Here’s the next piece of writing for you, babe. I created a tumblr so that I could keep my character’s stuff together. Meet Viveca Leigh Gideon, a character I’ve created for World of Warcraft (retail) on Wyrmrest Accord.
If such things as crystal balls that conveyed the past existed, and a person of wilful mind could gaze into the abyss within and view a person’s existence, then one could deduce that Viveca Leigh Gideon lead an extraordinarily dull yet fortunate childhood. Born in April some twenty or so years ago, a snow white babe if there ever was one made two proud parents of Rose and Jachaery Arterton. Since her conception, the pair had found nothing but luck in their lives. During pregnancy, Rose hardly fell ill, and though her husband insisted on bed rest in the end, it’s said that she could walk about, work the gardens, and keep the kitchen going without much fuss. There were no unusual complications during the birth of Viveca, their one and only daughter, and she took to the breast without any inconveniences. The babe was hardly ever sick, and she was without collick. She slept through the night, and grew to each upon routine. The sound of her father’s laugh was hardly matched by the song of her mother, and both aided in keeping the child mostly happy throughout the formative years of her life.
Though they never had enough to dress of value or buy frivolous things, Viveca’s parents did well to be certain she wanted for nothing. The thing was, though, that Viveca hardly seemed to want much more than they had. From her mother, she learned to garden, learned the plants and their uses. From her father, she learned to fight. He refused to teach her with a blade, but unarmed, she could get in a few punches before fleeing for her life if the situation rose for it. Growing up, she knew she would take over the apothecary of her mother’s creation and Viveca accepted this with hardly any resistance.
For years, the Artertons appeared untouched by time, fame, or wealth. Kingdoms fells, Theramore Isle grew stronger, and the Kul Tiras were proud members of the Alliance still. The first mark of tragedy to fall upon the happy trio was the assumed loss of her father, one of many who sailed in the fleets for the Alliance under the Kul Tiras banner. Though Viveca, in a morbid fashion, had been prepared for the potential loss of her father ever since she truly understood his line of work and the risks involved, Rose Arterton took this news hard. She was never quite the same.
This left Viveca to man the apothecary, to seek the sales. She had to use the soil herself, will the plants to join her in keeping up the family’s money, cook and clean in a house meant for three, and into growing from a young girl into a woman, she had to keep up her guard for would-be suitors. She could not bare the thought of leaving her mother behind, and there would be no guarantees she could get her to join her wherever she went. It would just be best for all involved if Viveca let that part of her life slide by.
However, even for the luckiest of us, life has a funny way of forcing a person along when they become too stagnant.
The man she came to know as Arrick Gideon entered her life in the same way many greet Theramore Isle, a boat. Though he never gave her a clear answer on why he happened to be there that day, the moment they met, he insisted he never wanted to leave without her. The prospect of her daughter getting married seemed, for a short time, to heal Rose Arterton’s grief. Infatuated with the pair almost as much as they had become infatuated with each other, none were surprised by the announcement of their engagement.
This, though a joyous occasion altogether, was the first major decision Viveca would make for herself.
When Rose claimed she would keep up the apothecary there, Viveca left her stubborn mother in Theramore and sailed back to the Eastern Kingdoms with Arrick. Across the sea that took her father, Mrs. Viveca Leigh Gideon was eager and anxious to take on the new responsibilities of being someone’s wife in a land she couldn’t remember ever having seen before, in a family she’d never yet met.
With luck ever on her side, any tension or ill-will addressed to the woman who would steal the heart of Arrick Gideon while he was away from his rather close family was cast aside as soon as they met her. Together with her husband and the land his family owned in the Redridge Mountains, the life the newlyweds led was busy, but not unusual. Arrick, as it turned out, was an explorer who’d dreamed of reaching the unknown areas of Kalimdor as soon as travel there was safe and resources readily available. He was not so much interested in discovering new land as he was procuring rare items and artifacts, learning rich history, and studying the affects of the ancestors on the likes of Azeroth. Much like the relationship with her father, Viveca’s love for Arrick only solidified further when he was away and burst with enthusiasm when he returned.
In the months that he was gone, Viveca grew close to the soil of their land and began to work it once more. As soon as she’d sprouted this idea and grown comfortable with the life she now had… Once again, life forced a hand.
