Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: A Brief History of Vampires

Hello Strangers,

I am nothing if not (in)consistent. Today (eleven o’clock at night,) I am going to do things a bit differently; I am going to reveal to you the surprising and potentially very inaccurate history of the folkloric tradition of vampires as I have learned it.

Photo by Martin Schneider on Pexels.com

Beginning in the Slavic region of Europe, ‘wampyrs’ or ‘vampyrs’ were not blood sucking demons but were actually mythic creatures that sucked the rain from the storm clouds and causing the droughts that starved communities. Similar to the gods of other communities, they served as explanations for weather patterns and as causes of human suffering.

After this, it came to mean a race of creatures that devoured celestial bodies including the sun, and also the moon. They were thought to be the cause of eclipses and blood moons, when they would bite the moon, turning it red. Now, interestingly, this is also where the werewolf myth begins. Part of the vampyr myth was that they could shapeshift into creatures like crows, cats, rabbits, and, you guessed it, wolves. Because of this, and because of the new lore surrounding the moon and stars, historians have a difficult time deciding which myths belong to which creatures, and the meanings of the name that they shared for a long time. To this day, there is conflict between vampires and werewolves not only in the interpretation of their stories, but also as characters in the stories themsleves.

After all of this, we arrive at the familiar tale of the blood sucking demon. There wasn’t much to tell here, it was simply a terrifying supernatural creature, feeding on the blood of humans. Until it became something else. Something closer to a human.

If a human were to turn into a vampire, (forgive my many spellings of the word, I know it’s distracting,) there was usually a reason for it. Parents might curse their child, and when that child died, they would return as a vampire, roaming restlessly in search of human blood. They might be a child born out of wedlock, a union not blessed by God. I take issue with that kind of assertion, because I believe that God is merciful and that every person will have a chance to repent of their sins and be saved. I take issues with stories that twist our perception of reality, but it was a cultural belief at the time The third way one could become a vampire was through sorcery. If a magician was already playing with dark forces, then when they died, their corpse might be overtaken by a demon and used to steal blood. Not just human either, a lot of sheep and cattle were killed for a very long time.

From this myth, we find the introduction of the vampire into mainstream media in England, and then America: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. (This statement ignores the many myths already present in distinctive stories held by various Native American tribes, and it is an interesting note that while the modern vampire can be traced back to Slavic origins, there are cultures all over the world from Africa, to Asia, to the Americas and beyond who have their own tales of blood-sucking creatures similar to the vampire.) But! Nonetheless, Dracula was a beginning of the vampire for the American people. A nearly human, but still greedy, conniving, lusting, blood thirsty monster. And yet even in the novel, there was some sympathy for him.

Dracula is modern, but Twilight, True Blood, and The Vampire Diaries, are contemporary examples of the vampire in literature, and they have undergone yet another shift. While they maintain their warnings of and brushes with female sexuality, lust, and demonology, these vampires are no longer demons, even if they maintain their offensive religious imagery. Religion is even touched on directly and from the vampire’s perspective in Twilight; Edward Cullen thinks that as a vampire, he is beyond saving, beyond the grace of God, and unwanted by God. In The Vampire Diaries, the two leading brothers struggle to find a sense of morality and love. Also undead politics and eating people. But the point is, vampires have changed in a fundamental way: they are no longer demons, they are representations of fallen man.

Within the realm of storytelling, vampires are at a place at last where they might seek redemption. Instead of representing fear, evil, and famine, they represent the human lost. The unwanted. The dangerous, and the people who think they are too far gone. It is time, in fiction, for the vampire’s redemption.

All stories are a product of their time and culture. We tell stories based on the state of reality, and of the thoughts in our heads that maybe we are not ready to think about in their realest forms. Our culture today is lost, listless, restless, and evil. But fully human. And in the stories of today, there is an ingrained belief that even a vampire can be redeemed.

