the voices in my head

Self-publishing

2012-01-12T11:45:00.002-05:00

I've self-published my poem/short story, Interview With the Faerie on Smashwords!

This piece was written years ago, and I've had absolutely no luck getting it published as either a short story or a poem! It's a bit short for a short story, and the lines are stanzas. It's too long for (what most people think of as) a poem.

It has Faeries...and borrows from Celtic mythology (particularly Lebor Gabála Érenn , or Book of Invasions.) And I would not say this is for kids, although it should be fine those 13+.

Smashwords is an e-book only distributor, so only an electronic version is available for now. It cost 0.99 and is available in your standard ebook formats.

I am looking into creating a paper version at CreateSpace in the future.

In the meantime...please consider paying your hard-earned-buck to support my work! :-)

My Arisia Panel Schedule

2012-01-06T10:46:00.000-05:00

I'm psyched to be paneling at Arisia again this year! Arisia is an awesome scifi/fantasy culture conference that takes place every year in Boston. I'm usually a panelist on topics such as gender, sexuality, religion and sociology and how these relate to science fiction in books, TV and film. I'm often on panels about dystopian science fiction, as this is my primary scifi love.

Here's my current panel schedule...

Gender Limitations in SF/F with Greer Gilman, Jennifer Pelland, Trisha Wooldridge (m), Andrea Hairston. Friday 1/13 at 5:30 pm.

The Nature of Gender: Past, Present and Future with Raven Kaldera (m), Michelle d'Entremont, Dyschordiana. Friday at 10 pm.

Sacred Sexuality with Shava Nerad, Rev. Matthew (m), Dyschordiana. Friday at 11:30 pm.

Can You Like Literary Scifi Without Being a Snob? with Grant Carrington, John Bowker, Andrea Hairston, Kenneth Schneyer (m). Saturday 1/14 at 10 am.

Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading with Elaine Isaak, Phoebe Wray, KT Pinto, Trisha Wooldridge (m), Morven Westfield, Kimberley Long-Ewing. Saturday at 11:30 am. ** All of the participants--myself included--will be reading from our works.**

Our Grim Meat-Hook Future with Steve Sawicki, Ken Kingsgrave-Ernstein (m), Glenn Grant, Alexander Jablokov. Saturday at 1pm.

Politics in Science Fiction with Ian Randal Strock, Walter Hunt, Mark L Amidon (m), Ira Nayman, Proprietor, Alternate Reality News. Saturday at 10 pm.

Published work...about ZOMBIES

2011-11-02T21:36:00.001-04:00

I've been a whirlwind of busy. I have a few clients for my social media/marketing consulting business, Seed Media Consulting. I am LOVING working from home.

How are you?

In other awesome news, my poem "The Lies Parents Tell" was published today on the website "Tales of the Zombie War." It's already gotten three really positive comments :-)

Go check it out! http://www.talesofworldwarz.com/stories/

Until next time...

Latest published work

2011-10-13T13:35:00.001-04:00

Just a quick post to let you know that I had a piece of work accepted for Pagan Writers Presents Samhain, an anthology (the first of many!) from the new Pagan Writers Press.

My piece is an article about the Goddess Hecate, and contains an Innvocation I wrote for Her.

The anthology should be coming out in the week or so, and pre-orders are being accepted at http://paganwriterspress.com/

Fingers Crossed Once Again for "Interview With the Faerie"

2011-09-29T18:48:00.000-04:00

The two or three of you who have been following my writing career (hi Mom!) know that I am particularly attached to a piece of my writing that has an identity crisis. Is it a poem? (Maybe.) Is it a short story? (Sort of.) Is it sellable? (???) It is Interview With the Faerie (Part I), a dark chronicle of the uneasy meeting between the King of Faerie and a human reporter "chosen" to be the first to interview the Fae Lord in over a century.

For some blasted reason, when the idea first came to me 3+ years ago, it initially came out as a poem. Then I set it aside for a while, until the rest of the story wrote itself.

When I was inspired to pick it back up--not sure where it was going to take me--it continued to spew forth as a poem. A poem with stanzas of six lines (mostly.) And when the Fae King speaks, some of his lines rhyme.

Hey, don't blame me. He's a Faerie. If He wants to speak in rhyme, He can.

So, the piece is 1300-ish words long, in stanzas (some of which rhyme) and it ends in a cliffhanger, because that's just how it ended. Thus, the (Part I) at the end. There will be at least one other part. I've tried to write it a few times, but it wouldn't come out.

Back to my original point...

I sold the piece last summer, and it was supposed to be published this past summer, but the magazine went under. This happens.

Then things got busy with back to school, family calamities, starting my new business, etc. So today, I picked a market and sent it off.

I really believe in this piece. The question is, who is going to take a chance on an overly long poem/sort of short story?

We shall see. (I hope.)

My 2011 Pi-Con Panel Schedule

2011-08-17T12:24:00.002-04:00

I'm not currently listed on the published schedule due to lateness on my part, but here are the panels I'll be on at Pi-Con.

What is Pi-Con? You ask...

From the website: "Pi-Con is a diverse collection of geeks. Our members are fans of books, movies, gaming, webcomics and print comics, tech and gadgetry, costuming, anime, and music. You'll find people who are into steampunk, space opera, vampires, ren faires, superheroes, and dozens of other genres in various combinations. This year we're proud to be expanding our offerings to include a strong science track (including a science guest of honor!) . We'll still be including all the best parts of previous Pi-Cons; you can discuss your favorite topics in panels and meetups, play tabletop games from our extensive library, see a show or two, and party until you can't stay awake anymore.

The convention is held annually in August, in the Springfield, MA area.

We pride ourselves on being open and welcoming of newcomers. If you're into any of the fandoms we celebrate, or even just into hanging out with a bunch of friendly geeks, we'd like to extend a warm invitation. Hope to see you there!"
So, you can see why I fit in ;-)

Once again this year I'll have my husband and fellow scifi and science geek in tow. I'm also psyched because my fabulous writer-friend, Trish Wooldridge, is this year's Guest of Awesome! I'll also get to see some of the New England members of Broad Universe. (And on that note, I am the new coordinator for the New England chapter so if you are a woman writing genre fiction or a man who supports such--or would like to host a discussion about women writing genre fiction please feel free to contact me.)

Without further ado, the schedule:

timeslot Room panel

8/26/2011 8:00:00 PM Suffield Sex & Genre Literature (other panelists: Genevieve Iseult Eldredge (M), Trisha Wooldridge)

8/27/2011 12:00:00 PM Suffield Apocalypse: How? (George Claxton (M), Michael Whitehouse)

8/27/2011 4:00:00 PM Agawam Locally Grown Genre Works (Kate Kaynak (M), Ken Kingsgrave-Ernstein)

8/27/2011 5:00:00 PM Suffield Ask a Geek: Social Sciences (Kate Kate, Mike Whitehouse (M), Paul Estin)

8/27/2011 8:00:00 PM Main Tent Love and the Robosexual (George Claxton (M), Jennifer Pelland)

*** I may try to get on another panel or two, and should also be reading from my work if there is a Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading ***

One Door Closes, Another One Opens

2011-07-24T12:25:00.002-04:00

I was really bummed out two weeks ago when I received the news that my short story/poem "Interview With the Faerie, Part I"--slated to be published this month--was not going to be. The magazine is closing up shop. I was particularly dismayed because they held the piece for a year (and no, that is not unheard of in this biz.) Also, I LOVE this piece of work. In many ways, it defines me as a writer and is a good representation of what I write.

But to put this piece of news in greater context, I was coming off several poetry rejections (I'm clearly not sending to the right markets) and going through the change of leaving my job and re-defining myself. And dealing with the aftermath of Ari's back surgery. And such.

And then I was pleasantly surprised to hear that my short story Essie was accepted for publication by Luna Station Quarterly, a market I really dig. Their mission is to, "... is to display the vast and varied talents of female genre fiction writers."

So, look for Essie in their September issue. This will qualify as my first published short story! It is also one of my relatively few forays into pure scifi--I tend to write more fantasy and magickal realism.

Yesterday, I did re-tool "Interview" a bit and send it off to another market. I am now going to refer to it as a short story, which it really is. Even though it's written in stanzas like a poem and has some rhyming elements. It's over 1,700 words. So, fingers crossed on that.

Adjusting to a New Life & Random Musings

2011-06-20T10:06:00.000-04:00

New Life Musings

Today I begin my second week without full-time, "in-the-office" employment. I've been incredibly busy and this new reality hasn't really sunk in yet. I'm sill under the pressure of kids' activities, Ari not being up to speed, and leftovers for work. And painting the darn kitchen, which thankfully is coming along.

Here's a view of the finished part.

Tomorrow is Summer Solstice, which amazes me. The weather has been suck in the Northeast and it feels like it's just begun to get nice. Tomorrow is also the kids' last day of school. Hopefully we will find a way to celebrate the solstice.

I had hoping that by now we'd have more of a hang-outside area. Having a spouse out of commission has made me realize how much each person contributes to running a household/family. (Honestly, kudos to you single Moms and Dads--I don't know how you do it.) The grill is still under the house and it's too heavy for me to take out. Although I'm now an expert lawn-mower the trimmer is still packed away and if memory serves I don't have a lot of stamina holding that up and using it for extended periods. My vegetable garden didn't get planted.

In my perfect vision of this summer, I'd have lovely little vegetable plantlings, an outdoor patio area, and a firepit. I'd be able to invite my friends over to celebrate the solstice.

Instead, I have hours of work to finish, a kitchen still in need of some paint, boxes of kitchen stuff still to put away, looming writing deadlines, and kids on my hands as of tomorrow.

But I have POTENTIAL. Theoretically--when things settle down a bit--I have more and more flexible time. My kids are older, and they are funny, and amuse the heck out of me when they're not annoying me by leaving utter chaos in their collective wake. And Ari is on the mend.

Realistically, I live in paradise. I love where I live. Everyday the chipmunks put on a show, and there are beautiful bird songs all around.

Writing Update

In writing news, I received a poetry rejection recently, the novel is still "in progress" and my most active project is a short story for the upcoming unCONventional anthology. Also, my long poem "Interview With the Faerie, Part I" is supposed to be published this month in Abandoned Towers. I'm also thinking of going on a total poetry hiatus--that is not writing ANY poetry at all--for a year, and just concentrating on my other writing. I can't seem to find the markets for it (either that, or my poetry really sucks) and I'm getting discouraged.

