The Unnatural State of True Love

The best of us from the worst of us, cacophony and symphony, as heralds heckle and jeer, as heralds praise and cheer. Walk with me down the slippery slope of a path unknown to find solace in a peaceful word. I know as you know its comfort is false and temporary, like holding the kite as lightning strikes. Yet you stand, to ashamed to run, to fearful to embrace. God I see so much of what I love in that face.

Tearing, pulling, shredding, holding, kissing, missing, sharing.

Please be real, I beg and plead . . . please be real, I have to believe. . . . PLEASE BE REAL, there are no words. I couldn't know . .I couldn't . . . .deserve. I shouldn't know. . . . I shouldn't. . . . . deserve.

The voice in the back of your head is your heart pleading 'Don't fight me anymore', 'Don't resist, take what you want'. The mind insists, 'This feels wrong'. Everything in me is Dying, 'dying', "dying".

The quiet whispers, 'Is this right, am I right.'
The darkness chimes, 'How did I miss, so much'
The light shouts 'How did I see, so little'

Like sunrise, like a storm, like water on your face, this place, the fields and the oceans, the air and your soul heat and breathe new life

Like fingers shifting apart gossamer the wind says, 'Let's do that again'.
Wrapping its stroke around you it coyly beckons, 'Take this trip with me.'

From Perilous Flight
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Learning to Not be Ruled by Genre

It is a long road that I believe never truly ends.  That road is that of a writer when finding their voice.  The best of the best say that the most important part of this journey is the journey.  No matter what never stop writing. For many writers that is almost like saying never stop breathing.  But as an asthmatic I can tell you that breathing is not always a guarantee. And over the years my writing has come and gone like a breath in some instances. Whiffed away without any hesitation or thought. My well seemingly run very dry.

However my mind still swam with scenarios of unfulfilled passions and desires. The human spirit needs passion and desire.  Creation is as much a part of living as the breathing and the beating. Most seem to not notice that life is nothing if not a lesson in sheer natural brutality. The elements that make us up crammed together in clumps and fits.  Our very systems demand the use of words like force, beat, move. As they say the struggle is real. And it is a struggle.  Nothing worth having has ever been born politely. It comes in a haze of blood, sweat, and tears screaming its battle cry ready to be heard, listened to and engaged. Life does not ask for the fight, life demands it. So the only failure is in trying to deny the fight. Because then you are truly denying life.

When I decided I wanted to try my hand as a writer I was sure that I wanted to write romance. I had a game plan like I normally do. I wanted to start as a romance writer then move into more science fiction or fantasy. As offensive as the thought is I was young and foolish enough to believe romance writing was an easier place to start. I was very very foolish years ago. As many know the genre is not well thought of by literature critics. However I dare to say that writing romance may be even harder because of how it is thought of.

It reminds me of professional wrestling in a lot of ways.  The trick to professional wrestling is that there is no trick. Its hard work, dedication to a goal and a performance. It eats up life because the only way to get better like with any craft is to continue to hone it. And yet it is not very well thought of by many people who view it as fake.  In many ways similar to how some authors view genre writers. The analogy forces me to think about the limitations provided just by perception. Because the barriers are not one sided.  All are affected by the perception and the need to justify it. As human beings we love balance and we like to know the answer. We subconsciously lean to a lie of perception as much as we may lean to the truth. Just as there is no way to convince gravity to stop working for a wrestler, there is no way to easily construct a palpable endearing emotion laden first kiss for a romance author. It is a sport of conditioning, practice, and training.  The road is long and the culmination is to tell the perfect story.

I now know that there is no such thing as an easy writing. The quality writing, the change the world stuff is a labor of intense love, commitment and selfless devotion. It is staying up all night to finish the most crucial scene you have ever written.  But they all are aren’t they? And the answer is yes, every single one IS the most crucial scene you have ever written.

I was given the advice that my heart knew was true before it was even given.  Write what you love. I started writing because of love, I write about love.  But I was looking for the trick, I was asking gravity to stop working for a moment. Sometimes in a craft you get completely immersed in your tools instead of the art giving the tool the power. It becomes about fitting in, coloring in the lines and less about expressing your unique voice. The truth is the man behind the curtain is in fact just a man.  A man dedicated and committed enough to an idea that he was able to convince the world he was an all-powerful wizard. He went outside of genre, outside what the limitations of a man should be.  In the process he stopped allowing his tools to limit him, he instead gave them new power.