I have a hero complex, but I will never save anybody, in any way. My small dream at the end of this Saturday is a prayer that the lost would come home.

All my love to you,

–Mabel

Uncategorized

Small Dream Saturday: Firefly Season

Hello Strangers.

I waited all winter for firefly season. I usually write about pleasant things, but I won’t today. It was a cold and gray winter. The highways were littered with the bodies of dogs dumped in the streets by their owners. A puppy in the middle of a bridge. Animals shot, but not killed. Police and animal control called, but not answered. Everywhere I looked, there was a starving dog or a cold house filled with suffering people, a junkyard or a sick horse. You volunteer. You step in, or step up, but you can’t save them all. In fact, you can’t save many at all.

I waited all winter for firefly season. They’re still here. But I’ve missed it.

My small dream this Saturday is that next year I would get up and bring a mason jar outside. I’ll catch ten or fifteen lightning bugs. I’ll take a picture. I’ll watch them blink. And then I’ll let them go. A bit of the old magic from childhood. It’s one of the smallest dreams I have on here.

I just said a lot of hopeless things. But I’ve been thinking about this lately: In the story of Jacob and Rachel, Rachel has two children. The first was Joseph. The second child, she named as she lay dying. She called him Ben-Oni, which means ‘Son of my Sorrow.’ Jacob looked at the child and called him Benjamin, ‘Son of my Right Hand.’ I have also heard it said, ‘Son of my Strength.’ What Rachel believed was grief, Jacob named strength. When she died, the child would have to bear his own name. Jacob chose to name him something he would be able to carry.

What we name things, situations, people, matters. What we name ourselves when the hard times come is similarly important. And so often, the things we count as sorrows are the vessels for strength. So if you’re a helper, and I’ve made you feel like it isn’t worthwhile to keep helping, that’s not the right way to view it. This winter I was in pain and that wasn’t wrong of me. But what I called grief, I misnamed. Opportunity. Every ounce of suffering, an opportunity.

“And I have been a constant example of how you can help those in need by working hard. You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” Acts 20:35

In the short time I have left, I’ll take pictures of any lighting bugs I catch.

Blessings to you, and don’t waste your firefly season.

–Mabel

P.S. If you look closely at the picture above, you’ll see a tiny orange speck in the background to the right. That my friends, is a window in the dark.

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: entry 13

Good morning, Strangers.

Velma Dinkley: Chocolate Ice Cream at Night

When I was a child, I watched Scooby Doo obsessively. Didn’t matter the series or story, show or movie, it was guaranteed the tv was mine from 7:00 to 7:30 every single night. It was family ordained. I’d stand there eating a hotdog at the border between the kitchen and living room.

Scooby Doo was the seed that grew the desires to have a van and go on road-trips. It led me to consider becoming a private detective, and inspired my addiction to mysteries and fantasy alike. It was the first thing that made me feel clever and sparked an interest in cryptozoology.

I have three small dreams for this morning. They get smaller as they go along.

1. I would like to write a Scooby Doo television series. Scooby Doo is a franchise that acts like a comic book world. There are alternate universes with different sets of lore, different kinds of stories, different art styles, tones, and even character development. I think it’s likely that in twenty years, we’ll still be making Scooby Doo shows. And I’d like to write one.

2. A smaller dream, but still large, is that I would like to have insulated sheds on my very wild, natural property. These sheds would hold animation/digital art tech, so that I could make short videos, but also much longer and more detailed comic books and graphic novels that I would then self-publish. (Or maybe publish traditionally! Who knows?) They would be cool and dark, and they’d be an escape from their more primitive surroundings.

3. This is the littlest dream, and it’s the one that will prepare me for dreams 1 and 2. I’m going to write as much fan fiction as possible. I should have started when I was twelve like all the other writers, but I just wasn’t ready. So now, I’m going to be indulgent. I’m going to learn by doing, and even if it’s all hot garbage, I am going to have fun and grow as a person as I write incomprehensible cross overs, multiple-plot line series’s, and just fun, ridiculous one off stories. It’s going to be magnificent, and I know that because I’ve already started. My motto is quantity over quality. For that is the way to improve.

