Once Upon a Wise

(and it’s rude, honestely!)

Once upon a time, in a realm not so far away—just past the kitchen sink and beneath a mountain of laundry—there lived a weary storyteller. She was destined to bring to life tales of mythical lovers, fierce goddesses, and shapeshifting soulmates who whispered sweet, chaotic nonsense into her ear at all hours of the day.

But then…Work. Yes. The mortal obligation. The necessary evil. The cursed enchantment known as employment. Every time I sit down to write—tea in hand, mood music on, ready to transport myself to the shores of some ancient, misty realm—what happens?

A notification. An email. A voice from the shadows (or the breakroom): “Can you jump on a quick call?”

And just like that, the moment vanishes. My brooding fae prince fades into the fog, my moonlit warrior princess rolls her eyes and vanishes into mist, and I’m left staring at a spreadsheet instead of a spellbook. My characters, bless them, try to be patient. They sit cross-legged in my mind, arms folded, waiting for me to return. But they’re dramatic, these creatures of mine. They sigh a lot. They monologue. One threatened to start a rebellion if I didn’t finish their kissing scene soon.

Meanwhile, work just keeps… working. It doesn’t care that a dragon is literally waiting in chapter 8 to be unleashed. It doesn’t understand the urgency of fated mates or forbidden kisses beneath ancient stars. And honestly? It’s getting in the way of destiny.

But despite the interruptions, the spells still form. The stories still swirl.
The lovers still find each other—eventually, through lunch breaks and late nights and stolen moments when the world is quiet. Because the truth is: the magic never really leaves. Even when I’m clocked in, the myth lives on beneath the surface, waiting to rise.

So yes, work might be a necessary tether to the mortal realm…But my soul? It still belongs to the story.