Deeds Done

Sunday was a long day. Saw the diamond. It’s diamond-y. (no photography allowed, which makes sense I guess. The museum is essentially an old department store with mannequins dressed in 19th costumes ogling fake diamonds.) I took the journal with me. No new clue.

Based on the symbol in the front of this journal (Psyche) we’ve all assumed it’s triggered by different emotional states. So I’ve figured out (assumed) I’m supposed to find these objects and while somewhere near them have a specific emotional response? The latest clue is “where Archemedes’ cry shines brightest through its adoring cut.” Which means I have to feel what, either revelation (Eureka!) or adoration? Infatuation? Love? I mean, I’m not really a diamond girl, so… Blurgh. This all feels a bit like a parent’s emotional manipulation from beyond the grave.

Revelation is something I feel pretty regularly but if it’s love or adoration I’m supposed to feel, I might need to start looking at local real estate. The closest I’ve felt to any of that is, well… I won’t be vagueblogging today, you’ve all had front row seats to that story.

I mean, yes, there are feels and loads of them, both simple and complicated. And that’s the problem! Two people who want (for a lot of reasons) something simple, uncomplicated, transparent, but we’re separated by a complicated morass of secrets and lies and magic and mountains (and mountaineers), and to get back to each other we have to wade into that world again, and wading into that world sometimes feels like drowning. To ask that of him, to come back to the girl with the spell and the father and the past and the road ahead of her feels cruel. It feels like I’m reaching out for help only to drag him under with me.

I’ve imagined the night I found out everything going a hundred different ways instead of me stumbling away like I’d just climbed out of a car crash. But I didn’t. And I don’t know if I could’ve done anything else.

So I’m here in Kimberely with the diamond and the mannequins and the empty mine. Revelations yes, but anything else… Maybe I’m not that girl.

I drafted this while on the plane. Now I’m in Cape Town, with wi-fi, the museum’s closed for the day, and I’m going straight to sleep (I can’t sleep while in mid-air.) Happy weekend Mountaineers. (Am I a Mountaineer?)

I didn’t mean to get involved in any of this once I left New York.

I was just going home. I had to. Not forever, but for a while. It wasn’t until I realised I left my laptop charger at the brownstone and was scrounging for something to do on the flight back that I found I had my dad’s journal in my big bag (hard to keep all my knock-off bags straight.) I cracked it open and suddenly some of it made sense.

And I was sitting there holding honest-to-god magic. A book that was until very recently hiding its content from me because I’d been hidden from the world.

In the journal he writes about how there are clues hidden inside it that will lead to a path paved with stones (artwork and other created objects) that come from two old “roads.” The road of wool and the road of silver.

He says there were two groups of people who knew what happened to the world, or knew something worth knowing at least. Centuries ago they set two trails of clues, designed to be found by anybody with a strong enough desire to find them.

He travelled both roads, following clues he thought would lead him to the truth, but as he describes in the journal:

“…at the end of both roads nothing but silence and ruin. Roads that, at one time in history, were walked by those who sought the truth. But when I walked them I found those who built them were no longer waiting at the end. And hadn’t been for quite some time. It wasn’t until years later that I found what I believe to be the truth and now I leave it safe at the end of this new road. For you.”

I think he did what he could to protect me. But also wanted to give me the chance, no matter how slim, to wake up – if I wanted it badly enough. I think I did want it, I always felt disconnected from the world, drifting… But if it hadn’t been for everything you all did, who knows? I like to think I would’ve got on track eventually. I did have the unwavering desire to find the damned books. I just happened to be looking for the wrong ones.

Anyway, I spent time with Mon, drank too much, ate too much, slept too much. Like when I used to come home from uni. But I was also catching up on everything on your forum and reading the journal. Processing it all. After a few weeks I thought I’d figured out where the trail started and I got itchy. I had to see. It took me a few days to work up the nerve, but I did and I was off.

