What It Means to be a Storybook Witch

Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means talking on the phone for four hours to get someone out of a panic spiral, while picking apart knitted socks with a crochet hook.

Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means screaming at the ceiling and demanding that whatever is haunting a client better back off because now they have to deal with ME.

Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means casting a net to personal contacts and friends to gather info that would otherwise be out of reach for others.

Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means giving a magical hug and watching the person leave with a trail of invisible fairy dust.

Sometimes being a Storybook Witch means pouring over astrology charts for an entire family, looking for signs of a curse, and binding the suspected curse-casters chart with tape and three colors of yarn bc the papers are thrumming in a highly suspicious manner.

The danger is in getting caught up with other people’s stories and trying to force an ideal narrative on them. That did not work out well for The Fairy Godmother in Shrek, or Lillith Weatherwax in Witches Abroad (Discworld). They tried to control the stories of others and got very mean and nasty when their very narrow ideals were challenged.

Fantastic musical numbers aside.

Some people want you to do just that- they’re tired of how things have played out in their lives, and in these cases I cannot blame their desire in the slightest. They’re looking for a fairy godmother who waves a wand and makes things better. It’s over and done and everyone is supposed to live happily ever after, but nothing has changed on the inside.

Witches dont do that stuff. We make you earn it. There’s a hard lesson to be learned and a cheat sheet isn’t going to teach you anything. Just because the outside has changed, doesn’t mean the inside did.

“You gotta dig a little deeper”

I’m not here to be the sole author of their stories. I’m just a ghostwriter and proofreader. The most important lesson I teach my clients is that YOU ARE THE AUTHOR OF YOUR STORY. MAKE IT A GOOD ONE.

The hardest part people have is accepting the responsibility of that position themselves. They’ve been told a false narrative their whole lives by other people; By the media, by their parents, spouses, children, siblings, friends, etc. They have so many ideas about who they’re supposed to be and what other’s expect from them that they have forgotten WHO THEY TRULY ARE.

Moana restored the heart of Te Fiti by acknowledging the goddess who had forgotten her own self in her grief and rage. I help others see the true self within by reminding them who they are, who the stars said they could become at the moment of their birth, and where the stories got twisted and tangled.

I will find that thread of their true self and unravel the knots until everything is laid out and clear. Then we work together to design a new pattern for their life , one they’re in control of and know how to form with some tutelage from me. Everyone has their own learning style and sometimes books are enough, sometimes YouTube videos, and sometimes it takes a hands on approach and constant reassurance that they’re going to be ok if they just stop being afraid.

Being a Storybook Witch means being a friend to those who have none. It means teaching other people skills they never knew they had access to. It means being an advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves.

To me, it means living my souls purpose. And I love every moment.

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Faerie Tea Time at the Witch’s House

((The things I do for clients lol))

Many years ago, a Young Princeling gave me an amulet he made out of blood, sweat, tears, clay, and desperate pacts with all manner of beings. Neither of us was entirely sure why he gave it to me, but even after we fell out of communication I kept it safe. It stayed in the glove-box of my car for six years until the car finally died  beyond repair. Honestly, I think it may have saved my life on a few occasions. When I cleaned the car out one last time, I tucked the amulet away and forgot about it.

It recently resurfaced while I was cleaning & re-organizing my witchy workspace.

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(Trust me, this is an improvement.)

I’ve been doing some Work with the Princeling and so I sent him a text.

“Dude, remember this?!”

Holyshit!
I do but had forgotten about it until now!

He explained in more detail what that amulet was, how it worked, and now we’re experimenting with it as a two-way conduit for me to work spells for him. I sent a Test-Signal and the results were promising. I found a home for it, tucked it away, and then sat back to see what happened.

A spontaneous Summer Solstice Solar Blast had an amazing effect, and he immediately requested another.

Friday was his final interview for a major career opportunity. He called me the night before to request another boost to the amulet, and gave instructions to “call in some favors” on his behalf.