Off to food shop--YAY I don't have to fight the crowds on Sunday any more!!

Early Summer Blessings to All!

Listen to me read from my novel-in-progress. You know you want to.

2011-05-18T17:32:00.000-04:00

The May episode of the BroadPod--sponsored by Broad Universe--is up and I am reading some of my work. This episode is all about "mothers" and "mothering." Please have a listen, and tell me what you think!

http://broadpod.posterous.com/

Happy listening!

A Big Step Forward With My Novel!

2011-05-11T20:53:00.000-04:00

I must be brief here, because there is a lot going on in my life now, and not all of it is positive.

Some GOOD NEWS! Today I had a great breakthrough with figuring out the Cosmology for my novel-in-progress, Ownership of the Gods. It's a complicated cosmology that figures in Gods and Goddess from across time and (Earth) culture, and must also make sense in the here and now.

I'm tweaking a chapter that I will record for the upcoming Broad Universe podcast, and I realized I really needed to have that Cosmology fixed. So I took pen to paper and did it! I love it--it accomplished everything I want it to, including:

* being multi-cultural
* being pan-religion
* challenging some commonly held assumptions about religion
* turning on their head some commonly held beliefs about where religious ideas "come from," and how they relate to us in the here-and-now

I am just super-excited! (I swear-sketching this out was seriously the most fun I've had in several weeks!) I'll add a note and link to the podcast from my blog here when it is released.

Be well, all.

:-)

"Don't You Mean God's Husband?"

2011-04-18T11:01:00.000-04:00

Below is the content of and link to a fantastic opinion piece that really struch a chord with me. I put it up on my Facebook page, where it received no attention whatsoever (too heavy?) so I thought I'd repost it on my blog.

Link to post by Star Foster: http://www.patheos.com/community/paganportal/2011/04/14/dont-you-mean-gods-husband/

Jason Pitzl-Waters wrote about the recent God’s Wife controversy over at On Faith. As a dude he nailed it, and I suggest you open it in a new tab and read it through before you go further into my rant. Leave a comment and tell him you appreciate what he wrote.

I’ve been avoiding this drama because it cuts too close to the bone. It makes my head begin to buzz like angry honey bees. It makes me clench my fist and grind my teeth. Y’all know I ain’t the Goddessy type. I have no patience for Dianics, for uber-feminists or for anyone to expect me to wax eloquent about the magic of my “wombspace” because that just ain’t me. That does not mean I am not deeply connected to the Goddesses, to the feminine Divine. It’s a connection that has no voice, it’s too deep, rooted in my mitochondria, in my bones and in my very breath. There are no words to describe, only aching sound. I wish I could give it words, but there is no way to convey it to another. My inability to analyze and share this drives me crazy.

Yet other women can express it, and express it well. None so well as the Hebrew women in the book of Jeremiah (I’m stealing the translation Jason used):

“We will not listen to the things you’ve said to us in the name of YHWH. On the contrary, we will certainly do all that we’ve vowed. We will make offerings to the Queen of Heaven, and pour libations to her as we used to do – we and our ancestors, our kings and princes in the towns of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem – because then we had plenty of bread and we were satisfied, and suffered no misfortune. But since we ceased making offerings to the Queen of Heaven and pouring libations to her, we have lacked everything and have been consumed by sword and famine. And when we make offerings to the Queen of Heaven and pour libations to her, is it without our husbands’ approval that we make cakes in her likeness and pour libations to her?”
– Jeremiah 44:15-19, translation by Graham Harvey, from the Hebrew text of the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, excerpted from “The Paganism Reader.”

There is anger in these words, hot and quick. Can you blame them? Thousands of years later they still speak of Asherah as God’s Wife, by a nameless title denoting her sexual position in relation to him. No one calls El or Yahweh Asherah’s Husband. No one calls him consort, concubine, helpmeet or other term placing him in a subservient role. No one apologizes for Her, explains away Her moods, Her harsh words.

As a teenager I would lie awake at night praying to Yahweh and Jesus with every fiber of my being. I was desperate for God’s love, to be an expression of Divine Grace. I wanted to be God’s Comb, making the tangled straight and smooth. Imagine me, a young girl staring at the ceiling and sobbing out her prayers, because every word of Yahweh tells her she is less, she is incomplete, she is subservient and second-class.

Everything involving discussing gender is so politicized and charged, but for a second forget the rhetoric and imagine God tells you that you are second class. Actually consider that for a moment, that state of being. That you were created to alleviate man’s loneliness and meet his needs. That your God is telling you to “lie back and think of England.” Yeah, that’s extreme but when you’re a bright budding young woman who sees all the women of the Bible (excluding Deborah and Miriam) tainted by sexuality, who reads Saint Paul insist she be silent and considers how Yahweh never even considered creating woman until Adam started to whine, you tend to see things in an extreme light. I spent hours crying and begging for forgiveness for being a woman, just like he made me.

Alienation? Hardly. It’s rejection, spiritual slavery and then being asked to be cheerful about it. No sir, no thanks and I do not want another. I’ll tell you where to stick your alienation. I will not bend to an abusive God who needs excuses made for him, like a violent boyfriend. Oh, he only says I’m sinful when his beer has gone warm. Oh, he only rejects me on the days I don’t have testicles, so it’s all my fault. Really. He doesn’t really mean it when he calls me the origin of death. He loves me. Really. He does…

I’m not a Wiccan because I place the Goddess at the pinnacle of Divine perfection. I am not Wiccan because of the Great Rite, the union of the God and Goddess symbolically re-enacted, because of chalice and blade. No, I am Wiccan because of the Sword of Power. I rarely hear people talk about this, and it may not be relevant to every Wiccan trad. At Beltane and Samhain, the sword of power passes between the God and Goddess. Each time I catch my breath, lest the priest or priestess be moved by a power-hungry impulse. Yet, each time the representative of Divinity receiving the power insists they cannot wield it alone, and asks for their partner help. That is a theology that I can stake my soul on, that encompasses us all. We cannot do this alone. We have to help each other if we’re going to make it.

I don’t lie awake worrying about whether the Gods love me because I have a vagina or lack a Y chromosome. I don’t believe I was created to be inferior. However, I do think I was created second. Would you like to hear my UPG-modified Origin of Woman story? Too bad, I’ll tell you anyway:

Zeus had created man, Prometheus “stole” fire from Hephaestus and Hephaestus had gifted them with a few of his arts. Yet all was not well and things were not running smoothly. Man showed disturbing promise yet seemed limited. Zeus had never intended man to have fire, to be able to create like Hephaestus creates, to be so like the Gods.Yet, was that such a bad thing, that Zeus should create a race that is like the Gods in cunning and creativity? So Zeus and Hephaestus came up with a plan that mankind should be as balanced as Godkind. Hephaestus created Pandora, the all-gifted first woman. She was not created to be subservient, to be less. She was showered with all imaginable gifts from both Goddesses and Gods and she was given a jar.

Now Hephaestus kept his hands clean as much as he could. He got into enough trouble with the Gods as it was and the Goddesses might not be pleased with woman, made in their image and a mirror of their fierce cunning and bright beauty. So just as Prometheus “stole” Hephaestus’ fire to give to man, so Hephaestus “warned” Pandora against opening the jar. Yet Hephaestus had made her, molded her calves, ears and heart with his own two hands, created her from his love and appreciation for the Goddesses of Olympus. He knew how to speak to her and knew she was bright, intelligent and wise. I can imagine him saying the words while miming that she should look inside. You see inside this jar was all the darkness man had stored up, all that was making him slow, his thinking constipated, his work rough and unfinished. For man was bound by darkness, primal apes wielding tools, but as yet not truly human. They lacked a Divine spark.

So there he left her, with the jar before her. Pandora carefully tilted the lid back, and out flies fear, insecurity, self-conciousness, fear, doubt, worry and all those dark things that paralyze us. Out flew the dark dumbness of the animal and leaving man’s mind free and open. She let them go, set them free and unburdened the soul of man. Then in the bottom of the jar she sees something bright, something that lights up her lovely face and she quickly closes the lid and seals it shut. She held onto precious hope.

So every man and woman living today is her descendant, and each of us have the ability to let go of the darkness. Each of us carry hope within. Men are not better than women, nor are women better then men. Man didn’t ask for woman but stood proudly on his own. Woman was not created to serve man, but to be the catalyst through which they are both transformed, which still happens through the process of birth, where the male and female combine within woman to become a human child. Those early men were not perfect, though skilled, hardy and clever. Pandora herself was an impossible creature, unlikeable in her perfection, created in the image of the larger-than-life Goddesses. No, the ones worth emulating are their descendants, a perfect blend of the two, our very selves. Together they created a full spectrum of humanity to emulate the diversity found in heaven. Pandora and her many partners gave birth to men, women, straight, gay, bisexual, transgendered, shy, gregarious, analytical, tender-hearted, tall, short and every other kind of human you can imagine. Pandora was a Divine virus set loose among our ancestors, an evolutionary mutation of vast consequence. She is that mitochondrial Eve who lives symbiotically in our DNA, male and female, giving us the ability to let go, move forward and never lose hope.

So let’s set the record straight: Yahweh is Asherah’s Husband, and he’s not the only one. She shared her bed with El first and has many lovers. She is Goddess, and to deny Her is to deny yourself. She is the Queen of Heaven: holy, loving and many Gods are equal to Her brilliance. We are the Children of the Gods, and they live in us, male, female and genderless. They do not reject or deny us. They do not strike us for being who they made us. They do not leave us sobbing in darkness struggling to dent our souls to please them. We are not Second Class, not Helpmeet, not Consort nor Concubine. We are Whole and Wholly Blessed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just in case you were stupid enough to think that women are "equal" to men...

2011-04-08T20:06:00.000-04:00

... I'm here to kick you in the teeth.

Not that I fault you. I'm 40-something years old, and during my lifetime I have witnessed plenty of advances for women. I remember when there was not a girls' recreational basketball league in my Rhode Island town. So, as a primary-grade student who loved basketball and sports in general, I was one of two girls to play in the boys' league. And I was a starter.

A year later, the girls had their own league.

I also remember the girls being marginalized in gym class in elementary school. We were "just girls," after all.

Luckily, my parents gave me the message that I could do anything I wanted. Growing up in the 70s, my mother added to the message something I would not dream of having to say to my daughter today. After "You can do anything you want with your life" she added "even though you're a girl."