Rumors of Theramore’s destruction came swiftly to her hears in waves of people having found out sooner than later, and even aftermore. Well wishes and condolences were sent to Viveca on behalf of her mother’s death counted among the others, and worry grew in the pit of her stomach for the sake of Arrick’s life.
Fortunately for the Gideons, Arrick appeared to be no where near the catastrophes that took place during and just after Theramore’s demise. He returned home the following winter just in time for Winter’s Veil, and since the recent events and then the cataclysm that shook the world, the lovers decided home may be the best place for him to be until stability was a part of their every day life again.
And so the garden and apothecary they grew only flourished in Lakeshire, where Viveca set up post once a week and made decent enough profit to continue living. Over the years, Arrick’s own parents and extended family began to perish. Some to the war, some to the events of the world, some to taking risks beyond their expertise. Yet, Arrick remained alive and for Viveca, this was all she could ask for.
Enter in the most recent invasions of the Burning Legion and you have yourself the backdrop for another unfortunate event in the otherwise extraordinarily lucky life of Viveca Leigh Gideon.
The latest invasions from the Burning Legion last season came, conquered, and destroyed thousands upon thousands of lives in the blink of an eye. One moment, time stood still and while life wasn’t absolutely perfect, it wasn’t a tragedy for just one fucking minute on Azeroth.
But, like all good things, Arick’s life came to an end before Viveca’s eyes.
“Travel to Westfall, he says,” Viveca teased her husband from behind the caravan. The pair were on horseback riding alongside a cousin’s caravan as they took to Westfall in hopes of taming land that was otherwise recognized as untameable. Jokes had been made about the poor condition of Westfall’s soil, and even further serious comments had been made about how this had directly affected the hunger strike in the countryside. Surrounding the pair and the caravan of luggage were a dozen or so volunteers to guard them, though all would be paid if Arrick had any say in the matter. Beggars with haunted faced and swollen eyes looked up on them as they passed, and the bravest of these even bothered to come closer with anger. They never made it far.
“It’ll be fun, he says,” she continued to tease him, and only when he looked over his shoulder at her and tossed the blonde mane of his did she smirk up and blow him a kiss with her gloved palm.
“Come now, country living has done you wonders. You went from some sea urchin to a right farm girl in no time.”
“I can hardly claim our garden a farm,” Viveca laughed up at him with mirth, shaking her head. “And there’s a difference, darling. This place has.. little hope. It would take a miracle, more than that to get it back on it’s feet.”
“It’s their choice where my cousin decides to start and waste away his inheritance. We aim to serve our family, remember?” His horse, on command, lingered back a bit to walk in stride with her mare.
“Yes, I remember,” she confirmed.
“If it bothers you that much, we’ll see to it that we return home swiftly,” He reached for her hand with his, and between the pair of horses, they lifted their arms and locked digits. “Maybe,” he added with a wink, “we’ll pick up a few animals on the way. Make it a real farm, eh?”
“And where are you going to keep a few extra farm animals?” The dark haired woman’s laugh almost grew to a pitch that would disturb the evening of sleeping homeless and helpless people, and thus, her husband brought a finger to his lips to remind her.
“We’ve got an extra room in the upstairs, don’t we?” He lifted a brow at her, his voice lower still.
“You’re going to keep chickens and a mule upstairs in the spare bedr–” She began, but realization set in on her hard and fast. Her eyes went wide with admiration and her heart threatened to burst louder than their voices could ever have been. “You don’t mean?”
“I do,” He nodded to her.
It had been a point of conversation at once point, certainly, but between the pair it had been decided the world simply wasn’t worth raising a young boy or girl in until it was a bit more stable, safer. They were waiting, though exactly what for, Viveca had never known.
“And you think now is the proper time?” Viveca questioned, her heart in her throat with all her hopes and dreams.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” the tone of his voice grew firm, serious. The blonde brows that knitted on his face were a telling sign that he’d already made the decision and wouldn’t be swayed. “There’s no point waiting for a world that will never be perfect. Our world wasn’t perfect when we were born, you know.”
“Oh, Arrick,” She breathed, straining to keep her voice quiet despite how loud she’d wanted to shriek with delight. “I agree! I mean to say, we should! When we get back, then?”