I would like to say that I went to Amsterdam to find a magical trail of art. So let’s say that. But it was there that I kind of figured out the first clue which ended up leading me to Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia. I got back to the hotel and found a new clue that led me to the Alhambra (“Ferdinand and Isabella will meet your disapproval at the seat of the Sultan.”) To be honest, I’m not sure what triggered the next clue, but I think it could have been Charles V.’s Pillar. Crafted by metal instruments (the road of silver?) I most completely disapproved of the carvings of Daphne being chased down by uber-rapey Apollo. The next clue led me to Istanbul (“A line of lovers offer a sorrowful rest in Topkapi.”)

And you know the rest.

I wasn’t being cagey on Instagram. Part of me wanted to know that I could figure it out on my own. Which I did. That I wanted it enough. Which I do. And now I don’t need to prove it to myself. It doesn’t mean I’m not brutally lonely, perpetually tired, and sad to realise my stomach isn’t quite as cast iron as I once believed it to be.

I am going to follow this story to its conclusion. And though your help is much appreciated, if I have to do it on my own I will. I wonder what he left for me at the end of the road…?

Oh, and yes, I’m an Ebenguard. Seems fitting.

ADDED:

In my haste and turkish-fog I failed to realize that the Kimberley part of Kimberley Mine is the city of Kimberley, which is a nine hour drive from Cape Town. HA!  So… not visiting the museum today. I’m in the midst of booking a little baby hopper flight either tomorrow or Monday (the agent seems vague about the whole thing or maybe I’m just still in need of a sleep.) Ah the life of a completely inexperienced world traveller. (in these moments I can’t help but think how David would react if he could see this. Anyone else do that? Imagine if your ex could peek into your life now? Or is that just me? Please don’t be just me.)

Not sure what. I spent the entire day looking into everything you guys recommended. The university, back to the palace, back to the museum there. There were a couple places/things that were definitely “sorrowful” including a painting with a harem and this chained-up monkey that was heartbreaking, but who knows… Regardless, #goteam

The journal now says “return to the line of silver, the line of the craftsmen. Where Archemedes’ cry shines brightest through its adoring cut.” The “line of silver” bit has to do with the two paths my dad found (will explain as soon as I can put a big post together, hopefully on a long flight to somewhere else, no offense Turkey,) but the rest seems like the clue for the next leg. Any ideas? My brain is scrambled.

Cole: I got your messages. I was never able to get my phone working here. Write me?

Hey Mounties,

Still in Istanbul.

Lovely, yes, one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever visited (though I haven’t visited lots) but I am tired, in the throes of perpetual jetlag, and it turns out the Alhambra clue I thought I knew the answer to hasn’t led me anywhere. So I was wrong. And no new clues, no new passages. Just stuck. And even if I wanted to leave (I don’t, and won’t) the idea of getting on another plane right this very moment makes my stomach turn.

Feeling :emoji for frustrated and jetlagged girl who is stymied by the magical journal her dead father left her:

I went back and read the story I wrote to break the spell on me. The one where I said I was done with my father and was never looking back, blah, blah, blah…

Here I am, still chasing him. Still stuck, lonely, frustrated.

Am I ever going to be out of his shadow?

Am desperately trying to get used to the idea that you’ve all been here the entire time and I need to just go with it.

I need a nap.

To The Mountaineers,

I haven’t posted to my blog in a while because it feels, well, compromised? But it’s not like I’m trying to cut you all off.

I’m all caught up on what you’ve been up to since I got to New York. Yes, it’s weird. Yes, it’s unnerving. Yes, this is all waaaaay too much. I mean, I was stalked by a talking rabbit who’d possessed a human body to steal my dad’s pocket watch.

But as hard as all this is to get my head around I realise that you saved me. You tore the plaster off, which is good, but right now it’s painful and raw and I feel very exposed.

I don’t go to your forum anymore. It’s too weird to read people talk about you like you’re a character in a book. But I get it. That’s your space to figure out what’s going on.

Meanwhile, here’s what’s happening with me… I can read my dad’s journal now. Most of it still doesn’t make sense, in that it’s rambling and disjointed, but the words are words now, not jumbles of headache-making blobs.