It was the 70s--and Title 9 was relatively fresh. So was the pill. And Roe v. Wade. I was riding high on a wave of girl power.

In junior high, much of that came crashing down. The empowerment I experienced as a youngster was replaced by the insecurity of adolescence. Popularity was everything. The size of a girl's bosom was directly proportional to how popular she was. I did not have a name for it then, but I learned my first lessons in "objectification." Overnight, girls were transformed into things. No longer whole people, they were judged by capricious and often arbitrary criteria: bosoms, whether or not they "put out" (which could raise or lower your popularity, depending), their overall appearance including hairstyle and clothes. Many girls were afraid to be too smart, too athletic, or too “different.”

Male teachers in the junior high gave special privileges to the more "womanly" appearing girls. The message was clear: Unless you appealed to a male, you were beyond notice.

But back to the point, this rant is really about how things have not changed for women all that much. Yes, we are better represented in boardrooms and legislatures. Today, there are more female than male college undergraduates.
But …

Our bodies continue to be battlegrounds. We have lost, rather than gained, control over our bodies and medical decisions over the past twenty years. (To be fair, men have lost some control also.) But tonight, as we wait for word of a government shutdown, one thing is clear: This standoff is NOT about the U.S. budget. It is NOT about securing our country’s financial future.

This is a standoff all about control. Control over women.

The Tea-Party soused Republican Congress is holding the United States hostage. They have decided to attach several riders to a budget that should be about THE BUDGET. But these riders overwhelmingly target women’s access to health care. And no, I’m not using the term “health care” as a euphemism for “abortion.” Because de-funding Planned Parenthood *is* about women’s health. Yes, Planned Parenthood provides abortion services. But overwhelmingly, it provides routine annual check-ups for women who otherwise wouldn’t have easy access to health care.

I am lucky to be covered by health insurance. I can see a doctor about virtually anything I need. All women should be so lucky. All AMERICANS should be so lucky. But this is not the case.

So, I implore the Republican-led congress to stop using my body as a battleground. You have absolutely no right to restrict my--any woman’s--access to health care. I frankly don’t give a shit if you “don’t agree” with abortion or think “God prohibits it.” I don’t care if your God tells you to worship trees, or to not wear the color blue. If you truly believe God is speaking to you, you have every right to believe that and I do not begrudge you that.

But why shouldn’t someone *else* wear blue? Maybe they truly, honestly, believe God or their pet gerbil is telling them green is the color to stay away from.

You may have noticed we live on a pretty big planet. And that people the world over have a variety of norms and beliefs. Clearly, humanity is wired for diversity. By cramming your view of how women “should behave” through the legislature, you are RESTRICTING people’s rights. This is clearly un-American.

Take note: I will not let you use my body as a battleground. I will not stand by as you re-interpret history and re-write the meaning of the Constitution you claim to uphold. I will not let you marginalize me. I will not allow you to limit the choices my daughter will have when she is older. I will not have you remake this incredible, bewildering, ever-changing and occasionally frustrating country into YOUR twisted vision of a presumed God-given utopia.

You sit on a precipice, and history will judge you for your actions. Your ancestors will inherit what you sow today. I implore you to do the right thing.

Well, Now I've Done It

2011-03-24T14:44:00.000-04:00

In a rare "moment of clarity"--yes, I'm aware that for me these don't happen too often--I realized I had to leave my job.

I was returning from travel in Washington, D.C. where we had finished holding an annual meeting. I happened to have a huge part in the planning of it this year, so it was particularly anxiety-producing. All I could see was what went "wrong." Even if the wrongs were transparent to everyone else. But I digress.

So, it was really stressful and a lot of hard work. All of this was happening while concurrently at work I was in various stages of proposal development, trying to build a robust social media strategy and presence, and coordinating a whole bunch of this and that. And by "coordinating" I mean shivving a bunch of really smart and busy people to do X, Y, and Z by such-and-such a date. Herding cats, really. Oh and I didn't mention the content I needed to find time to write. There's more, but you get the idea.

I work at a nonprofit, ultimately funded by the Feds. Over the past three years, my take-home pay has gone down as my on-paper hours have been cut. My level of responsibility has gone up, and I've been doing a job at a level or so more than where I'm at for about two years. And then getting 75% of that, even though I'm often working full-time.

But all that wasn't what really did it. My kids need more parental time and attention due to a few factors I don't really want to go into here. It has been very, very difficult for my husband and I to juggle our hectic and pressure-filled jobs while being able to meet our kids' needs.

He, however gets paid about 3X more than I do.

So I was driving home from the airport, and put in a call home to let my husband know I was on my way. It was roughly 6pm. When he answered, he sounded exhausted. It was Friday, his day to work from home and be there for the kids when they got off the bus. Even though they get home at 3:30, he still has work to do until 5 or 6 or whenever his work for the day is done.

"I'm sorry we won't be here when you get home," he said, "but the kids are starving, and I have absolutely no bandwidth to cook for them. We're going to Friendly's."

I assured him it was OK. I was going to go home, grab a glass a wine, and soak in my tub anyway.

We said goodbye. But something was nagging at me. I thought about how when I travel (several times a year, more than he does) how much slack he picks up. And how much he does, generally. And all the things that my kids have been needing from me, as well as things I don't have the time or energy to be properly "on top of." And how his job has often taken back-seat to mine, even though, salary-wise, he is really the breadwinner.

It suddenly became clear: I cannot do this anymore. It is just not worth it.

If my compensation was better, I probably would have held out longer. More money buys things like tutors and relaxing vacations. But I wasn't making enough for these benefits anyway.

So, I gave my notice and I'll be working until June when the kids get out of school. I know that this will be hard. My kids can be a handful. I don't relish the thought of being on a tight budget.

But my family is so worth it. And that's ultimately what matters most.

You say "Groundhog Day," I say "Imbolc"

2011-02-02T23:19:00.000-05:00

In the U.S., today is popularly known as Groundhog Day.* I've always enjoyed this day--not just because it's the day before my birthday (can you believe I'm gonna be 39 AGAIN??) but also because this is the time of year in the Northern Hemisphere where you really notice the growing light.

Our Celtic ancestors throughout Europe recognized this day as the half-way point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. The name "Imbolc" comes from the Gaelic "Oimelc," meaning "ewe's milk." This is because ewes were nursing their recently-born babies, and was considered a first sign of spring. When Christianity took hold in Ireland, Imbolc was transformed into Saint Brigid's Feast Day. Some Christians celebrate February 2nd as "Candlemas," the Feast of Purification of the Virgin Mary.

Romans celebrated Lupercalia at this time of year. Egyptians celebrated the Feast of Nut.

As someone who follows the Earth-based Wheel of the Year, I take many lessons from this celebration. Purification is one theme--some begin spring cleaning on this day. I see this day as a celebration of the Mother-Daughter bond, a la a feminist version of The Myth of Persephone. This is also a good day--if you are an artist--to celebrate your craft.

I will be celebrating by lighting a candle and meditating on my writing. I hope to gain insights on how to handle the fact that I don't actually have all that much time to write, because of the way my life is right now. I will also meditate on how to be both a better daughter and a better mother.

Happy early spring!

* It's also my friend Kathy's birthday :-)

Finding 'god' on an Airplane (Part deux)

2011-01-08T16:23:00.000-05:00

The story continues

Her story was heartbreaking in many respects. As I really listened, focusing closely on the rest of her face, I noticed the signs of someone who has felt disappointment; someone who has lived unhealthily.

To make the telling of this story easier, I will refer to the woman on the plane as "Jane." *

Born Catholic, Jane never really felt connected to her religion. It simply did not impact her in any substantive way. Her parents were both alcoholics. Jane's mother was also a victim of incest, an experience that was horrifying and deeply scarring and which led to her subsequent alcoholism. However, Jane's mother tried to be a good mother once she had her own children, and Jane recalled some positive and loving moments during her childhood.

Jane did not say all that much, in retrospect, about her own adolescence. But by the time she was a young adult she was drinking alcohol and had became a drug user also. As I recall she hinted that she sold her body also during those dark times. At some point, her own mother "found god" and "straightened her life out," something that for years had no appreciable effect on Jane at all. She was deeply distracted by her own self-centered, destructive life, and thought her mother was "weird."

One day, as Jane relates it, she woke up deeply distraught, depressed, and ready to end her own life. She felt as though there was nothing left to live for, and did not believe that there was anything that she could do to improve her life. "In that moment," she told me, "I decided to call out to God** as a last resort--not really believing He even existed. So I got down on my knees and prayed, 'God, I don't know if you're real or not or if you can even hear me, but if you're there please, please help me.' And seconds later I felt filled with what I can only describe as love; and I felt hope and I realized that God was real and that He did answer my prayers and that He loved me. With His help, I knew I could change my life." She said from that moment on she never touched another drop of alcohol or drugs; that she "cleaned herself up." She began going to a "Bible Church" and learned all about how Jesus loved her and all people, especially sinners. About how He gave his life for all of us. About how we are nothing without Him.

I must tell you that Jane's face was infused with joy and perhaps gratitude as she told me all this. I have absolutely no doubt that she believes she found (her) Truth.

Eventually I asked her a few questions. I offered that I was "not Christian" but did elaborate further; nor did she ask. I asked her what she believes happens to people like me who do not believe as she does. "Jesus loves those of you especially." she replied. She then quoted a Bible passage (which unfortunately I don't remember) but was something to the effect of 'it's never too late--as long as a person accepts Jesus on their deathbed.' She mentioned the End Times. I asked her what would happen to people who did not "believe," or those who are of other religions and may not ever have been exposed to Christianity. She explained that according to the Book of Revelation, truly only those people who are "believers" will live forever in the glory of Christ. All others will spend eternity in misery with Satan, undergoing unspeakable tortures.

At roughly this point in our conversation, I could tell she was worried about me--about my soul. I could practically hear her thinking, she seems like a nice woman with a husband and children... and that she truly did not want me to go to Hell and suffer unbelievable torture for eternity. But she did not say this aloud.

Within her retelling of Revelation, she mentioned that (and I am paraphrasing here, because I can't remember exactly how she said it) that several signs of the Apocalypse were upon us, and that "...in eighteen months when Obamacare forces us to get implants under our skin, True Believers will reject it, otherwise we will not be allowed into God's Heavenly Kingdom."

SAY WHAT??

