It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age

Journal Page 19

“It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age.” — Taylor Swift

Why did I choose a Taylor Swift lyric as the title of my last newsletter of the year? Let me explain…

When I started Channing’s Journal in February of this year, I was so excited to use this platform for accountability and creativity on my writing journey. But only a few months into this journey, life did what life tends to do and it threw off my groove.

There’s no way for any of us to see around the corner of a season and prepare for what’s to come, and because of this limitation, we must become best friends with grace and peace. For me, that meant taking a step back from scraping together a newsletter just for the sake of it and only writing one when I knew it meant something to me, or I felt like it was for someone else (like my last journal page all about death - yay).

Out of a lot of confusion and sadness this year, there has grown a new seed of light in my heart. A deeper passion for writing and a desire to root myself in this craft that I love. Because of that, Channing’s Journal is having a tiny re-brand for 2023. The *actual* brand will stay the same because I love it BUT the content will shift.

Here’s where Taylor comes in. This line, “It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age.” started playing in my mind right as I began writing this because for the last decade I’ve been writing one way, and now it’s time to write in a new way.

A literal decade ago at 15, I started journaling and every day since I’ve used ink on pages to “word vomit”, process life, and *sometimes* write something shareable/creative. BUT NOW, I want to take my writing deeper and into new (scary) territories (think publication, etc.)

I want the start of an age.

Now, what will this “newsletter re-brand” look like?

Channing’s Journal will become more of an overall creative outlet for me. This space will be home for my other passions and hobbies such as, but not limited to:

+ Spotify Playlists: I love making very niche playlists that I think are pretty good.

+ Wardrobe/Thrifting: Over the past year I've come up with a system for using Pinterest to step up my thrifting game and build a closet I love!

+ Crochet: My Granny taught me how a long time ago and I've just picked it up again & can’t be tamed.

AND MORE!

It sounds like I'm selling myself, haha I'm not!
Speaking of money, I'm also pausing payments for paying subscribers for the indefinite future. I was overwhelmed with the support when so many of you chose to pay for Channing's Journal, but I'm not gonna lie…if a week went by and I wasn't able to find the time or heart space to write, I felt so guilty that people were paying to hear my thoughts and I couldn't deliver. And so, until further notice, this will become a cutie wholesome free newsletter that I can use without pressure or guilt (inflicted by me alone lol).

Words cannot express how loved and supported I have felt this past year! As a little Christmas gift, here is a short story I wrote called "A Boy in The Town Called Fire" Enjoy!

A Boy in The Town Called Fire

Centuries ago, there was a village called Fire.

In this village, everyone’s skin was ablaze like red hot coals, though they never seemed to burn. It was as if they couldn’t feel the pain, or perhaps they knew nothing more than their agony.

The villagers refused to leave the boundary line, for fear that they would set the entire world afire. Because of this, they knew nothing of touch, of nature, or of the world outside Fire. All they knew was flame.

One day, a young boy from this village decided to venture into the woods beyond the line. He knew that his touch alone could cost the outside world everything, but he couldn’t help risking it in order to escape his nothing.

Careful not to step on anything dry enough to be set on fire by his skin, the boy tiptoed through the woods. He collected a sack of dirt and scattered it on the ground over anything that could be flammable.

After a few minutes of venturing on his handmade dirt path, he came upon a rabbit that was white as milk.

“What a peculiar thing.” the boy thought to himself as he leaned in closer seeing his warm glow reflecting off the almost glimmering fur of the rabbit.

It was the rabbit that moved first leaping to a branch far above the boy leaving small a trail of white flakes behind him.

“More ash” said the little boy as he reached to the ground to feel the speck of white. He was surprised to find that before he could even touch the flake, it disappeared instantly leaving only a dark mark on the forest floor.

More of these mysterious ash pieces fell from above him and began to fizzle and sputter as they hit his shoulders, head, and feet. Out of confusion, he stood there longer than he meant to, and out of fear the boy lept out from under the shower of flakes which revealed something he didn’t know was possible.

He looked at his arm and saw, not red hot coals, but flesh. He reached up and felt no flames, only a head full of hair.

Panic came first.

For flames and fear were all he knew how to be.

Peace came second.

He realized for the first time in his life, there was no longer that distant and deep feeling of being on fire.

He hadn’t even known he was in pain before this peace.

He began to run. He touched everything he could find, trees and their rough bark, grass and its cool prickly touch, and the sleek edges of a rock formation. Everything was beautiful, everything was his. He returned to the white circle on the ground and felt that too…it was ice cold…a shock to his system. As he held the white powder in his hands, he had an idea.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw flakes falling from another tree. He began following the white trails as he watched the rabbit leap from branch to branch calling out, “Oh rabbit! Rabbit! Please come back! I have a favor to ask!”

He saw the white rabbit hop down behind a tree in front of him. The little boy rounded the corner and stumbled back in shock and awe. Before him was no longer a rabbit but a white glowing stag. He shook his kingly antlers and the same white flakes fell from them. Without even thinking, the boy bowed and the stag bowed in return. He began to pace around the boy. Around and around he walked, closer and closer until he was close enough to touch.

The little boy reached out a nervous hand, and as he touched the fur on the stag’s neck, he was suddenly swept up on his ice-cold back.

Together they ran and leaped and the boy laughed for maybe the first time ever. Suddenly he remembered the favor to ask of the stag, but before he could lean down to ask, he could see that the beautiful creature already knew what he was thinking. At the bottom of the hill was Fire. The same as it always was, red, hot, and agonizing.

As they walked down towards the boundary line, the little boy grew nervous. Anything that stepped foot in Fire would surely burn and he didn’t want his new friend to fall victim to the pain he had always known.

When they were only feet away from the line, the little boy screamed out, “Stop! Stop! You will die in there my friend. Stop! You’ve made me whole, now let me save you. Don’t go in there!”

The stag paused, looked back at the boy, and stepped over the barrier with his head held high. Wherever the two of them went, peace and cool were left behind them, but it became clear they would never save the whole village this way. The stag’s steps were slowing, and his head bent low.

The little boy jumped off his back as the stag knelt to the ground running out of life. Suddenly, there was no longer a stag before him, but a man. A man covered in the same white substance from head to toe.

He turned to the little boy and spoke saying, “Thank you for being brave enough to find me. If you had not braved your own fire, and trodden lightly on your adventure, you may have never discovered me. And oh how I longed to be discovered. Because of this, you shall no longer call Fire your home.”

With that, the man began to rise before the little boy’s eyes. They were filled with tears for the first time.

Up and up he went until the man could no longer be seen in the clouds. The boy couldn’t believe his new friend was gone. “Had the peace and cool gone with him?” he thought to himself while staring at the ground where the man had just been standing. Suddenly, he felt something cool hit his shoulder.

Looking up, there were thousands of white flakes falling to the ground with ease and gentleness covering every inch of Fire. Every fire was put to rest and replaced with true form. Real homes, real skin, real life.

Now, every time it snows, the people are reminded that they were saved from the village of Fire by the courage of a young boy and the sacrifice of a white rabbit.