That’s all for now! Happy Saturday, my dears, and happy writing! All love,

—Mabel

Art & Writing

The Medium of Story…

Hello Strangers, 

It is officially spring! Has been for a week. Flowers are blooming with the leaves on the trees, bugs are back, jumping and buzzing above the wildflowers and grasses, and the sun has gotten some of its color back. It’s looking to be a beautiful season. 

There are so many stories in nature. One area of the forest holds standing water, mosquitoes, and the moss which will continue to live despite  the summer heat, another has a babbling brook and Black Eyed Susans that the deer come to drink at, still another holds a meadow, which somehow always manages to catch the sunlight, gold in the middle, and green at the edges from the filter of the leaves. 

That’s an apt metaphor for story as well. I read somewhere that a lot of people today have stories inside them, but assume they have to turn them into novels. That simply isn’t true, there are a thousand ways to tell a story. They don’t even have to be written

My favorite living artist is named Robin Sealark. She has an excellent YouTube channel under that name, and she was the person who taught me to experiment with everything in my art. To sketch, paint, and tell story with abandon. Art-a-thons and studies, realistic and stylized…She explained that in the first year of an art degree, students work in the studio for hours a day, months on end, trying everything. Acrylic, oil, gouache, watercolor, graphite, charcoal, chalk, crayons, sculpting, digital mediums…And then after they’ve tried everything, they specialize.  

So, in a generation that has access to everything, do we limit ourselves? 

I’ve started a journal, and everytime I have a story idea, I write it down. I think about it, and then I also add what medium I think it’s best suited to. Some of my stories are very visual, so I pick comics, graphic novels, or animations, (animations are obviously out of reach for a lot of creators, but I still like to list it as an option!) and some stories enter my mind and I imagine telling them around a campfire or as a bedtime story. These might be better suited to podcasts, songs, or a simply written script I can memorize and tell as a bedtime story, or at a campfire. Not everything has to belong to everyone. 

You can write novels, short stories, poems, tv scripts, you can make mixed media stories like comics and graphic novels, you can make sculptures and paintings that encompass a story, dance, song, podcast, blog, youtube channel. You can cook stories! You can weave a story! Literally. 

What I’m asking is that you don’t limit yourself before you’ve tried everything. Even the people who write medical textbooks and grants are telling stories. Marketing is storytelling. Landscape paintings are stories. Embrace all of the mediums. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a new way to create. 

Happy Spring! 

–Mabel

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: Entry 8

Hello Strangers. 

I usually try to publish my Small Dream posts earlier in the day, but on this occasion, I’m happy I didn’t. These posts are always meant to be a happy little distraction, or something I’ve been rolling around in my mind that I don’t want to lose, but I don’t always feel them very deeply in the moment. That’s not the case tonight.

This evening I watched a happy little video about an old dog who was doing his after-bath zoomies. His back was stiff and his jumps were short, but there was so much joy in his little face. I couldn’t help but cry. I was immediately struck with grief, knowing that this beautiful animal didn’t have much longer to live, and I thought of my first good boy. Lewis was a wheaten-terrier mix with golden hair and coppery colored ears. He had the wisest brown eyes. He was my faithful friend for fifteen years.

(Not Lewis, but a painting inspired by what I was feeling tonight.)

My dream this week is like a wish. I hope that in heaven, all of the pets are there. In fact, I really hope that every animal, insect, and spider is there. I believe that in the end, the Lord will restore all things tainted or destroyed by evil. And I hope that that means every special animal, with their smiles, barks, jumps, flapping wings, and scurrying feet will be there. Any that were abused, alongside those treated well. Those beloved elephants, horses, and even alligators will be there. (I wanted to paint an alligator this evening. They’re terrifying, but so cute.) I don’t know if they will be. But they might be. They really, really might be. And that excites me. For now, let’s use the time we’ve been given to treat every living thing with love and dignity. Go snuggle with your pets, I am.