I honestly don't know how I held it together at this point, but I did. I asked for clarification: Yes--I heard her correctly.

And that's where my tolerance hit the wall.

Up until this point, it was an interesting conversation. If someone believes that God--or god, or an ancestor, or Goddess, or a tree, or James Dean's ghost--saved them from whatever earthly hell they'd been residing in, it is not my place to assume they are right or wrong. I wholeheartedly believe that as a species we are programmed to make sense of the world--or not make sense of it--in a whole slew of creative and differing ways. I don't care what the heck anyone else believes is "God;" nor do I care if someone is an atheist or agnostic. As long as you are not raining on my parade, go and believe anything you wish.

But, this person actually believed that our President and his "obamacare" was 1) a sign of the apocalyspe and 2) that Americans were going to be forced to get an implant under their skin--and that this implant equated to Satan's sign. And therefore, any true Christian would be unable to get this "implant."

(As an aside, the closest reference I could find to anything that may resemble her argument in Revelation is this: If anyone worships the beast and his image and receives his mark on the forehead or on the hand, he, too, will drink of the wine of God's fury, which has been poured full strength into the cup of his wrath. (Revelation 14:9,10.) Being the Researcher I am, I found that the Internet is indeed full of doomsayers making this same arument in various ways. See for example here and here. Is Verichip a sign of the End Times? No more so than Elvis was in the 50's. Or the Teletubbies were.)

And My Point Is?...

I could go on, about how stories warning of the ill effects of verichips make great science fiction. Which they do. Humans + Forced electronic implants + Mind control = Dystopian gold. But this same story is being told in churches. As though it is Truth, and not thinly veiled racism, fear of terrorism, and good old-fashioned fear mongering. In churches--in places where people should be teaching about love and tolerance.

But I said these posts would be more about what I learned from this experience, and how it gets to the heart of why I write. So here you go...

1) I believe people "find" certain religions to "save them" because they have been badly damaged. Due to poor self-esteem, they think they need "saving;" and because they are damaged they don't believe they have the inner strength to better themselves in other (non-religious) ways.

2) To the point above--clearly, humans are easily damaged. The preponderance of religions that force shame, seclusion, fear, abstinence, etc. is, I think, a product of damaged humans' longings for "betterment."

3) These religions and the social systems that support them then become the "damagers," warping peoples' views of things such as nature, male-female relationships, etc.

I don't think all religion is bad--I consider myself a religious person and also do not count myself among the atheists. But bad religion is bad. If a religion:

* tells you you are innately sinful/unclean/unworthy,
* teaches that humans have dominion over all of creation,
* demands that giving up your very life is the ultimate gift to your deity,
* demands that you must wear uncomfortable or punishing clothing,
* demands that you must suspend reason, do not have the freedom to make sense of the world as you wish, or treat the "other" as lesser than yourself,

...then question whether this Deity/religion truly has your best interests at heart.

I don't pretend to know into the hearts and minds of all people. I don't know the intricacies of what people have experienced in their lives, or what they need to go on from day to day. But I fear for all of us when so many of us are making decisions on how to live, what to believe, and how to treat others based on a faulty perception of what "god" wants of us.

So I write in hopes that I can offer alternative viewpoints to people who have not been exposed to them. I strive to create understanding of human diversity. I do this in a science fiction context, because it is often much easier to tell a contemporary story by dressing it in fantastical clothing.

Jane and I parted on good terms. I believe that she hoped that she had found a convert in me--that she had given me a glimpse of the one "True God" and that I would find my way to him and thus save my immortal soul.

But what I could not tell Jane was that I could never serve a god who demands that we believe Obamacare=the devil. Or that teaches the world was created in six days. Or that tells his followers that they are the chosen ones, and that all others are doomed for their disbelief.

I won't serve a god who tells me to fly airplanes into buildings. I won't listen to a god who says being gay is abhorrent, or that my very body is sinful and must be covered at all times.

I implore the religious among you to be tolerant. I do not presume to tell you not to believe--that is your right. But I ask that you consider the fact that spirituality and religion can coexist with tolerance, love, and reason.

* I never did get Jane's real name.
** I use God with a capital here in deference to Jane's experience.

Update: I am alive

2011-01-02T20:32:00.000-05:00

I just spent a blissful two weeks without substantive work. I also did not write a blasted thing. I did not tweet for two weeks; and only checked email and posted to Facebook sporadically.

I just needed to relax, as much as is possible over the holidays.

Now as I re-emerge, I have Arisia right around the corner--yikes! I still have a ton of reading I want to do for that. (My tentative schedule is at: http://2011.arisia.org/Bios2011).

Also, several work deadlines are staring me down the barrel of a rifle. And I really need need to chug out some more novel content.

Oh, and I have "Part Deux" of "Finding God..." in Draft here in this blog. It's been sitting there for over two weeks. I'll post it soon. Really.

In other news, the Hunger Games series absolutely rocks. Kudos to Suzanne Collins. Read it if you haven't done so yet.

Also waiting for The Wise Man's Fear from Pat Rothfuss. And I'm beginning to tap my foot.

Happy New Year All...

Love, Me

Finding 'god' on an Airplane (Part 1)

2010-11-18T20:44:00.000-05:00

A Word About Semantics
If I were hungering for a deeper meaning to my life or dissatisfied with my religion, this might have been a post about how I found God on an airplane.

But I don't and it's not.

This will be a lengthy post.

First a word about semantics--I use capitalizations consciously. You will see that within this post I used the term 'god' and it is not capitalized. I do this because in my reality, the god I encountered on the plane was not "THE" God, if such a thing even exists. Granted, the god I encountered on the plane had powers. One of these is the ability to save people from the most destructive aspects of themselves. He provides hope. But he is so very wrong about so many things--or perhaps it is his followers, speaking in his name, who are the misguided ones.

God, Goddess, Spirit...and Airplanes
I was travelling back home to Massachusetts from a business trip in Orlando. Trudging down the narrow airplane aisle with my bulky carryon, I scanned the rows, counting up to my seat. I reached the assigned place, next to two women who may have been at least partly latina. The younger of the two had the window. I smiled and settled myself. Within minutes, we all engaged in some small talk--I am always talking to strangers when I'm out and about. The middle-aged woman next to me "warned" me that if we hit turbulence, she might grab my hand for comfort. "So don't be offended if I do." She joked. "Don't be offended if I grab yours right back," I said and we all laughed.

Whenever I fly I say my own version of a prayer. It is perhaps more of a projection of my will to deliver me safely to my intended location and ultimately, back home intact to my family. I extend that prayer and intent to everyone on the plane, surrounding the plane itself in a protective bubble. When I do this I also invoke and ask the protection of the Divine Feminine. She is my Deity--my God is Goddess.

Heathen and Pagans and Witches--Oh My! (Or, Stepping off the Plane for a Moment...)
I am not alone in conceiving of The Divine--God, if you will--as "Goddess." Scholars of Religion, Anthropology, History, Archaeology and related disciplines generally recognize that one of humanity's earliest attempts (some form of animism probably came first) to personify "god" was to view It as female.[1] Logically, this makes sense. Female animals give birth. They "bring forth life." Before the connection between sex and procreation was made, giving birth would have seemed magical. Thus, projections of "magic"/Deity would have been female.

I am skipping a lot of history here, but fast forward to historical times. While in prehistory animism and often female-dominated polytheism was the norm, the historic era marked many changes in human society.[2] One of these was the advent of monotheism and concept of a male god. There is certainly not just one factor that was responsible for this change. Rather, it was a myriad of factors including changes in how people lived (nomadic to agricultural), population density, and changes in the global environment. As differing cultural groups came into contact with one another for the first time, it would have stirred up "in-group" vs. "out-group" tendencies inherent in our species. The 'other' and their ways and beliefs would have been considered inferior. There would have been clashes over territory, resources, and ideals.

In any conflict, there are winners and losers. As we all know, throughout the globe monotheism won out.

The losers--those who still worshipped a Goddess or many Deities--lived on secretively. Over centuries, others carried on many of these traditions without really knowing it. Saints in Catholicism and Mother Mary veneration are two examples. Over the last century or so, people have begun to reclaim the lost Feminine Divine. Neo-Paganism is an umbrella term that encompases most of the modern Goddess-centered/polytheistic religions. Wicca--now an officially recognized religion by the U.S. Army--is one of these. It has its roots in 19th century Europe but is only about 60 years old.

Back to the Plane
Protection invoked, I settled in for the ride. I began to read my Kindle, but it was election night, I was flying JetBlue, and I couldn't resist the lure of the cable news networks.

When the snack service began, my neighbor in the seat next to me was peering at the election stats being shown at the bottom of the CNN broadcast. She had several minutes before switched from Fox News to CNN. I was watching CNN also.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she nudged me. I plucked my earbuds out. "I'm sorry..." she apologized again, "but I was wondering if you could tell me what this means?" She indicated one of the stats at the bottom of her CNN display. It was a countdown of how many Democratic seats were being lost to Republicans. I explained it to her. She thanked me.

Several minutes later, my two seatmates realized they'd missed the beverage service that came before the snack. Indeed, they had been napping when the drinks had come by. Now awake, they were talking to each other and pointing up to where the seat lights and air vents were. My seat mate once again nudged me. "I'm sorry to ask, but if I press that red button will someone come so that we can get a drink?" I assured her that's what it was for. The younger woman hesitated. "Are you sure?" she asked. The woman next to me quickly answered that she was sure I was correct, and that I wouldn't say so if I wasn't sure. She smiled at me apologetically. I smiled back, hoping to relay that I was not offended.

The Flight Attendant came, the women ordered drinks. We resumed casual chatting. The woman next to me had recently moved to the suburbs, which she was really enjoying. She'd lived in the city all of her life. She mentioned something about a church she had found in her new community. "Finding a faith community is a really good way to integrate into a new area." I commented. The woman smiled brightly and began telling me about her church. Jesus was mentioned. She then volunteered that she had "found Jesus" several years ago. "It changed my life," she said. "He" changed my life. Before Him I had nothing--my life was a mess and I was into drugs and alcohol. I didn't care about life that much, and I didn't care about religion. But one night I was so lost, so broken, that I called out to Him: 'If you are real, and I don't know if you are, please help me. I don't know what else to do...' And He came to me. He answered my prayers. And my life changed, in that instant."

As I recall, at that point she apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't want to bore you."