Whatever my dad did to me protected me from the truth. From “magiq.” So his journal, The Monarch Papers, must lead to the truth, or some part of it, because now that his spell is broken, I can read parts of it. It’s all I have to go on right now.

So that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks, following my father. He talks about a trail that was left behind hundreds of years ago. A trail that leads to the buried truth. A trail of paintings and sculptures and tapestries and books, all around the world. And as I follow the trail, more appears in the journal. I don’t know what I’m doing or why, but starting a publishing company doesn’t seem like my prime imperative right now, right?

Strange to ask a question and realise there are people on the other side of this with help, advice, maybe even answers for the first time in a long time.

Magic is real. My father learned how to perform it. And he left a trail for me to follow him. Maybe it’ll lead to the lost books, maybe it’ll lead me to learn magic, or maybe it won’t lead anywhere. Maybe back to a warren in Central Park where he died, alone.

I don’t know. But I’ll stay in touch. You deserve that.

To Cole:

I had a hundred reasons to walk away from New York City. What you confided in me wasn’t one of them. I promise.

To learn at last why I have always felt adrift and wanting.
Why my efforts always left me lacking, lost.
It was you, after all, the one I didn’t know I was chasing.
The one who built a box and packed me up inside it.
Wrapped tight in the lies you wrote for me.
I’m going to do you one last favour, one mad deed I do for you.
And then I cast you out to sea.
I’m going to write a new story and see what it can do.
One where I’m no longer blind. One where light can get inside.
One where all of what I could’ve been can be dusted off and made to be.
Possibility. Possibly.
Where you have no more reign on me.
I pray the truth is brighter than the lie that was your gift.
I pray I wake tomorrow and I see the curtains lift.
Then I will set you out to sea and meet the girl you wouldn’t let me be.
A girl who doesn’t need to know you any longer.
A daughter that can see.

Surprise! I’m back in Hudson! I kind of love this little town. Right off the train from NYC, quiet, sweet, great food, incredibly over-priced antiques, but otherwise lovely. I think every once in a while I miss a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere. Mon would be thrilled.

I have to admit, I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels a bit, with everything, but mainly with the publishing company. I’m tired from turning up empty-handed. I told myself I was coming up here to search more shops and jumble sales for the books, but if I’m being honest, this is where I first thought to re-open Ackerly Green and now I’ve come up here to re think it.

I have the ability, right now at least, to do whatever I want. Yes, I could find those half-dozen books and do the grandfather I never knew proud. OR…
Maybe I could use AGP to bring about some positive change in the world. I know, I know…

I’m thinking lots of crazy things. Digital, interactive, uncovering fresh talent, children’s authors, young adult… explore what an un-publisher publisher could do with the resources I’ve been gifted. Respect the past, but look forward. I wouldn’t say I’m exactly talented, though I do enjoy writing, but the idea of fostering other people’s talent gets me really excited.

I realise (almost with a “z”) if I only pursued those old books I’d be falling into the same trap my grandfather and his partner fell into… playing it safe. Playing it traditionally. This world, especially right now, needs more people willing to risk everything for change. To be a voice. The work can be dark, edgy, scary, it doesn’t have to be sunshine and rainbows, but it should be new, exciting, different. If I find something that excites me maybe it will excite someone else? That’s really all I have to go on, having absolutely no experience in this industry.

So that’s where I am.

I think I’ll still republish what I’ve found, keep feelers out for the other books, but also start to look forward. I woke up this morning really excited!

And today I finally stopped looking at old musty books and ended up finding the strangest, most wonderful little things… A wax skull, a beautiful bottle of green ink, a candle that smells like blackberries and cassis, a chunk of amethyst crystal, a bottle filled with keys that have seahorse heads on them (and the bottle smells like something wonderful used to be in it) and finally, a little green dragon finger puppet that no one can tell me isn’t actually Herman The Hippocampus.

I just felt drawn to them for some reason and wanted to take them home with me. But I think I’ll spend a few more days soaking in the inspiration and clean air, then home.

Ha. Home. It is home, I guess… Green Manor. Home of the all new Ackerly Green Publishing.

Hey.

