Omens

Looking back on signs, and why in the world I need a Substack

Omens.

Over Christmas break I took part in an “Omen Days” activity organized by a group of Ozark pagans whom I met at an event back in November. I am new to the group, but they’ve been experimenting with New Year-focused divination for over a decade. As someone who is far more likely to read tarot/oracle cards for others than for myself, I went ahead and gave it a try. The idea is this: on each of the 12 days of Yule, you perform your preferred method of divination—let’s say tarot card readings, or dream interpretation—and each one corresponds to a month in the New Year.

Here’s how January played out.

I didn’t take a picture of the cards, I just scribbled the cards in my journal. And rather than make this a tedious “here’s what I drew and why I interpreted them in this way” tarot study, I’ll just cut right to it and tell you. My January message was about having a lot of creative choices in front of me, vying for my attention, and I’d need to tap into whatever stores of emotional regulation I could muster in order to prioritize them.

The omen I saw in December was a flock of grackles.

I didn’t actually believe that in December, but here we are.

The New Year began, and it was as if my Mac was a kind of magnetized vortex or tornado, because one after another, long-dormant projects just kept whooshing into my inbox. This is not to say that they all have merit, mind you, so I guess that’s where the emotional regulation and judgement are going to have to come in. But all of a sudden, I quite literally have six projects on my desk that require my attention, and none of those include the marketing, bookkeeping, and other administrative stuff that my business needs. That’s truly project one, if I’m honest, and the other six must get in line.

scenes from my sketchbook of watercolors and scribbles

Did I mention I just wrote a small book?* So that is done. Never mind I already have a draft for another!

The struggle is in finding strength to follow through, and to do those hard bits, without spreading myself too thin. I do believe that I, and you, can literally do anything. We can, you know.

So why start a Substack now of all times? My Instagram page is stalled, because I truly struggle with posting there. The business one has cobwebs. Truly I do get a little rush of dopamine when a reel does well, but — ughhh, social media. You know how ‘tis.

I admire digital creators, I’m not knocking the medium. It is an art form all on its own—reels and images are themselves mini-productions, and require a huge amount of time and planning.

Unfortunately the voice in my head whispers, But why though?

A clamoring orchestra of marketing strangers shriek: Because it’s the only way! If you’re not appearing, you’re disappearing!

You know that cliché “this meeting could have been an email”? In my world, this essentially translates to “this reel could have been a painting.” The devil on my shoulder replies: Yeh but, ain’t nobody gonna know that painting exists ‘nless you talk about it on my gawd-damn internet.**

So I think I would like to take a bit of a rest from all of the image-making and write some. I’d like to activate that throat chakra and talk. My eyes get a little sore from looking at all these pictures, sometimes.

I have deleted my TikTok, and also Twitter looooong before it was X. I have abandoned more platforms than I care to remember. I have a YouTube but it is really, really sad. So if you’re here, thank you for stopping in, because this party will one day end just like they all eventually do. But I actually think this format suits me better. I miss reading; I think we all do.

Meanwhile I look for more omens and signs, to keep me in line on this winding path of creating.

Now if you’ll excuse me, that’s my timer. Enough energy spent talking, I gotta go paint.

Footnotes

*The book is called HAUNTS: Fearsome Legends of the American South and it will come out as a small run of limited edition paperbacks. It’s not on Amazon but you can pre-order here.

**The devil has a pronounced Tennessee accent in my imagination.