Skip to main content

Viann - edited

Thanks to some kind advice provided by friends and readers, I've done a little editing on this snippet, and would like you to see the result. If you have more advice, please don't hesitate to comment. If you love it, I don't mind hearing that either. :-) If you haven't read the original yet, stop here first.
Viann's footsteps were the only sound in the corridor tonight. She enjoyed the reprieve of these late night walks, particularly when Tonnan was ill. That was all too frequently, of late. She paused at one of the high windows and looked out over the rooftops, the smell of the fields drifting to her on the breeze, mingled with the scents of the city. It was autumn, and cool for Thespand, though still far warmer here than back home.

Her breath caught at the thought of Embréa, and all that went with it. She loved Tonnan, but marrying him meant abandoning everything she knew. Eleven years, and she still felt like a stranger. She touched the mask-shaped charm she wore and sighed a prayer to Baron. The goddess taught that love was the greatest challenge, and the most dangerous adventure. She gave up her home for love, and it was for this challenge that she remained here. Or perhaps it was in spite of it. She wasn't certain any more.

“Majesty?” She flinched at the title and turned to see a waiting servant. “I’m sorry to intrude, but King Tonnan is asking for you.” Viann nodded and began the long walk back the way she’d come. Tonnan rarely asked after her these days. Would he remember asking by the time she reached him this time? Would he even remember her name?

Popular posts from this blog

Waiting by the Door

Trigger warning: bipolar disorder, mania, depression, self-harm
“I’m tired of feeling sad.” He says it as you are both eating breakfast, his expression drained of life. It has been three days of this, and you know, despite what you may be hoping, that it is far from over. It started a couple weeks ago, not with sadness, but what a psychologist calls, “hypomania.”

It's Not About the Guns

Fifteen years ago, my mom and I had an interesting discussion about the repercussions of being out. I came out the year before, just before graduating high school, and in the intervening time, had come out to my brother, my grandparents, my co-workers, my friends. Mom and I had danced around the topic a lot, but after my initial coming-out conversations with her, we'd essentially swept it under the rug. When things finally came to a head, I asked her why. Why, of all people, could I not talk to her about this topic?

"Because there are mean people in this world. There are people who will want to hurt you because of who you are, and who you love, and that scares me."

I took a minute to digest this information. "You work at a bank. If someone robs that bank tomorrow, and decides you're not moving fast enough for them, they could shoot and kill you, and it wouldn't matter to them that you are married, or that you have two sons at home. I could be afraid of what …

Being a Man

Just over a year ago, I met someone. Pros: vibrant personality, intelligent, witty, attractive. Cons: sketchy living situation, somewhat checkered past, ten and a half years my junior. Mom was going to have a field day with that last one. We talked online, texted for a couple days, met for coffee, kept texting, and things went from there.

And, he's transgender. He was assigned female at birth and is transitioning to male. He started hormone replacement therapy in February of 2013, and as of this writing has had no surgeries. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. I didn't know what to expect, and to be honest, I had no clue about the vast majority of the "process" of transition. He was open about this fact from the onset, and was (mostly) patient with questions I asked, though he also coached me to do some research on my own. So I read, and I researched. Wikipedia articles,, YouTube videos, you name it.