Getting to know you has been one of the best, strangest, and most insanely random things that has happened to me in a long time, and I’ve had my share of strange, insanely random things. Writing back and forth with you has been such a great outlet for me, and I hope for you too.

I’ve shared more with you than just about anyone. And I really appreciate that you’ve felt comfortable enough to share everything you have with me. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that as a child. I’m sorry you’ve felt alone for so long. Saying I understand doesn’t make it better, but I do understand the feelings, if not the events.

I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like. No one can, really. And my heart breaks for that little Cole. But look who you’ve become. Look how you picked up all those pieces.

I know you’re reticent to meet. I’m not exactly sure why. I mean, I respect it. I understand to a degree. But if you think that anything about you would push me away, you’re wrong. I’ve already seen your heart and that’s all that matters to me. (cheeeeeeese)

The fact that one of these silly books brought us together just makes this all the more strange and wonderful. You could’ve been on the other side of the world.

Instead, you’re on the other side of the river. 🙂

When you’re ready, let’s “break the seal.” 🙂

DGx

 

P.S. I found myself spelling “realise” as “realize” today! It’s happening! You were right!

I’m not sure what to say, really. Winter is usually a time to hibernate, reflect and be ever-so-slightly morose. Plus New York in winter is absolutely gray and disgusting, but I’m doing well. Fiddling with the house, working away (I’ve attended two writer’s workshop and met some new people), and making plans to meet CS sometime very soon. My life is a happy life.

I did get some bad news from Orvin this week but even that couldn’t bring me down. Seems my dad had a safe deposit box in Switzerland that Orvin didn’t know about until the bank called because they noticed the door of the box had been broken. They inspected the box and found someone had somehow stolen whatever was inside without cameras catching it. They’ve promised an interrogation of the staff, assuming it was an inside job.

I should be despondent. Should be driving myself mad wondering what was inside that box, but I think this journal of his has let me set all of that aside. He wasn’t well. Obsessing over that doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make me feel anything other than dismay, so I’m trying my best to let it go and not allow it to change how I’m feeling now. I know this isn’t permanent (nothing is) but I want to ride this wave as long as possible.

I’m reframing the idea of my father. He wasn’t there for me when I needed him. But in his death he’s afforded me this amazing chance to step into a life I wasn’t sure I was capable of living. He didn’t need to pay penance, he obviously wasn’t able to care for me, or my mother, but he’s changed my life and I just feel all of those negative feelings melting away into gratitude.

DGx

I have to admit, this is the most contented and grounded I’ve felt in a long time. Not just since NYC, but for ages. I am working on something I’m passionate about, and I’m making this house my own, one bit at a time… (the cold and rain have me in serious nesting mode.)

I’ve even met someone. Well, I haven’t met someone, but I’ve “met” someone. And I will at some point in the (hopefully near) future, meet him.

So all in all, 2017 feels like it’s off to a rather good start.

And now, as is required at this time of year, here is my very hastily put together list of new year resolutions:

1. Find the rest of the AG books.
2. Decide whether I wait to begin reprinting them until I have them all, or plow on so I don’t tear my hair out waiting.
3. Continue researching the inner-workings of successful publishing companies/businesses.
4. Join a writer’s group and meet possible future collaborators.
5. Find some form of cardiovascular activity that I will stick to doing. And do it. Perhaps several days in a row. Weekly (possibly.)
6. Continue to make this house my own. (And being cutthroat about moving/removing things, what’s the point of having this place if I’m not actually living in it. I have to stop feeling guilt over this windfall and just enjoy it. “Why yes, I am a homeowner. Thankyouverymuch” is my new mantra.)
7. Make a special point to stay in touch with Auntie Mon. I regret how little we’ve talked since I moved here.

That’s it. Oh, and continue enjoying having “met” someone. 🙂

What, no mention of my father’s journal? I’ve put it aside. Something about it saddens me. I’ve looked at it from every direction (and every frame of mind) and found something new each time, while somehow losing everything I found before. It’s like he left this sad, dark puzzle and maybe I’m just too happy these days to get my head around it. I’m okay with that, I think. I can always revisit it. Another resolution?

DGx