories have a way of slipping out. When it does, they’ll do worse to me.

The marshes are calling, and I’ve decided to answer.

They’ll bring me here anyway, and I’m more afraid of their sharp tongues and hard blows than the brackish water and trailing willows of the marsh. I played in it as a child, always alone, always watched over by friendly eyes, and I feel their gentle watchfulness as I brush aside the willow branches and ease into the marsh.

Mud squelches to my knees, but I know the way through the marsh better than most. Better than any in the lord’s house, thank goodness. They won’t follow me here.

The mermaids hear me coming before I’ve gone two steps. I’m surrounded almost before I realize they’re here, and I trail my fingers in the water and pretend I haven’t seen them. Really, I only catch glimpses anyway. A rippling among the reeds on my left. A flash of silver and pink scales beneath the willows. Black hair trailing among the weeds.

I keep my eyes on the horizon and wait for them to come to me.

They do eventually. When they’re sure it’s safe. Startled mermaids are dangerous friends, but I’ve come to love them like kin, whatever our differences. They stroke my hands with their slimy fingers, tracing the bruises on my wrists and hissing in dismay when they taste the blood from my fingers in the water. I hum soothingly, swallowing the hitch in my throat. I’ve been banished to the marshes, like the woman in the old tales.

She spurned a lord, and the marshes took her soul.

How I wish they would take mine. They could wash it clean, rinse the bruises from my skin and the pain from my mind, and leave me with the kind of peace I’ve been needing.

Their hands tug me along, through thick mud and deep water, until the marshes have swallowed me completely and even the willows have faded into the night behind me. An island of thick moss and white sand rises out of the water, and I rinse the mud from between my toes and kneel on the bank, listening as their songs chase away the darkness in my mind. Their pale faces rise from beneath the surface, their strange eyes faded and dull as they smile at me.

Then the hounds begin the bay, away off at the edge of the marshes, and I know the hunt is underway.

The song of the merfolk changes, and their wide pupils narrow to slits, their gold eyes beginning to glow as they bare their spiky teeth in the direction of the barking and shouts.

The marshes have me now, and they won’t let me go again. Not without a fight.