Erin Lodes

Warning: If you are not caught up on episode 8.3 of Game of Thrones, spoilers are coming…

My thought process in this blog post might be a bit disjointed, but I swear all of these things are connected. I’m trying to get at something here, maybe, so stay with me.

One of my favorite quotes from writers about writing fiction comes from the author’s note John Green wrote for The Fault in Our Stars.

Made-up stories can matter.

Someday I will get a tattoo of it. It’s a whole plan. Even before I was writing it, fiction has always meant a lot to me. I have always been impacted by fictional stories and fictional characters and I know I’m not alone.

Fast forward to Monday night, when I watched the latest episode of Game of Thrones, where—SPOILER—Arya absolutely kicks ass and kills a bunch of white walkers and then murders the Night King. She has long been my favorite character on the show, and after seven seasons of her training to be an assassin, her arc came down to this incredible moment of triumph.

“What do we say to the god of death?”

“Not today.”

I can’t explain to you the impact behind that quote if you haven’t watched or read the whole series, but just know, it has a shit ton of backstory and a shit ton of meaning. The words didn’t happen at the same time as the fucking fierce attack on the Night King, but they are the impact (along with seven seasons of backstory) behind it.

And my emotional reaction to it is hard to contain and also hard to express, but that’s what I’m trying to get at here. Which brings me to how fiction can impact our lives.

If you’ve been keeping up on the blog, you’ll know that April has been a shit month for me. March wasn’t super great either. I’ve been struggling with my mental health which in its lovely cyclical nature has affected my work and my writing and my quest to get published and my ability to believe we will overcome the absolute shitstorm of the state of our world and government right now—all of which has in turn affected my mental health.

One of the grounding techniques I’ve been trying to work on involves using positive mantras. I’ve never been the sort of person the more… let’s say flowery mantras work for—I just don’t connect to them.

But I will tell you what. Badass fictional characters, particularly badass fictional women, often say things that connect with me. And from now on, when I need grounding—when the world is moving too fast and all the problems seem so big and it seems like all the bad guys in my head and in the world are winning and the runaway train of my brain is running me the fuck over—I will be channeling fucking Arya Stark.

What do we say to the god of death? Not today.

And I love how this fictional story with its dragons and magic has reached into my world, my life, and my head, and brought me this beautiful thing.

What do we say to the god of hatred? Not today.

It’s a piece of magic all its own. What fiction can do for a person. I might—might—never have to face white walkers or a Night King, but I do have battles to fight, just like we all do.

What do we say to the god of injustice? Not today.

I have battles to fight against bullies, against those who want power to help themselves and not to help other people.

What do we say to the god of corruption? Not today.

I have battles to fight in my own head, in my own heart, battles against my demons and my white walkers and my own particular brand of Night King.

What do we say to the god of self-hatred? Not today.

And sometimes it seems like I will never win, like the battle will never end, and all I want is to give up.

But what do we say to the god of self-doubt? Not today.

Made-up stories can matter. They are, in the words of my favorite writer Neil Gaiman, good lies that say true things and which can sometimes pay the rent. So I’m going to keep writing them.

Because what do we say to the god of depression? Not today.

Not. Fucking. Today.