It was one of those moments where the light in her eyes threatened to stay there forever, daring the world to throw whatever it could at them for she would never falter in her faith.
The world listened, or, someone from another world did. The same sky that caused her eyes to glitter with joy grew dark, disturbed and outlined in green. Funnels from deep clouds above sprung from the heavens and pulsed into the ground all around them as demons of all shape and size began to walk through various portals all about the countryside.
“Go! Go with her, now! Eight of you go, and take her back!” Arrick wasted no time with the orders, and Viveca both loved and hated him for it.
In protest, despite the fear that prickled her spine, she began to slide off of her horse and run towards him in defiance. His horse led a charge to speed up to the caravan and attempt to turn it around, to take it to safety where there was none. As her feet hovered above the ground, a hand swooped in and gripped her by the waist, pulling her up into the air and pinning her to their chest. Another arm grabbed at her flailing legs, shouting at her of all the times to be stubborn, this was a time to flee. “He’ll be joining us. He’ll be right there. He’s going to meet us in Goldshire. Let’s go, m’lady!”
No one, not even Viveca could convince herself that anyone would be there to reclaim her from Goldshire. This last memory with her husband would be all she had left of him in Redridge.
I want flatlands
I never cared about money and all its friends
I want flatlands
I want flatlands
I don’t want precious stones
I never cared about anything you’ve ever owned
I want flatlands
I want simplicity
I need your arms wrapped hard around me
I want open plains and scattered trees
I want flower fields
I want salty seas
I want flatlands soft and steady breeze
bringing scents of lined-up orchard trees
dripping heavy with pears and dancing leaves
I want flatlands
will you go there with me
when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s always there
when it’s dead in our heart but your mind is unafraid
when it’s said in the dark and you know it’s never coming back
when it’s there in your heart in your mind you set it free
Let’s see… a little check up on my resolutions and how they’re going… ?
Week One Jan 3-9 : No more sodas. (I feel like this is super reasonable. I love tea and everything else just as much if not more.)
HAH. I think I succeeded on this one, but it didn’t last long. *sips her Dr. Pepper* Maybe I should get back to work on this one.
Week Two Jan 10-16: No more candy. (This will be so difficult at work.)
You know, this one stuck. I don’t eat candy, really. I am chewing gum lately to trick my brain when I get anxiety, but that’s about it.
Week Three Jan 17-23: 6 of 7 days, cut out fast food. (This includes breakfast. Oh, that will be so difficult. I am going to practice Week One and Two.)
HAHAHAHAHAHA…. I really need to fix this. I mean, to be fair, since I bought my lunchbox, I have been having mainly sandwiches and water. But, for breakfast, ugh. I still swing by Chikfila and throw away my money. Not only is it not good for me, but it kills my bank account. (More on Finances later.)
Week Four Jane 24-30: Pescetarian again. (Only Fish and Poultry for the meats.)
For the most part, I have done this, though I admit to having Black Forest Ham on my sandwiches. RIP.
New goals for this month? Let’s see.
For the first time, ever, Matthew and I are trying Envelopes as a way to manage money. It’s been pretty great so far because we physically see the money we have and don’t have before we make financial decisions. This is only week one, but it’s already made me that much more conscious, so I’m hoping this one sticks.
I gave up gaming, though this wasn’t a goal of mine. It’s a cycle, I know. I play the games for a bit and then I get off them and back to the world for a bit. This is also not out of any ‘games are bad, mmkay’ rant at all. I love games. Just like I love movies and books. Granted, the ones I play have stories that keep me interested as opposed to shooters and stuff, but oh well. It’s worked out, though. I’ve been watching movies again, tv shows I enjoy, and reading. When doing the hobby of roleplaying, I never feel like I have time to do those things, so it’s nice. It was most horrible when I lead the guild. I felt I had to live and breathe the guild, work, sleep, repeat. Thankfully, I had enough sense to still spend time with Matthew and Elijah outside of it, so nothing was truly damaged as far as my life goes. I am proud I had a handle on that and felt I was responsible. Emotionally, eventually, it took a toll but that’s neither here nor there related to time. In any case, I’m writing now. So that’s cool.
