UNDER THE WILL… OVER THE DRAMA…

Tag: writing

  • Why ‘Me’ Needs a Holiday…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    The Most Overused Word? If I had to pick a word that’s overused these days, I’d say “me.”Not because the letters offend me, or because I want to erase individuality, but because “me” has become the gravitational center of far too many conversations, posts, and decisions. We live in an era where “me” gets first,…

  • Episode 99 – Field Guide to the Narcissistic Sociopath …

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Field Guide to the Narcissistic Sociopath (Faurel Hill Variety)… Scientific Name: Egomax Controlus.Common Name: Bully.Habitat: Inherited property, family disputes, and anywhere rules are optional. Prefers environments where he can loom. Distinguishing Features: Inflated sense of self visible from 100 yards.Smirks when confronted, vanishes when accountable.Eyes scan for opportunity, not connection.Immune to empathy, sympathy, and basic…

  • Bully’s Lost in Space, and I’m at Peace…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    What Brings Me Peace? Peace is not a scented candle, a yoga mat, or the sound of gentle rain, though all those are nice in theory, until the cat knocks over the candle, the yoga mat curls itself into a trip hazard, and the rain turns into an Irish downpour that soaks you from the…

  • Who’s Messing with the Big Tap in the Sky?…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    You can say what you want, but I believe the weather here is controlled. Don’t give me the ‘It’s just the Atlantic’ spiel, I’ve lived under this sky long enough to know it’s not just random. My phone pings: ‘Rain stopping in 30 minutes.’ And sure enough, like clockwork, it stops. I barely have time…

  • Devotion Over Diplomas…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Now this one? I’ve got my opinions. Buckle up. First off, what even is a profession? If we’re talking about the kind that requires you to be “properly” educated, trained, and certified by the same system that keeps most of us stuck, then no, I don’t admire professions. I question them. Because who decides what…

  • The Stranger at The Funeral – Part 2 …

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    The Spin Cycle… The night after we buried Dad, it was just Bully Junior and me. I cracked open a bottle of wine and poured a glass for him. He said he wasn’t feeling well. We sat in silence. Not peaceful silence, just blank space. Grief. Tension. Avoidance. Then off he went to bed. I…

  • The Shop That Sells Nothing…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Now this is a tough one. Because, truth be told, opening a shop is the last thing I’d ever want to do. Shops mean transactions. Price tags. Plastic shelves full of items we don’t need but somehow buy anyway. Honestly, in my head, we were better off without them. I’m more into the barter system,…

  • Under the Will… Over the Tea ☕

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Two Mugs and a Bit of Peace… Yesterday I sat at my kitchen table with a proper mug of tea, not one of those delicate cups you have to pinch with your fingers and drink like you’re in Downton Abbey, a real, weighty mug you can wrap your hands around. It struck me that the…

  • Sir Percival Ponders…

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    Sir Percival Ponders: Paw-litics, Plandemics & the Purr-suit of Truth… By Sir Percival, Tomcat of Truth, Archduke of the Afterlife. Well well well… she’s been thinking again. Always dangerous when a woman starts seeing past the curtain, isn’t it? I’ve been watching from the Great Beyond, curled up on my celestial windowsill, tail twitching in…

  • Where the Sky Remembers Me..

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    by

    Mae Faurel
    in

    It’s a life far from the noise and nonsense of this one. Here, creativity isn’t just something you do; it’s the heartbeat of everything. Stories aren’t just told; they glow, shimmer, and come alive in colors and light. Every sunrise? A fresh story waiting to be lived, a new adventure knocking at the door, a…