Indeed, there is something new. I have succumbed to the lure of writing a twitter novel: Go here to check it out.

that there is an online novel here called a selfish prayer for light. And while you wouldn’t be wrong, let us just say that your information is no longer timely.

it died. I have lain it to rest, poor thing, and perhaps something intriguing might rise out of its ashes.

It is night here in the Oasis, and that is rare. The Oasis usually hangs in the inbetween times of sunset or sunrise, because I dwell far too often in possibilities.

But tonight is not one of those times. And so stars burn fiercely above, each one a beacon to the next step towards desire. With a thought the roof above my quarters in the Hacienda is gone, and the light shines down on me with cool, cool clarity.

From Wikipedia:

James Truslow Adams coined the phrase “American Dream” in his 1931 book Epic of America:

“The American Dream is that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for every man, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.

Winds sweep in over the Oasis, winds from the East that blow through the lush greenery, making it sound like the ocean rushing in. The stars look close enough to touch, and so I do…

I sigh. “It’s going to be a long day.”

“It might be,” Ishmael acknowledges. “But we’re here if you need us.”

A screenshot. I need to take screenshots. My morning and afternoon will consist of pushing buttons and the emotional effort to get it done feels like Sisyphian task.

“I remember when I was young I said I wanted to push buttons for a living like the girl at the grocery store. That sounded like fun to me. What other ridiculous ways did I curse myself unknowingly when I was 5?”

Bagheera chuckles. I feel like hissing at him. I take a sip of tea and instead wrap my hands around his warm neck. He purrs and leans into me obligingly. The full weight of cat leaning into me nearly bowls me over.

“I should have moved,” I say.

“Not necessarily,” Ishmael says. “You should have made a decision unhampered by anything but what you wanted to do. That’s what you should have done.”

“The quote,” Bagheera says. “You need to read it again. Find it and paste it here.”

Real difficulties can be overcome. It is only the imaginary ones that are unconquerable.
- Theodore N. Vail

“You yelled at me this morning,” I said to Oracle. And she did, too. I’d been meditating, the first time, honestly, in at least a month (“At least!”). And I can’t say I was doing a great job at it, but I *was* meditating. And out of the blue she snatched up my hand and pluncked me down and her cave and said:

“We need to talk, missy.”

“So. What do you need to talk to me about?”

“You’ve been ignoring things,” she says. “You’ve been forgetting who you are and what the world really is.”

“I don’t forget,” I reply. “And honestly, what else would you have me do? I think I’ve been doing quite well lately, all things considered.”

“You think that? How well have you done with your feelings?”

“After meditating today? Quite nicely, actually.”

“You haven’t picked up your deck or done a reading in ages,” Oracle scolds. “You’ve needed an awful lot of guidance and you’ve forgotten your most familiar way of getting answers. Checking in with your feelings is *not* wallowing.”

Oh.

“But–”

“Quiet,” she snaps. “I don’t want to hear it. If I hear you whine one more time about not knowing what to do I quit.”

“You quit?! You can’t quit.”

“Watch me.”

“But!”

She has her arms crossed stubbornly and glares at me from across her circle. I sit down on the stone steps.

“It’s really simple,” she says. “Remember? Do what you wish.”

“But…”

“Think about it,” she says, and she sounds half like she is pleading and half like if she can find the right tone she just knows I’ll understand it perfectly in an instant. “You don’t have to do what you want, or what you need. You have to do what you wish.”

I’m frowning. Don’t I have to do what I need?

“No,” Oracle says. “That’ll get done. You have to do what you wish. What *you* wish. Every moment of every day. Always ask yourself if you are doing what you wish.”

“I’m not doing what I wish right now?”

“Aren’t you? What did you wish for? Did you get it? And if you want something different….”

“Then I wish for it.”

Oracle kisses me. “There might be hope for you yet.”

Chris Poirier of the Web Fiction Guide wrote the first review of a selfish prayer for light. You can find the review here.

Many thanks to Chris for the honest review and for all his work with the Web Fiction Guide, which you should totally check out for links and reviews to other online serials.