Thanks for stopping by,

–Mabel

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturday: Entry 5 

Hello, Strangers.

I have a houseplant named Georgiana that I only water from a teacup. She is the only houseplant I have not killed. There are other plants, which others have cared for, that are fine. The ones I have been responsible for, however, have died. 

The houseplant in question.

Despite this, I would one day like to have a very large garden. If I create one, it will hopefully have tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, potatoes… I might buy a few fruit trees, some kind of grain, some berries, et cetera. I’ll have terracotta pots filled with basil, parsley, and cilantro sitting on the windowsill. My favorite part, however, might be in the area I imagine beyond the garden:

I will fill a basket with the white tops of dandelion flowers from the parks and forest around me, and when I get home, I’ll have a wishing party. Some friends and I will take turns blowing the needles (carefully, I suppose) into the very back of my back yard. When they flower, they’ll hold the soil in place, feed the bees, and I will have another plant to use in salads and teas. I’ll pick the yellow flower heads and use them to make dandelion honey. I’ll have enough flowers to make jars of the stuff. This is one of the dreams I do believe will come true. 

Speaking of which, since my last small dreams post, I’ve come up with a handful of funny moments for my stories that have made me view my characters in a different light. Are they actually funny? …Maybe? I don’t know, but they were fun to imagine. I call that progress! I look forward to writing again soon. All love,

–Mabel

Small Dream Saturday

Small Dream Saturdays

Hey Strangers.

My best friend’s brother dreams in black and white. When she first told me that, I thought she was lying. She’s in nursing school right now and studied it, and informed me that not only are there people who dream in monochrome, but also those who dream only in sound, and those who dream only in written word. Apparently, some people dream so infrequently, or their dreams get so lost in their subconscious, that they say it’s like they don’t dream at all. 

What I’m going to talk about is a different kind of dream; a waking dream. Our goals, hopes, and aspirations. I have friends who are afraid to have those kinds of dreams. I think it’s because some people are more realistic than I am, and they know how difficult dreams actually are to achieve. I think they figure that there isn’t any reason to hurt yourself more when you find out your wings don’t work. It’s safer not to try. It’s easier not to dream. 

Well they’ve completely missed the point. 

Have you ever woken up from a dream and it was either so hilarious, so scary, or so bizarre that you went to work and told everyone about it? Maybe your mom, best friend, maybe your therapist.The rest of the day was colored by this dream, your coworkers were either exacerbated or thrilled, and for that one moment, your whole life seems just a little bit brighter. It happens more. It’s almost not noticeable at first, but now periodically, those coworkers will walk up to you and tell you about their weird dream. What do you think it means? Have you had any more dreams lately? You have a reputation as the slightly odd person who tells everyone what they woke up thinking about. And they can deny it, but it makes you all better people. 

That’s why we dream. 

Some dreams come true, and some of them don’t. That’s life. But we don’t dream to make dreams come true. We dream because they color our world. This is going to be a recurring idea the ‘Small Dream Saturday’ posts, and so here’s my first one:

When I get older, I’d like to build a treehouse. I’ve always wanted one. It will be roomy and easy to climb into. I’ll have a collapsible roof, and handmade faux stained-glass windows. Something I love about my life is that I’m alright to pour glue and food coloring on a plastic picture frame and call it stained glass. When the sun shines through it, its colors will still glow. If I can’t have the treehouse, God willing, I’ll get to paint the glass. (I’ve been looking at prices for old screen doors on secondhand sites, I’m so excited.)

Photo by Erik Mclean on Pexels.com

Don’t stop dreaming, Strangers. It’s important. 

–Mabel