In light of yesterday’s excitement (Lee, Seanan and Small Gods all won Hugo Awards) Awemazia graced us with a visit. We thank each and every one of you who reads, shares, and cares about Small Gods.

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[image description: A delighted amber-haired woman in a wide straw hat and light blue sarong points to her red phone which emits a rainbow of light, confetti and sweetness. Text reads “AWEMAZIA, SMALL GOD OF JOY SCROLLING”]

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A new baby is born to your favorite cousin; a new puppy comes home; a job promotion; a new home; a great achievement.  And for a few hours, or days, everything is congratulations and joy, messages of good will coming so quickly that there’s no time to respond to them all, no possible way to even see them all.  It’s a giddy bubble, a brief moment where it seems like nothing ever has been or possibly could be wrong, and then it passes, and the world goes back to what it was before.  But now it contains something new, something amazing, and you get to carry that something with you into the future.

Awemazia has you now.

Awemazia isn’t seen or spoken of as often as her sister.  People see her presence as a form of boasting, like enjoying your moment of joy is overly proud or braggadocios or somehow gloating.  And to be fair, spending too much time in her presence can be all those things.  She is an addictive god.  She uplifts and she intoxicates, she excites and she euphoriates, but she will, over time, turn into a sweet sickness, a pretty poison that drags you down into a place where no joy seems enough, no achievement seems as brilliant or as bright.  But in short doses, in manageable amounts, she is among the kindest gods.  She brings joy.

She hates how quickly people dismiss her as self-indulgent.  She has her purpose and her place, and she is a necessary counter to her sister, who brings the cautionary tales, and poisons the edges of the world.  Appalla and Awemazia both are better in short company, in bursts of joy or sadness, but that doesn’t make them unimportant.

When she comes to you, when she knocks on the door, let her in.  Welcome her.  Enjoy her company, for a time.  Let the people who will love you,  love you.  Let yourself feel the bright warmth of her presence.

Be grateful.  Be honored.  And be overjoyed.

We are always glad she’s here.

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Join Lee Moyer (Icon) and Seanan McGuire (Story) Monday, Wednesday, and  Friday for a guide to the many small deities who manage our modern  world:






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