I have been going to bed around 8-10pm more often than not during the week and in turn, been getting up earlier and feeling more energetic and just at peace. While at first, I panicked thinking OH NO MIRANDA, YOU ARE NOT BEING PRODUCTIVE WITH YOUR ONLY ‘YOU TIME’, but I was. I was choosing health. I was choosing to be well rested so I could effectively kick ass at work and stuff. I was choosing to shower in the morning before work and wake myself up proper. I was choosing to stick to a schedule. It’s fan-fucking-tastic.
In addition, I want to continue my discovery of faith. I swear, every month that goes by has felt so good. I have never felt so peaceful and healthy. I have stopped feeling like I’m a royal fuck up that’s going to die and end up in the wrong place because I didn’t dot my i’s and cross my t’s. I don’t feel like by doing things I have always done, that I am being ‘wrong’ or ‘sinning’ or not ‘good enough’. I just… Ahh. It’s so nice. I don’t like to shit on things in order to make myself feel better. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m imperfect. I still do it. But I am trying not to.) So any Christians reading this, I speak purely and truly to my own experience and life – and nothing of you and your particular stories. I hope they are wonderful, and they are what you need and breathe. You do you, boo. I’m doin’ me.
The last but not least thing is, I am evaluating my relationships. In that mean, I have a lot of codependency issues I am clearing up with myself, and they have with or without my knowledge affected my friendships in some way, be it minor or major. I don’t know who will stick around afterward, who will come closer, or who will have no clue what I am talking about. I am learning about boundaries, and limits, and self-help, and not putting up with shit I don’t care about. At this point, if people who have seen me in my best, in my worst, and in my struggles of sweet ecstasy don’t want to be around … Fare thee well, Felicia. 🙂
Relationships go two ways. For me, things that are the most important are Communication. Honesty. Forgiveness. If you can’t meet me on at least two of these, then we’re gonna have a bad time.
So, allow me to apologize and thank you at the same time, my darling Kettle.
I apologize, because I have been rotten the past few months. I’ve been hurting in my own way, and that made me more bitter than I care to admit – but will anyway because admitting my feelings is more healthy than pretending they didn’t happen at all. I sincerely thought this would be my new life, this not caring, being sassy, and bitter thing.
But, it was not meant to be. And, while I was doing it all, and writing out in my darkest moments, I truly appreciate you for responding with haste, with compassion, and with humor. You and I speak on a level that is secret to our own nature, our own way. It’s a language people can see and hear and understand, but they may not fully comprehend the depth. You reached me. And I thank you so much for it. I’m surprised you didn’t just:
I mean, I would have taken it.
Anyhow, let’s move on to the new things.
I thought up a few new ideas for a book. Two are in this world. They’re fiction, but it’s like, modern day. 2014. You know. Another is in another world, made up, very steampunk meets victorian.
I moved in to my new apartment. Tomorrow, my father moves out of his house and stops sleeping at my apartment – and Elijah and I will be completely and totally alone. I love my father, and this isn’t a jest at him or the old, “I’m so glad to kick my parents out” joke. I am seriously thankful for the opportunity to be in my own home. My own. Just me (and Elijah). And more so, that I can magically afford it somehow, like a grown ass responsible and independent woman that don’t need no man. Huzzah.
I’m also kind of thankful that Dad’s gone because I could not get the man to cook healthy. I mean, come on. I am trying to lose weight. Stop making potato-cheese-bacon melt casserole, jeeze.
I also no longer have to deal with toll roads. Hallelujah. It takes me 20 minutes to get to work, even from Dallas, because every time I drive the highway is against traffic rather than with, and thus I don’t have roadblocks. I’m sure they will periodically happen. I’m not daft, but it’s a much better situation.
Oh, by the way, I am in the center of everything. I love the city, and have always wanted to live here. I’ve lived in suburbs, but this is my first in the actual city where sirens are a daily occurrence sort of deal. I love it. There’s 3 malls around the corner, a million bookstores on my block and my walmart is two stories tall. (Three stories with the Sams Club attached. Oh yeah.)
I read an article the other day about people who want to travel to go on their ‘soul-searching’ journey – and the author was like, “Quit coming to my country looking for your peace. We are not for you tourists pleasure. We do not magically fix you. You fix you. You will not be ‘fixed’ unless our mind and heart and soul are in the right frame. If you have to come here to ‘get away’, fine, but do not assume we are miracle workers. You can do this at home. Just find a place inside to sit and ‘get away’ and find yourself. It’s frightening, but cheaper!”