I was a visual artist in high school and became a vocalist and music composer. I noticed early in my art studies that I was better with colors than with black and white.  What I understood before I left was that this was a myth I had told myself. My mind was so enrapt with technique that art was not being made. When I went into music I noticed the same. I was concerned with vocal replication of other artists and not concerned with my own sound. The girl is hardheaded. Somewhere in my junior year of high school, somewhere in the middle of performing Deep River, somewhere in the middle of composing my 3rd work technique faded and art finally took form. The moment is indescribable. For a split second you hear clearly, you feel deeply.  The world is beautiful, lovely. You absolutely matter and what you have to say bears weight and has the meaning and affluence of a living viable human soul and spirit laced throughout it. It connects you to the now, the past the future and the fountain of infinite bliss and wisdom. Pure as you and I are meant to be.

The point is have influences, mimic them as you need, read the art books, understand the style, refine your craft; use your tools. Before its over though make sure the voice is your own.  A lesson I have to teach myself over and over again. This is my ultimate love letter to remind myself why I should never give the tools power but instead use the art to empower them. I'm writing this so that when I start to forget and I'm worried about book sales, or another press or agent saying no that I stick to my declaration and follow the advice of knowledgeable others.  I embrace these tools and make them an extension of myself and what I need this world to see and understand. That I listen to the beating, pounding pace of my heart and stay with the fight. That I fill what I do with my will, my spirit; my spark. With my love, always with my love.

Not Another Bodice Ripper - The Case for Serious Romance Part Two

THE ANSWER

Love is a personal endeavor no matter how universal television commercials would like it to seem. The nature of it is idealized for some, and wide open for others. The truth is when writing about something as profoundly intimate as love, it is really bad form to try and relate love in another voice or fashion other than your own. The truth and charm to a story comes from that bit of truth that is included. That bit of truth is the relatable aspect of any story. This is the core of your own voice as a writer. Regardless of how many people 'understand' your character's plight or not, the truth of the situation will ring forth and give the story just the push it needs to really fly.

With that in mind it is very bad form for generalists to assume that a certain plotline or story premise is in line with any pre-described social agenda. The liberation of women was just that, liberation. Liberation is the right to make choices. A woman can decide if she would like to be a public figure or a private one. A woman can choose to vote, bare children, and get married or not. The claim that the creation of or reading of romance somehow 'tricks' women into believing in self destructive rhetoric is almost more offensive than any other misogynic claim as it actually feeds into the myth that women are incapable of processing thought beyond what they know to be a fictitious account.

In laymen's terms, the claim in essence says that a grown woman is not capable of separating fantasy from reality. This is a claim usually attached to mental illness, and honestly makes light of conditions suffered by those who have legitimate hormonal imbalances, injuries or birth defects that are associated with mental illness. Reading romance is not an illness. Also it no more detracts from feminist prose as it would add to it. With that being said, no romance is the same. Like all forms of entertainment and media there are levels of content. No two books actually read the same.

The romance formula is very easy to follow. Usually two people, and in recent entries sometimes more, have a great potential for a romantic relationship. They must confront each other and often times the results are not initially positive. That is because of individuality. This is an aspect of romance that is explored more than it is in some of its traditional fiction contemporaries. You have the dichotomy of a relationship as opposed to the relationship being a side car to the dichotomy of the story. In the end the essence of the story is to confront relationship boundaries and expose them. This is a very emotional plane of existence that can sometimes hold the same trauma as a tragedy. And it should. Love is a life changing event. Seeking to experience it, and be bound to another person for all time is also a life changing event. As far as I know not a single life changing event has ever gone quietly and without lessons in humility and shame. These are human emotions that bear the weight in most situations. Yet in love they are the core of what this entanglement is about.

The way a writer creates this is wide open. This sense of growing affection and intimacy is developed from one thing and one thing only, seeing the person for who they are and loving them because or despite it. This is a truth that romance novelists understand that is rarely examined in most contemporary literature where relationships seem to be of convenience and not of necessity. Others are forced attachments where the characters are bound by seemingly invisible tendrils of emotion that are strong enough to bond yet not strong enough to carry the story.