People fascinate me. They infuriate me. They are endlessly surprising, disappointing, and wonderfully knowable and unknowable, all at once. I also saw this as an opportunity to try and truly understand how believers of this type have come to believe as they do.

I preach tolerance. I must practice it also.

So I looked into her eyes, smiled, and told her, "I'd love to hear your story, if you want to tell it. I'm truly interested."

So she began. And what she said (coming in part 2) and what I've learned (also in part 2) comforts me and scares me, in equal measure. It strikes at the very heart of what--and why--I write.

I will try to get part 2 up soon.

[1] For example, see the work of Maria Gimbutas and . Ronald Hutton's work includes Goddess culture into historic times, and tying it to Wicca and other neo-pagan traditions. Also interesting and something I enjoyed immensely is Leonard Shlain's The Alphabet versus the Goddess.

[2] For example, see Pandora's Seed.

I am the featured poet on Strong Verse

2010-10-22T23:19:00.000-04:00

Hiya...I am happy to relay that a poem I sold to Orson Scott Card's online poetry Journal Strong Verse is up on their website. This is one of my shorter poems, tittled, "This is Why I Hurt You." I'd be interested to hear what you think of it. (http://www.strongverse.org/) They change the featured author after several days, so just search for my name under "living poets" to find it.

Coming soon....blog entries on Intimate Partner Violence, Growing U.S. Ignorance. I've been super-busy with work.

And Thus, The Wheel Turns Again

2010-09-19T20:23:00.000-04:00

Fall always speak to me of the new year--I can't quite get myself to believe the January date. Silly Romans and their non-intuitive calendar.

Many cultures past and present celebrate a time during autumn as the new year. This has always felt more "right."

This week is the autumnal equinox, or Mabon, or first day of Fall. Whatever you call it, it is one of the two times per year when day and night are equal length. In the neo-Pagan tradition, it is the second of the harvest festivals.

The Fall is compelling. It is a time of bounty and many new beginnings; it is also a time of slow deaths.

What will you begin? What will you offer to the bonfire of change? What is presently in your life--physically or metaphorically--that no longer serves your best interests? What do you need to shed in order to nurture your highest good?

These are the questions I ask myself this time every year. It is a scary time in many ways.

Abandonment

2010-09-08T22:55:00.000-04:00

The writers I admire most seem to be able to set aside their fear of judgement. Their writing is passionate and scary and bizarre and unsafe. They write as though they have abandoned the rest of the world--that in those hours and days of creation they are utterly one with all that challenges them as people.

To create like this is to ride a searing edge of all that is considered sane and rational. It is throwing yourself off a cliff; into icy, churning waters when you can't swim. It is to enter the purportedly haunted house armed with only a candle and two matches.

I ache to write at this level. I'm not sure how to cast aside all the fear that holds me back. I wear my excuses like armor.

Social Media Does Not Grant You Unlimited Access to Someone's Life

2010-08-11T07:25:00.000-04:00

Recently, a friend confided to me that her colleagues at work were being too obtrusive into her personal life. She didn't want to hurt anyones' feeling by unfriending them on Facebook.

Yes--Facebook was a major culprit, although she was also receiving texts at all hours of the day. I asked her if she had made use of the Facebook "lists" feature. This feature allows you to categorize all of your FB connections into categories ("lists") so that you could use some granularity in terms of what you want to share on FB. For example, anyone could create the following lists:

Work
BFFs
Family
Former Classmates

My friend had done this, and it helped--but it was still not giving her the control she wanted. And it didn't solve the texting issue.

All of this got me thinking about the role of social media in our lives.

Many people are wary of FB and other forms of social media. My husband is one--and it seems to be the norm among the other programmer/application developer/computer-related-professional types he knows.

Because I am a writer, I made the decision to be "out there" with my social media presence. However, I have had to temper this with the fact that I also have job that does not not pay me to snark and write science fiction. I *generally* have made it a policy not to "friend" my work colleagues.

I also do not take it personally if someone "unfriends" me, and neither should anyone. Facebook is not an accurate, mirror reflection of your relationships with people, and it should not be taken as such. Some of the people I have the most contact with on FB are not my best friends in real life.

I also am quite sure that many FB connections have hidden me from their feeds. Again, I do not take this personally. Maybe my high school friends do not want to receive the scifi content I like to post. Or maybe they don't care to know about the trials and tribulations of being a beginning writer. Maybe my politics are too liberal...etc.

If they want to hide me, that is their right. I hide some content also.

Social media has been revolutionary in its ability to connect with people. BUT this does not mean that people necessarily want to hear from you constantly...text wisely. Would you want to be tapped on the shoulder at any time of day or night?

So please Facebook, text, and Twitter responsibly. Technology does not give you right to completely ignore thousands of years of "rules" regarding human interaction.

Those Who Know You

2010-05-28T16:04:00.000-04:00

Have you ever reflected upon how many people truly know you? Or perhaps the opposite--how many people should truly know you, but don't. Like family, for example. Or roommates.

For those people who do not truly know you--why is that? It it because of you, or them--or because you tell yourself you're doing it for them, which quite possibly means you're really doing it for your own reasons?

Perhaps you're gay. Or a closet conservative. Or a closet liberal. Or a member of a non-traditional religious organization. Or film porn for a living. Whatever.

Maybe you think these people just don't really care to know the "authentic" you. Or maybe you're scared to admit who you are. For any number of reasons.

Just something I was reflecting on...thoughts and comments welcomed.

A Potential Improvement in My Writing (or, My Life Is Like a Piece of Carrot Cake)

2010-05-06T19:36:00.001-04:00

A week ago, I came up with an idea for a poem that I really liked. It also happened to fit in with the theme of "last" which is a convenient coincidence, timing-wise, for a submission to the Last Man Anthology.

So I started writing it that day. And I liked my first draft quite a bit. Actually, I liked the idea I had come up with, and the world in which this idea plays out. It needs some work. I told myself. Usually things do. How often do writers get something "right" on the first draft? Not very often. I have occasionally--very occasionally--done so with poems. (Case in point--the poem that was accepted by Strong Verse--I'm still waiting to hear on when it will be featured on their site. It's titled "This Is Why I Hurt You" in case you are interested.)

Last weekend, I pulled up the work-in-progress on my computer. No, not right. I fiddled with it. I know that one of the first things I have do with my writing when I look back at the first spewing is correct the redundant words. So I did that. Made a few alterations. Saved it.

I worked on it again several times this week. Everytime I worked on it, it got better. I found an inconsistency with the logic, and fixed it. I made the wording tighter. I tweaked the imagery a bit. Still not there. I saved it and closed the file. I bitched a bit on my Twitter feed.

I re-opened it today, on the much lauded Day Off From Paid Job So That I Can Write.* I dug in. Again, I had the feeling of I really like this, but... I took a break from it and checked Facebook, my email, etc. I was at the writing office--the coffee shop--with my husband who was working out-of-office.

He babbled something about health information interfaces. That may sound weird, but he wasn't sweet-talking me or anything--this is what he does for work. (If he were sweet-talking me, it would involve seeing a scifi flick, dinner out, or chocolate.) "Yea," I said he when he was done complaining about a server or an applet or something, "I have something for you to read if you need a break from that." He looked at me warily.

"How about you look at the desserts with me?" he asked. Okay, but I wasn't going to be distracted for long.

(I should add at this point that husband is not overly fond of everything I write. He likes things pretty concise and I'm not always that concise. I tend to write like I speak. Also, he really does not care that much for poetry, and I write A LOT of poetry.)

We returned to our table with a piece of carrot cake the size of our son's head.

Really, this was a LARGE piece of carrot cake. It attracted attention. It caused a general discussion among us and every other patron in the shop--"Please tell me that's awful once you taste it!" and "Wow, it's a good thing there's two of you!" "I'm sure it will be terrible," I promised the ladies in back of us as we sat down. We both took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. Not to be waylaid, I pulled the poem up on my computer screen and positioned it toward him. He took another few bites of cake (for strength?) and began to read. I tactfully stepped outside to make a phone call.

When I returned from my call, he had finished reading and was back to staring at his laptop screen. "It wasn't...'right', was it?" I asked, not knowing how else to verbalize what I was feeling. He gave me a don't throw carrot cake look. "No, it's not," he said. It's . . .

But then it hit me. This wasn't a poem--the idea is too big. It's a story. "It's a story." I blurted out. "I'm trying to do too much. . .I have this idea, but the idea is really bigger than a poem." I swear, he looked relieved.

"I agree," he said. "You've created this whole world with all this detail, and it just can't all fit in here."

"You're right." I responded, somewhat sadly. I sat down. I eyed the carrot cake, which had seemed like just the thing at the time, but I no longer wanted any--once I'd dug into it, it also had chunks of fruit. I couldn't abide that--it was a sensory nightmare, despite the awesome cream cheese frosting. "I write poetry, because that's what I have time for. It so hard to keep up the momentum to write anything longer. But we're right--it's a short story, or maybe a piece of flash fiction."

And that's my life. A big, juicy piece of carrot cake, falling off the edges of the dessert plate, filled with walnuts and currants and golden raisins. It's too full. I so desperately want more time to write--and to improve my writing. I love to write--I love the way that words are tools, and you can mix and match and combine them to create moods, new mental pictures. . . or transform existing ones in creative or unique ways. BUT our reality is that we need me to have an income. And if I don't have an income, we need to move.

I want my carrot cake, but it doesn't need currants in it. It doesn't need raisins. It needs cream cheese frosting, some cinnamon, and carrots. And I'd share it with my husband and family, no matter what the size.

So I'll take that poem, turn it into the story it needs to be. And hopefully, get it done soon so that I can submit it. And hopefully, not make myself crazy as strive to do "everything."

* The much lauded DOFPJSTICW usually entails running errands for the kids, laundry, picking up house, and doing work for paid job. At least I'm usually at the coffee shop doing it, though.

I Know I Owe You a Blog Entry....

2010-04-27T21:50:00.002-04:00

I am REALLY overdue. (Bad writer, BAD!) I've had several great things written in my head over the past several weeks, including (but not limited to):

* Moments from my recent vacation with the hubby and kids. Tons of material even under the best of circumstances.

* General bitching about the state of (hu)mans' inhumanity to (hu)man.

* How I've started reading The Elements of Style for pleasure. (Clearly, not enough of it, because I'm not 100% sure whether I need that apostrophe above).

* Loss (my aged cat, an in-law, my sanity).