My apartment has become this. Granted, I pay for it monthly, but I’m on my own. My own rules. My own decisions. My own life. I am so thankful.
I know that this may be backwards, but after many disagreements and arguments with my cousin who is very devout in Christian faith, I have decided to take the label off of my faith. I believe there is a God. I believe whatever this God is is fair and just and lovely and fascinating and has to exist because this world, nay, universe is too much for chance. I believe in paying respects. I believe in thanking each part and piece of nature and our natural world for it’s existence. For thanking calm as it washes over me. For thanking worry as it reminds me that I care about something so much to be anxious over it. But I will no longer call myself of Christian faith. It was the hardest decision I’ve made recently, and one that broke me down to tears. It’s a long story, but it has been brought to my attention that my way of life was hardly anything to do with Christianity, and if that is the case, then fuck it.
I’ll do good and be a good person because I am a good person.
I love you so much. I may write smaller pieces here and there because there’s more I want to write to you but have momentarily forgotten. I love you. I love you. I love ou.
I appreciate you. I see you. Thank you.
–Miranda
P.S. I got a text from my mom as I was closing this and my mom announces, “No breast cancer!! Just cysts!” Yeeeeehaw!
I mean, not really. I’m figuring it out for the most part and I’m pretty proud of how far I’ve come thus far in the journey. But, still. Here’s a quick series of gifs that explain how I feel, despite feeling all of this and having select few people who know little or nothing about me ask me how I’m doing, because… Let’s face it. They’re not doing it out of my best interest. They want the scoop, the dish, and the gold medal of being a friend ‘whose shoulder I can cry on, if I want to.’ Thanks.
When I made the decision to separate, and told close-to-me people. Thanks for the vote of confidence that I have an idea of what my life is like, and what it isn’t.
Which brought this on:
The gold-trophy-award-friend who gives me a shoulder to cry on to win said award (and gossip):
When I go on a date (since our separation):
I mean, dang. How do you really feel about me and my life decisions?
Because I’m tired of hearing this:
One thing I’ve learned about people who are divorced (and those who end up as single parents like myself), is to not be so judgmental. It’d be great if others did the same for me, you know, if you wanna be friends that is.:
So now, on my days off (Sundays), this is me… By myself… Being awesome:
I am posting this because it is one of those things that I feel is highly relatable to others in our positions as parents, moms, or anyone who gets weighed down by how big the world can feel when we let our minds run away without us. This story was written for my creative writing class by yours truly.
Enjoy.
With the best of intentions, I crawl in to bed at precisely 8:46 in the evening. This is after I have brushed my teeth, gone to the bathroom, taken a shower, cleansed my face from the day, and taken a glass of water with me to the bedroom. I am quite certain that if I get in to bed at 8:46 in the evening, I will have estimated the correct amount of time to fall asleep by 9:00PM.
I want to fall asleep by 9:00PM because I have set out an endeavor to awake by my alarm clock at 7:00AM. This grants me an allowance of ten hours in which I may rest which is honestly more than enough. In all likelihood I will wake up earlier than that if I am truly to fall asleep by 9:00PM.
However, as insomnia would have it, by 9:13PM my heart is racing as the ideas gallop across my brain and in to words. I hear my voice reading a bedtime story to me. I’m intrigued and delighted so much that I surrender any attempts to fall asleep and spring from the bed. There will be no sleep until this idea is placed on a memo and tucked away for when I have more time.
I don’t get back into bed until 10:57PM. By now, I know that if I can force myself into slumber, I will not even get eight hours of sleep, which is commonly known as the correct amount of sleep required for good health. If I don’t have good health, then I am not going to be very good at anything I have to do tomorrow. So, I really need to fall asleep. Like, now.
I sigh and open one eye to sneak the time reading on my alarm clock. Somehow, my alarm clock has malfunctioned. It now reads 11:21PM. How can this be? Did I doze off into a nap? I don’t feel like I did, but then again, it could have been one of those cat naps where time jolts forward and you feel energized and ready for the day. The only problem is that I don’t want to feel ready for the day. I want to feel exhausted. Maybe I’ve just been thinking too long and time trickled with each rabbit hole I jump through. I look at the clock again and realize I’ve lost another twenty minutes.