20170623_091604.jpgWhiskey or cream are the traditional offerings for fae-type spirits, but I’m lactose intolerant, and have a pact with the local spirits – NO WHISKEY.

When you live in an area with a thick and well-documented history of atrocities against the original Native American residents, it behooves you to make an effort to live peacefully. It’s easier to know the taboo’s and just not even attempt to go against them. After much negotiation and promises made, I know that the local spirits will allow only Moonshine or Hard Apple Cider. Which suits me fine, b/c those are the only alcoholic things I enjoy drinking.

So I set up an offering out on the outside ledge (ant problem inside) of the Kitchen Window Altar. Bread, West African Honey, Bacon, and a shot glass of moonshine. I then lit the Brigid Cauldron light, and turned Her statue & Cookie Pirate outwards to await the arrival of our ‘guests.’

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At one point, I walked thru the kitchen for a coffee refill and I swear to everything Holy, I saw a blue-grey wolf-grasshopper thing sipping the moonshine with one pinky-claw out like it was a delicate cup of darjeeling tea…
…and that wasn’t even the weirdest thing I saw all day.

“…Okaaaayy,” I said to myself. “Time to go out and weed the garden. This is getting a bit weird even for me.”

Over the next hour, as I was tearing grass and lamb’s quarters out of the lettuce bed, trimming the spearmint that took over the carrot rows, removed as much wood sorrel as I could reach from the pea-trellis forest, and complained to the ants that they need to leave my house and stop eating the roses, a steady stream of other worldly visitors passed through. Some creatures were turned away by the Angels guarding the property, while others skulked around and waited to see if Lady Brigid would wave them in. The ones that allowed me to catch a glimpse were unlike any members of the fae I had ever seen.

There was a troupe of green & brown gnome-like men. They looked nothing like my own cadre of gnome helpers, but stayed in a cluster of arms and heads and legs and brown bowler-hats. When they spoke, it was like gravel crunching and random curse words.

A tall man dressed in an orange-red three-piece suit and matching top hat, with smoke for a face, tipped his hat to me as he sauntered up to the window on his turn.

A beautiful silver child-fairy lady, with sparkling wings and an entourage of Tolkien-esque nursemaid elves spoke in a voice that was like crystal chimes. I have no idea what she said, but the Lady laughed and offered her more ‘honeycake’.

My land spirits were VERY CONFUSED by all this!  I had given them an offering of the same honey & bacon bread, minus the booze, to allow for the traffic through our little corner of land. But they were still very WTFMATE?!?! To pacify them, and to set up a future arrangement for Faerie Tea Parties, I have promised  a daily egg from our chickens, as soon as the girls start laying. Hint, hint, chickens.

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As the time of the Princeling’s final interview drew to a close, I went back inside to wash off the dirt and bug spray. Lady Brigid and Cookie Pirate were ‘cleaning’ up the energies from all the visitors as I shuffled to the shower. While in there, I was struck by the sound of crystal-silver bells and a tinkling child voice asked what I would like for a “hostess gift”.  I asked for a plentiful harvest, for the weeds to die back, for the chickens to lay prolific amounts of eggs, and for the ants to leave my house. She laughed again, very amused by my requests, and said all would be done and happily. Then she left.

The Princeling later asked me how it went. He described the ones he expected to show up, and was delighted when I was able to confirm that they did indeed arrive. He seemed particularly interested in the Silver Lady, especially when I described her child-like appearance and the boon she offered as thanks.

It’s now Monday.
The ants have left the kitchen.
My flower garden started to bloom at long last.
The peas are going nuts.
Still no eggs yet, but i heard the neighbor’s chicken clucking as she laid that morning’s egg and told the girls “I wanna hear those noises from you!” Hopefully they take the hint.

Now I’m just waiting to hear from the Princeling.

*UPDATE*

Results were better than anyone anticipated! His new employers are creating a position just for him that is better than the one he applied for!