* Religion and science--and the Truly Religious Experience I had beholding pictures taken by the Hubble Space telescope.

* Why completely irrelevant moments add value to life.

* The stalled state of my novel writing. And waiting on poetry submissions.

I am willing to whore myself out and write to whatever topic you'd most like to read. Because I completely and utterly need your attention and approval.

Russian Dolls

2010-03-18T20:41:00.001-04:00

I cannot get the image of Russian dolls out of my head. I'm sure you've at least seen a picture of them--A painted "doll" on a vaguely human-shaped box. You open it up, and inside is nested another doll. You open that one--guess what another doll! And so on...

Do we come into our lives as Russian dolls? If so, is life about exposing each new layer at random or pre-determined times, so that at the end we get to the "core" of who we are?

Maybe, the metaphor works in reverse--we come into life small and unformed, and as we progress through space and time we acquire new layers of who we are. Does that mean that at the end of our lives we have become removed from the essence of what we once were? Does it mean we spend our lives "becoming?"

If I am to play with this metaphor, I think I most often feel like I have built up layers around myself. But that is not to say that the layers are not useful; they have added a complexity and a sharpness that was not formerly present.

But sometimes it hurts to feel the burden of the layers--the weight of them pressing upon me. One layer is "society." It it made up of expectations and roles and all the ways in which others judge who or how I should be. It is made up of the ways in which I have learned to navigate my way through, the ways in which I have altered or changed the way I would otherwise be. There is a layer "family. A layer "job." A layer dedicated to all the joy I have ever experienced--and another that shades that joy like a dark woolen cloak--made up of the pain and disappointment life has thrown my way.

What does it mean, then, to love? To be truly intimate with another person? Does it mean you can cast off your layers and show that person your inner doll?

I'm going to ponder all this some more. I welcome your thoughts.

(Re) Defining Self

2010-03-01T22:17:00.000-05:00

I received some good news last week. The editor of the online poetry journal, Strong Verse, contacted me in response to a poem I submitted. They would like to publish it. Could they have my mailing address (to send the check) and a brief bio?

Yah. You betcha! :-) Could I get you some home-baked cookies to go with that?

Strong Verse is the poetry site started by writer Orson Scott Card (their motto is "Good poetry is meant to be understood, not decoded.") I am incredibly impressed with all of the poems I've read on the site. There is a lot of bad poetry out there, but the work on this site is wonderful, and I would classify some of the pieces as downright brilliant. So I am incredibly thrilled and honored to be published by them.

So, have I "become" a writer?

I've been writing poetry since I could write. I have very distinct memories of writing poems as early as fourth grade. In seventh grade, I blew my English teacher away with a short story I wrote, about a girl who was a shoplifter. I remember her writing a glowing response, and including the comment that I was "very empathetic." I had no idea what that meant at the time. When I asked her, she told me to look it up. She also told me to keep writing.

In high school and early college, writing poetry kept me sane as I dealt with the tumultuous, tidal feelings that are part of adolescence. In the back of my high school yearbook--in the section where they print what the graduates want to be when they grow up--I wrote, "To become a writer."

So naturally, in the frustrating non-linear way I seem to have handled much of my life, I primarily studied communication as an undergrad. I did minor in English. And took a lot of psychology. Upon graduation I took a job in radio sales. Then customer service. Then inside sales management. Then I took classes in anthropology and archaeology...met my future husband, and went back to school for a graduate degree in psychology...moved to the Chicagoland area... instead of finding a way to finish the semester toward my psychology Masters, I switched to Sociology...we moved back to New England, I took a job as a Research/TA Assistant. Had two kids...etc...

After twenty years, I have come back around to writing. Through everything, it has remained my passion. I have begun to refer to myself as a writer--trying it on for size, tentatively, as though it were an exotic, overpriced hat.

I write. I am a writer.

Writing Rituals

2010-02-06T14:59:00.000-05:00

It is Saturday, and I have been able to carve out some writing time this afternoon. The kids have been sick, so no sports to run around to. I did some food shopping yesterday, so that my husband and the kids can be relatively self-sufficient. A few hours of writing, some more rest and time for the antibiotics to get into the kids' systems, and--if all goes well--I get my choice of restaurants tonight to go out to for my birthday. I want cake. And the kids want to sing to me. It's been a chaotic week.

I place my laptop on top of the antique green sewing machine I use as a desk. From this vantage point I can survey the goings-on of the house. I am always on call.

I light two candles. One is on the altar to my right. The other sits on the corner of my desk. The candle holder is shaped like a Goddess holding up the moon. She is an Earth Goddess; Gaia; She is covered in vines, flowers, small animals and assorted greenery. On her breast is a crescent moon. She holds up the candle like a beacon--or perhaps a warning--enter at your own risk--this is my time. Tread lightly.

The rest of the family is playing Monopoly. This should keep them busy. But first, I fetch drinks for everyone. I make sure they are fed. I remind them where to find additional snacks. My son asks for a snack his sister has--I bring him one. "Mom, you are the best Mom in the world. In the Universe." I call him my biggest fan. I think he actually has a love-hate relationship with my writing, although he is surely unaware of this. He is proud of my writing. He really likes some of what I've let him read. He muses, "Wouldn't it be cool if you became a famous writer?" At the same time, he knows it is my passion. I think he tests my committment to writing versus my committment to him. He needs to know he is first.

I microwave my now-lukewarm coffee. Bringing it to my desk, I survey my various Tarot and oracle decks, wanting to pick a card to help me focus my intentions. I pick an oracle deck, and enter the slighly meditative process where I shuffle the deck, and try to get in touch with my intuition. The cards go shuffle, shuffle; cut, cut; shuffle, shuffle. A child comes up and asks a question about where I put something.

I've learned, over the years, how to pop in and out of a semi-meditative state. I'd learned it out of necessity. I plug headphones into my laptop, getting ready to stream some classical music right into my ears. It is an additional physical symbol that I am concentrating, and it helps keep the nosisy chaos at bay.

The phone rings. My son answers, and hands it over to my husband. A call from one of our credit cards--a missed payment? My husband sounds perplexed. He schedules these for automatic payment. I'm grateful he is on top of the financials. It's just not something I have the brain capacity to handle. He figures it out--he set up the current payment for next month, accidently. They will waive any fees. He thanks the credit card company for their "excellent customer service."

My daughter enetrs the room. She has left the Monopoly game. "I'm gonna play Barbies in here." she announces. I smile and nod. I still haven't picked a card. Shuffle, shuffle, cut. I use my intution and select a card from the fanned out-deck. The Altar Priestess. Presparation, prayer, sacred ritual. Uncanny. I place it in front of my candle, behind my cold coffee.

I begin to write.

Why We Create (Why I Write)

2010-01-14T09:53:00.000-05:00

Humans have a brain capable of abstraction. We can reflect on why something has happened, what may happen...we can project our imaginings into the future, and conceive of countless ways to "be" in the world...we are (as far as we know) the only animals on this planet capable of contemplating our own mortality; of contemplating God or Whatever-You-Want-to-Call-It.

This is why we create.

A hallmark of humanity has been our manipulation of the material world, combined with our ability to think abstractly. We create Art, tools, body adornments, etc. We are brilliant in our facility to adapt our environments to our needs. We excel at contemplating that we *can* do this; and creating artefacts that represent this knowlwdge.

This is why we create.

We are driven by an internal thirst to make sense of why we "are." Why are we here? Are we a dumb and blind product of natural selection, or were we put here by LGM?* Are we the beloved children of a beneficent Supreme Being?

Inside, we are always questing in some way. It is in human nature to never be satisfied. We can be content for a time--even downright happy--but that questing is always there, inside, smouldering in our guts.

When asked why I write, I have often said that "writing saved my life." This form of creation has been by my side since childhood. It has allowed me to voice my growing awareness of the world's complexity. As I grew older, it was an outlet for my inner turmoil. There have been times in my life when I literally felt as if I would burst and die if I could not, in some way, exorcise some of the thoughts, desires, or pain I was feeling....then I would pick up a pen. Or a keyboard. And I would write. And that unbearable pressure would lessen.

We create to give form to that which cannot be contained in other ways. Love, pain, hatred, sorrow, isolation...none of these are quantifiable; all are part of the human condition. And so we write...or paint...or cook...or create in a myriad of ways, according to our skills and inclinations.

We are all artists.

*=Little Green Men

Say goodbye to another perfectly good decade

2009-12-28T20:56:00.001-05:00

We of the Roman Calendar are about to say "goodbye" to the 2000s. I remember 2000 very distinctly. Remember the hysteria? What a thankful let-down that was. In 2000 I welcomed Ethan into my life. In 2000 I was horrified to welcome George W. Bush into my life. In 2002 we moved into our house in Norfolk, where we still reside. In 2001 was 9/11 and the world changed. In 2004 we welcomed Asherah. By this time my parents divorced, irrevocably altering my view of family, and what people are and are not capable of; and how they can change. It was a decade of highs and lows containing the most heart-wrenching lows, and glorious highs.

I am glad it's over.

During this time I lost myself. I suffered a traumatic birthing experience with Ethan, resulting PTSD that manifested as Post-partum depression, and had a year of living hell. I promised myself during that time to speak of this when it was warranted, to de-mystify this illness and help others recognize it and feel less shame if they have or have had it. So there.

During this time I gained a lot of weight, which I now realize was largely a way to insulate myself. To lose myself. Melting away those pounds this past year has been quite a journey. I've had to face myself once again stripped of those layers of security; readjust to being viewed as a "normal" person (weight-wise, in society's eyes) and generally face a lot of internal crap that wasn't too pleasant to face. But here I am.

I've realized more clearly who I am. What I want. What I believe in, and what I'll fight for. I've realized that there are some people who just don't "get" me. That the neat, cozy little community I've created for myself--which is so "normal" for me--is pretty outside the mainstream in many respects. I think this scares people. I've realized that rejection can still hurt; that even when you wear your difference like armour, proudly, there are still some seams in it; and you can still get wounded.

I've also realized that ultimately, this doesn't matter. If you are living your life as you believe it should be lived, and being a good person who is trying to make the world a better place, that's better than most of humanity is doing.