At this rate, I am not going to get a healthy amount of sleep. This means I won’t want to wake up at 7:00AM. If I don’t get up at 7:00AM, then I am not going to want to work out. If I don’t work out, then I am not going to lose weight and build muscles and boost my metabolism and get more endorphins. If I don’t get all of that, I will fall into a rut of exhaustion and depression first thing when I wake up.
I check the clock again. I’ve lost an hour thinking about all the weight I need to lose and in all the places I wish I could thin out. My hips. My thighs. My stomach. My arms.
Now, I am beginning to ponder if it will be worth it to go to class in the morning at all. Perhaps, I should sacrifice class and regrettably my grade for what really matters in life: my job. My job is needed to make money. I need money to take care of my son, my husband, and my obsession with organic food which is ridiculously over priced. But wait, I don’t want to forget school or I’ll have wasted all this time working so hard to stick with it and get good grades. I’ll have wasted every morning I didn’t sleep in when I desperately wanted to, but I can’t fall asleep and it’s — I sneak another look at the clock — already 2:00AM.
I might as well call in to work. I can stay home and keep my son in my arms all day. We can have an impromptu Mother-Son date at the park. We have look like all of those ads about having a family where everyone is smiling and laughing at the funniest thing in the world.
Wait, how am I going to do that? My son is three years old. My son is testing his boundaries every fifteen minutes and driving me up the wall. If I don’t get any sleep, my son will have to face off with my grumpy attitude and then I’ll be the worst mother in the world because I can’t fall asleep to take care of my son.
I can’t fall asleep for my son. I can’t fall asleep for my job. I can’t fall asleep for my school work and classes. I can’t fall asleep for my happiness. I can’t fall asleep.
It’s 3:00AM and I start to feel very small against this mountain of regret for things not yet to pass. The future seems to miserable and the past only proves the pattern waiting for me. If I am destined to fail, why bother trying at all?
I’ve started to cry about not being able to get to sleep and how it’s going to ruin my life at 3:13AM. I give in to the miserable acceptance that I will never get my life together on a schedule that so many other people seem to run the pace of. I begin to curl into a ball beneath the covers when the door cracks open to my bedroom.
In comes my husband with a blanket bundle in his arms. My son peaks out from beneath the blankets with sleepy eyes and mumbles, “Hi Mama.” My thoughts stop. My heart races in their place.
“Someone couldn’t get to sleep,” My husband explains of our son. I thought he had spoken of me. He brings the bundle to my side of the bed and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He is warm and comforting. My husband slips into bed on the other side, wrapping his arms around me.
In a quick moment, I hear my son begin to snore. His eyes are closed tight. I smile and new thoughts swim in a calm pool of my mind. I am the key to my son getting any sleep tonight. I am the comfort my husband comes home from work to. My arms are the strongest thing in existence because they hold my whole world in their hands.
If I don’t wake tomorrow at 7:00AM, then I will sleep with my son beside me. My husband will wake up an hour or so later, and I will awaken because the bed springs back up without his weight. I will have enough time to shower and drive to class. I will feel so good about getting out of class that I will smile at work today. My smile could be the comfort someone else needs. It most definitely will be the comfort my son reaches for when I return home for the day, and when I get in to bed tomorrow night at 8:46PM, the knowledge that I can reflect the world that I hold in my arms tonight will prepare me for a brighter morning.
I don’t know what time it was when I finally fell asleep, but I do know in whose arms I was in and whose arms were in mine. This is no catastrophe.
I want to continue my discovery of faith. I swear, every month that goes by has felt so good. I have never felt so peaceful and healthy. I have stopped feeling like I’m a royal fuck up that’s going to die and end up in the wrong place because I didn’t dot my i’s and cross my t’s. I don’t feel like by doing things I have always done, that I am being ‘wrong’ or ‘sinning’ or not ‘good enough’. I just… Ahh. It’s so nice. I don’t like to shit on things in order to make myself feel better. (Don’t get me wrong. I’m imperfect. I still do it. But I am trying not to.) So any Christians reading this, I speak purely and truly to my own experience and life – and nothing of you and your particular stories. I hope they are wonderful, and they are what you need and breathe. You do you, boo. I’m doin’ me.
Passing Notes & Conversations 