I look forward to the next decade. Do you? I think this will be the decade that I "become" the professional writer I want to be. I will see my son off to college before the decade is up. I will certainly be saying "goodbye" to some loved ones who will have lived long lives. Ari will still be steadfastly by my side; my best friend, my partner in scifi and general geekdom. He will no doubt be continuing to drive me batty every winter, and continue to never surprise me with any gifts :-) Asherah will be a teenager, and if she were truly to "rebel" I suppose that could mean she will be a conservative preppy studying to be a nun. Although Ari is convinced she'll get a tattoo and ride a motorcycle.

Time will tell.

Happy end of decade to you and yours!

POETRY--Mapping

2009-12-06T12:10:00.000-05:00

I wrote this several weeks ago, but it takes on a certain relevancy considering the recent news headlines.

What do *you* read in it? I'd be interested to know.

Mapping

The Gods have no need of love
We are immortal;
love lingers not

Passion rides the ebbs and flows
like the curves of a woman's body;
Her lover delights in them

But soon craves the peaks
and shadowed depths of another;
She has become charted territory

OPINION: On Tiger, Climate Change & Ethics in Science, & Troops

2009-12-03T15:21:00.001-05:00

Well, what a news-packed and sad day or two it has been. I won't even mention the health care ~~fiasco~~ bill that is going down in flames or the six suspects in the CA gang-rape case who are are pleading "not guilty"--despite the fact that almost a dozen people looked on as the rape of a 15-year-old girl was occurring. Disgusting.

OK, maybe I will--since I just did.

But on to the big three. I'll begin with the easiest, beause frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about it...

More troops for Afganistan. (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/02/17/AR2009021702411.html)

I am torn between wanting all the troops to come home, wanting the horrific violence and injustice to end in Afghanistan, and ambivalence toward President Obama. (What a thankless job, President of the United States. Although I have been an Obama supporter, I always have to wonder a bit about people who would run for a job like this. But back to the point.) Since Obama has been pretty much anti-war during his political career, one can only imagine the kind of intelligence he has access to that would make him want to send in the troops. Perhaps to support the troops that are already there? (Speaking of thankless jobs...) Perhaps because there is good reason to believe that "victory" is close at hand? But I weary of war, and political posturing, and the destruction of lives, families, and culture that are happening all around the globe. I feel ashamed every time I hear of a vet that returns home to the U.S., only to find lost job opportunities, broken famililes, and medical needs not being met by the very country these vets have given their lives for...

On to climate change, and ethics in science. And data. And data manipulation. (http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601124&sid=an0YbipgqczQ)

First, I must say that I am sad and disappointed and angry. All at once. In my world, there should be a special kind of hell for a "special" kind of traitor. What kind of traitor? Traitors like women who hate women (Hello, Sarah Palin and Ann Coulter.) Like supposed liberals who do things like compromise on womens' health issues, or conservatives who decry "invasive government" but are the first to want to get into your bedroom, dictate who you can and can't marry, and force-feed you their idea of religion.

In a similar vein, I am SO mad at Phil Jones. Because I personally believe (REALLY believe, in the depths of my soul) that humans are having an impact on the climate, and that the impact is largely negative for human life and other life on which humans most rely. I also believe that a world's climate is an incredibly complex system that cannot be modeled well. However, on virtually any local level, a motivated person can find evidence that human activity is altering the world. (But for some perspective, humans always HAVE impacted their environment. It's what we do. We are animals that are consummate tool-makers, and our particular brand of intelligence motivates us to seek out what is new and novel, and adapt it to our liking. Other animals do as well. Just not on the scale we do.) So why did Phil Jones take actions that appear to be tantamount to fudging data and squashing research?

It remains to be seen the extent to which the above happened. But it does seem pretty clear that our friend Phil is probably not the greatest guy, and it is also a shame that he did not have enough faith in his research to let it speak for itself. Granted, there are global climate changes that occur irregardless of human activity--there were before humans ever got here. But again, it seems pretty clear that we are having a negative impact.

Perhaps he lost sight of what is truly important due to political pressure or his own need to be King of the Hill. Science is political. And every academic and others who collect and make sense of data for a living know that data need to be manipulated--not in the negative sense of the word--but "data manipulation" is, essentially, the process of going through your data, trying to make sense of it, and making it presentable and understandable for a variety of audiences. Most data can be made to support any position. It is a matter of what you keep, what you throw away, how you code it, and what statistics you use on it. Nevertheless, Phil has clearly now done exactly what a person in his position should NOT be doing--giving reasons for the opposition to throw out the human-environment impact theory en masse.

So I appeal to those of you who may not be convinced that we are having a negative impact--don't smugly sit back, feel vindicated, and throw your recyclables out with the trash. Do you really need scientists to tell you what you can probably see with your own eyes? What logic dictates? For example: Yes, carbon dioxide is "natural." It is in our atmosphere whether we are here or not. But we evolved within this ecosystem that had a certain ratio of CO to oxygen and other gases. If we upset that ratio when we could do otherwise, how can the result be anything but bad for us??

This is our only planet. Whether you believe we were given stewardship of it by God or Gaia; whether you believe we are here purposefully or by happenstance, we are here. Don't trash this wonderful gift that we will hand down to our children. Don't blindly decide to be "pro" or "anti" on this issue simply because your political affiliation, or religious affiliation--or any affiliation, for that matter--tells you to. Think. Feel. Then decide.

On to Tiger...

I thought I would end up writing the most about this, but I don't think that may happen after seeing everything I've already written above :-) Here is my one question to you all: Why are you surprised?

Powerful men always have--and always will--act in ways that are "outside" of what the rest of society is expected to adhere to. (Those on the "inside" however--the other power-brokers--know that they can behave any way they want, while publicly supporting "what is right.") Why do powerful men do this? They do it because they are powerful. They do it because they can. To wield power is to be attractive, and women (and some men, I don't want to discriminate *grin*)like attractive men.

So, I am not the least bit surprised that Tiger cheated on his wife. He is gorgeous, athletic, smart, and personable. He clearly has women throwing themselves at him. And at some point, the temptation must just have been too great. At some point, he decided the rules did not have to apply to him. Who can blame him? This is a person that has been told for his entire life that he is exceptional. You do the math.

I would have way more respect for Tiger and other powerful men if they were just honest from the get-go. If you fall in love with someone and want them to be your life-partner and have a family with them, but are not sure you want to be faithful, say so. There are plenty of women who, given the choice, would choose to be living a very comfortable life with someone they care about, even if it means he may not always be faithful. Not everyone of course--but let's face it--many women would.

So let's stop being so shocked when our public icons let us down. I am not saying they are necessarily bad people, I do think there is something about power and celebrity that alters a person's judgement on certain matters.

We are only animals, after all.

As an aside, take a note here Tiger et al. Don't sleep with someone you don't trust. As this situation has once again shown, today's declaration of lust is tomorrow's paycheck, talk-show circuit, and book deal.

Song of Self

2009-11-27T15:41:00.000-05:00

(written in 2006)
song of self

too long have i basked
in the reflected glory of others;

or the promise of such.
spent too long waiting

for them to a forge a path
for me to follow.

i am done with the dirt
raised by another’s footsteps

ahead of me. i want to
return to the home

that is myself. i follow
the beacon of my own
illumination.

I Think the Sisters Will Take Over the Earth

2009-11-27T15:39:00.000-05:00

(written in 2002)
The Sisters Will Take Over the Earth

I think the sisters should take over the earth.

Can you hear them crying?

Starved, half-crazed, taught to feel shame…
Wouldn’t you feel the same?
Can’t you hear them wailing?

Keening over another lost daughter
(because sons are better.) Or
Hiding their curves behind curtains—
Murder for “flirting.”
Can you hear them screaming?

“Save me from this rape!”
This debasement of body and soul
In the name of War. Or
Simply because “She asked for it—she was drunk, you know.”
Can’t you hear them coming?

Marching, heads held high…
Fists waving angrily to the sky—
“Give us back our children!
Our souls! Our planet!
We no longer fear…”

Can’t you see them coming?
Brown, pink, and beige—
Hair glossy black and silky straw…
Eyes furious.
They no longer tremble before your
Man-made God. Or
The things you do in His name.

Can’t you feel their wrath?

I cannot stop them now…
They’ve been too long denied.
Can you feel their blows?
Feel your own wounded pride?

You were all so arrogant,
Sure in your ways.
You were justified—used your God’s name.

Can you hear them?
They are whispering…
Plotting your demise.
Your ways are destructive—
Against life.
Against love.
And they want to be wise.

That tickle in your ear…
Did you feel it?
Did you hear the promise there?
I think it’s true.

The Sisters Will Take Over the Earth.

Obligatory "Thankful" Post

2009-11-25T10:05:00.000-05:00

I know that's a snarky title, but I just wanted to get your attention. I *am* thankful for a lot, and YOU should be thankful that I will not be enumerating it all here. ;-)

Suffice it to say, I am blessed with a wonderful family and friends, and am lucky to be employed and have enough food to eat and a roof over my head. That is so much more than most people in the world have.

I am thankful to anyone who is following my blog, and helping me become a "real" writer. I'm thankful for the upcoming opportunities I have to write, and to disseminate my voice.

I'm looking forward to having a few days off, and cooking Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. And thankful for people to share it with.

I pray for those in the world who are not so lucky. And I hope that those who have "enough" are enlightened enough to share some of their bounty.

Blessed Be!

Losing the Fear

2009-11-08T21:50:00.000-05:00

It has been a huge a few weeks for me, in terms of my inner growth. So many little shifts and adjustments in my thinking; to how I interact with world; how I make sense of others' actions and how I integrate all of these within myself. It would be impossible to relay to anyone else how monumental some of these shifts have been. But there is one change that I can describe and quantify fairly well.

I am no longer afraid.

It's not like I'm not afraid of anything. I still have a fight-or-flight response, and am fearful of things that are truly horrifying--the prospect of losing my eyesight, eating lobster, or being held against my will by Ann Coulter spring to mind. The kind of fear I have lost is my fear of trying to manifest the kind of future I want. Before now, I never truly tried as hard as I could to write more and get my writing "out there" because I could fail. Because I could find out that I was not that good at it. And where would I go from there?

Now I am willing to risk it. I am ready for the prospect that I am not as talented as I would like to be. It's okay now. Maybe it's a mid-life thing. What do I have to lose by trying? I am already blessed in so many ways. If my writing career doesn't pan out, I still have an amazing family, truly wonderful children, and many strong and loving relationships with people I care about. I have lived through some really painful life experiences, and I have come out okay. And I am happy.

One of my best friends has this quote under her Facebook profile photo: "Life is too short to be subtle."

That is my new motto.

Hecate's Will (Poetry)

2009-11-01T12:35:00.002-05:00

I wrote this several years ago, but it seems appropriate to re-post at this time of year.

Happy Halloween!!

Hecate’s Will

I am That which lives in the shadows
And I am the Shadow.
Half My face sees the Sun –
The other half the Moon.
I call to those who follow the Shadow Path –
Be My hands and eyes and ears on Earth –
Help Me hold the Blade of our Craft.
Hold My Love in your hearts
Hold the Mystery that is Me
And reveal the Mystery
To all who seek It.

POETRY--Water Meets Air

2009-10-13T21:42:00.001-04:00

(Note: this was published in the February 2010 edition of Pagan Edge magazine: http://www.paganedge.com/)

Water Meets Air

“I am of the Water,” he said.
He raised his shiny head
above the water-line
and his nostrils flared open
to scent the busy wind.

“I am of the Air,” she said.
She swirled down on a draft
inclined a wing toward him
and inhaled his salty tang;
she hovered beyond his reach.

“I've been told to marry my kind,”
he explained. “I've been admonished
'Keep your thoughts here--in
our liquid realm--where you are
sustained, where you are nourished
and kept safe.' ”

He disdainfully shot a blast of water in the air.

She eyed his magnificent scales,
marveled at his streamlined shape
and ached to touch his sleek body.

She buzzed her wings in agreed displeasure.

“I've been told to marry my kind,”
she responded. “I've been scolded
'Keep your future in sight! Your
destiny lies in the sky, among the clouds
with your kin, where you are cherished,
where you are safe.' ”

She cawed her resentment to the heavens.

He drank her in with his eyes,
those lovely curves; graceful wings--
to lose himself in her embrace...

He slapped at a wave in frustration.

“I am the Water!” He proclaimed,
“But I burn who cannot burn;
I fly who cannot breathe the air for long,
I thirst to be joined with you.”

“I am the Air!” She responded in kind.
“But I soar aimlessly; my keen eyes
never settling on my desire;
my dreams for you floating helplessly away.”

She landed next to him on a seaweed-strewn rock.

Eye found eye; fin to wing they touched.
He wondered at the wind through her soft, strong feathers;
She admired the sturdy grace of him.
“When,” she whispered hoarsely, “can Air and Water dare to join?”
Her eyes sparkled with salty tears.

“In future times,” he answered tightly, “our kin shall finally see...
that Water and Air are but two poles on one continuum--
that the poles are not fixed, and the continuum but a circle.”

“In future times,” she echoed, picking up his thoughts,
“our kin shall know the truth-—that Air and Water are but
two elements among many, and there is strength and wisdom
in combining the best of all.”

In the darkening sky above,
lightening snaked across the orange clouds;
and the ancient rock stood in silent witness.

Poetry--"Her Heart is Deep" written this past Spring

2009-10-01T15:55:00.000-04:00

Her Heart is Deep

I know this woman, and her heart is deep.

She loves long and laughs hard--
and sometimes loves hard and laughs long.

She folds those she loves into long, soft embraces;
kisses her children with sweet chocolate kisses;
and pulls others in with her smile.
But her heart is deep; and it resonates with echoes of times past.

In the well of her heart, she held promises of love; fanciful dreams;
plotted courses through her present; made maps for the future.
(But the terrain was unknown, and unscrupulous men plotted to lead her astray.)
And her deep heart was too kind to know this.

With her scars and new-found knowledge;
she set forth for other lands. Her eyes shone like fog lights;
cutting through the swirling mists and calling lovers to her side like a siren...
But her bruised heart was deep; and kind men left pieces of themselves there;
could not fully find their way back from her depths...
(She did not really have control of her heart then--and could wield it as a weapon.)
And for this she now sorrows.

In her cryptic heart she learned to find refuge from all sorts of intimacies--
(But her heart was deep, and it was hard to see this.)
She had learned to protect her heart--
And with her brave face and her compassion and her loving ways;
no one knew the depths of her heart; and no one saw her secret pain.

But now the woman has learned to laugh again; love again; cry tears of joy--
But her heart is deep; and it carries those secret scars and holds arcane secrets.
You can not see these from the surface...
Because to see her now is to behold love...

Children seek comfort in her shade;
friends vie for her ear; and lovers wait to lie with her again.
(No one knows that she holds her hands aloft when alone, letting damselflies alight
on her upturned hand; no one knows that in secret,
she can make an unknown cat purr from across a room or alley, simply by staring at it;
no one knows that she catches dandelion fluff on her tongue as if it's ambrosia.)

No one knows her utter contentment in these simple joys--
These are among the secrets she keeps;
In those watery, fertile depths
of her too-deep heart.

Autumn is

2009-09-17T09:35:00.000-04:00

Autumn Is

Autumn is
Cinnamon; spicy and bittersweet

It is
Burnt Umber, and harvest gold

It feels
Tired, and restless
And ready for slumber

Autumn is
Wood Smoke and warm sweaters

It is
Leaf piles, and school buses

It demands
Re-assessment, turning inwards;
Curling up

Autumn is
Closure; and new beginnings;
It is the fire of your Spirit
It is water that sustains you
Autumn is remembrance;
And planning,
And seeding,
And feeling,
Believing…

Autumn is
Centering yourself

It is
Possibility, and promise

It demands movement
To center of the spiral

Autumn is within you
Embrace it

~SRA

In Praise of the Late Summer Sky (2009)

2009-09-13T19:49:00.003-04:00

Just a snippet I composed in New Hampshire this summer, after staring at the night sky on Lake Winnepausakee.

In Praise of the Late Summer Sky (2009)

Life provides exquisite moments of clarity;
it is a blessing to recognize them when they place themselves before you;
like a buffet waiting for you to sample your favorites or discover something new...

Last night I lounged and nibbled on the Milky Way as she spread herself across the moonless sky.
I cast wishes for future success and happiness as I reacquainted myself with shooting stars;
I shuddered with surprise and joy as the Loon's mournful call echoed across the lake...

I celebrated my ability to hear and see these gifts as the wonders they are--
moments out of ordinary life that allow me the perspective to be in the moment,
to enjoy all that I have,
and to seed the garden of my future.

"Compassion"

2009-09-12T23:27:00.000-04:00

I wrote this one in 2006.

Compassion

Do not despair. I speak
to you,
who desperately claws against
the blackness.

Why do you inhabit this life?

I know,
it seems a prison of disappointment.
Of sadness and failure.
I hear
your tortured whisperings.

What have you done in this life?

Or one past, to deserve this?
You are not alone.
I feel
what you feel.
I know the icy, soulless hands
that tighten around
your throat. Threatening,

Threatening…
To engulf you.
Why am I here?

I have traded my life;
Traded infinite bliss so that
I can save you.
I eat your sorrow; consume it and digest it.
I replace it with hope,
and the rainbow
of possibility.

Will I always be here?

For you, yes. And the others
who dare imagine I exist;
That I can be called upon
in times of
desperate need.

I am eternal.

"The Woods Spoke to Me"

2009-09-12T23:01:00.004-04:00

This was my first published poem (aside from the contests I used to win as a kid ;-) ) It was published in newWitch magazine in 2003.

The Woods Spoke to Me

I should have been doing laundry,
but the Woods spoke to me thus-
Come…
Feel the dry, sad leaves
crinkle under your feet.
See if you can catch
the sigh they make,
Now that their lives are ending.
Resolute that they will rejoin the Mother
in a warm embrace.

Come, the Woods said, come…
Follow the flickering lights
as they dart through the branches.
The Sun does not penetrate here.
Come…

You are new to this place.
Don't your fingers ache
to touch these prickly bushes?
To discover the wild berries
that grow here?
Come…

Look how I've left myself
exposed for you.
Dropping the leaves,
letting dead branches fall.
Sucking back the vines and ferns
into myself.

Coyote will not harm you-
Fox is shy.
Squirrel will show you the way.
See him dancing for you
at the edge of the yard?
The brothers and sisters of the Woods
heed my commands.

Come…
Follow the broken light
into the shadows,
where your footing is unsteady.
Breathe in the crisp air,
the dank earth,
Let it nourish you.

Squint your eyes,
and you will see…
Me, the Lord of the Woods
in all my majesty.
Darting through the costumes
of the leaves-
Waiting for you.

Join me in this place
you know is home.
For you are kindred…

I should have been tending to the house.
But the Woods spoke to me.
Oh! The Woods spoke!

A snippet from my poem, "Interview with the Faerie, Part 1." I've begun shopping this one around, looking for a place to publish it.

2009-09-12T15:37:00.000-04:00

The full text is LONG. 1,723 words long. Hence, the snippet.

IV.
He began:
Faeries are not all cute and innocent,
Like your people have suggested
for several hundreds of years.
We are not all female,
And harmless; with flowers for clothing
And cute, pointy ears.

We are not here for your amusement,
Or to do your bidding!
We are not about
Leaving dewdrops and sparkly dust.
Do not think you can control us…
We are not a race of beings you should trust…

At this point, to my surprise,
He pulled a small cigarette from somewhere…
(Within His breeches? Or by magic?)
And on cue, an armed dragonfly
zipped over to Him in a flurry of iridescent wings,
rubbed two legs together, and it lit.

‘Himself’ sighed and took a long draw….
Blew sweet smoke rings right in my face.
(UGH—I tried not to cough!)
“Your Highness,” I prompted
“What about the belief that Your people
Originate from the Emerald Isle?”

He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow,
Blew another puff of smoke at me,
And continued…
My people reside in Ireland, to be sure—
We have a long and colorful history there.
We defeated the evil Formorians eons ago,
And Our seed flourished in that fertile land
We were masters—and mistresses—
Until the humans set foot on Our sand.

My people and yours lived in harmony;
We took from you what we desired,
And in return shared Our magicks.
But some power-mad of your kind conspired,
with men who thought themselves “holy”
And you know what then transpired…

//end of excerpt//

Waddya think?? Comments welcome and encouraged. Whaddya think of the convention of using different typeface for the two 'voices'?

First Post

2009-09-12T15:21:00.000-04:00

Need to post something to see how all this looks. THEN I need to try and not spend all of my free time in the next few days "tweaking" the appearance. Time that would be better spent writing, or doing other semi-useful things such as sleeping and going to work.

I should also mention that if you find this blog and my name sounds familiar, you may have been linked to my former blog, "a slice of reality," now defunct.