To some degree the emergence of more acceptable contemporary popular fiction, and the need to be perceived a certain way by others has taken the blush from the rose as far as sweeping love relationships are concerned. Romance novels have long been the butt of literary jokes and recently in a twisted parody of art imitating life some have even endeavored to live up to this reputation of being incomprehensible smut with bad punctuation and grammar. But what are the far reaching consequences to this? This seeming end to fairytale as it were that now blocks the heart from even seeking some idealized contentment. Is it this lack of 'romance' being taken seriously in day to day life that has enabled a lack of respect for sex, marriage, and all romantic relationships? Has the 'replaceable' mate taken the place of the 'irreplaceable' mate?

Today more than ever in a world of revolving doorlike changes we need the purity of actual romance.

All The Parts

There are so many parts of us that should be seen to and kept
From the top of our heads to the tips of our toes with each aching breathe
The broad side of us against the narrow core of us
The breadth of us to the very shallow of us

All another piece that comes together to make the whole
From the memories we keep now and lose as we grow old

To the muscle that powers our moves
To the tissue that DNA provides and proves

So I must choose a keeper for my many parts
Is it possible to find just one to update so many charts

So one I choose to care for my body
With you thirst will be seen to whether pure or bawdy

Another I'll entrust with my mind to keep it young and fresh
Each day should be full of knowledge clean with wash and dress

So that leaves my heart for you to insure that it always beat
Fill my life with love that can be felt from head to feet

So that leaves just my soul that I can't seem to fit to a tutor
Perhaps that one is just for me to look after and succor

If there was just one keeper how idea would that be
Just one person to see to all the ends that make up me
It's a dream I can't fulfill, one that has no true match
So I'll try to see to the whole with one by one patch

But the thought always lingers that if there is but only one of me
And with all my parts gathered close to cause me to be
There must exist the other end that looks out with such disheart
Knowing that there must be one who can see to all the parts

The Stages of Woman

Our mothers they teach us to be who they are and as penance we lose our first love

Our friends beseech us to act as they desire and for this we lose our next love

Our loneliness forces us to discover that we can only be what we are and within find our last love

As we stop craving the love of those that crave only our pain.  As we stop seeking that for which only wants to give us our fondest desire of being destroyed. Fascination with being put out of our misery begins to fade.

As we finally look within for what cannot be found without. As we finally look within to the cradle of the truest deception.  The whispers are clear and ever growing louder as we face what all have tried to hide.

Who said that I was flawed, who claimed that I was without.

So hard to believe that they didn't deserve you, much easier to believe that you are the problem.

You only get back what you put out.

Have I, all this time been the maker of my own pain.  Have I, just now begun to realize that I am worth so much more than they say. worth so much more than I say.

so much more than they say, so much more than I say, more than they say, more than I say, than they say, than I say, they say, I say

I say,  I am a woman, I say I am worth so much more than you will ever know, I say that I hold all of who I am, while you hold none. I am strong enough to yield and fierce enough to give, I am hardy so I will stand and I am confident so I will rise to any challenge.

I am. . . .power. .  I am. . . .joy . . . . .peace. . . . . I am. . weakness  I am. . .undeniable . . boundless . .  I am force. . truth. .  submission . . .decadence. .  I am . . .malleable . . .distraction. . I am  absolution . . mystery. . . .I am. . . .temptation . . . . .rejuvenation . . .exaltation . .  I . . .loyalty . . . .am. . . .reckless. . . .imperfect. . . .I . . . . love . . . . human . . . am. . destruction  . . .rebirth .  . .life. . . .
I     am    flawed.

Perilous Flight from Barnes & Noble
Perilous Flight from Amazon

Blog in Review Best of 2014 #4 Unconditional Love, or What We Really Mean

"Wow look its a unicorn, how cool is that?"

I mean come on

This statement is the peak of a very important conversation I was having with my bestie last night about love. At the onset of the New Year I made a promise to myself in regards to my emotions and how I express them.  For as long as I can remember I've tried to make myself as unemotional as possible.  I saw it as weakness as a lack of discipline and self-control.  I thought it was base and beneath me. I dislike scenes and emotional outbursts but more than anything I disliked them on me. It was very simple. My emotions give people power over me. I will rob them of that power.

It’s a very authoritative idea of a ruling mind.  I believe astrologically it is a very masculine Pluto or Mars disposition. In women it is likened to the Eris, Lilith position which is of the Queen of the Underworld Persephone herself.  Robbed of her innocence a new embodiment is given. Let's just say the story has always felt. .  familiar.

Hades and Seph

I always told myself that my emotional disengagement was just a sign of advanced maturity. A hallmark of class and grace under pressure. Which it can be seen as. I believe those who have had to deal with me when I am in an emotional clinch call it something else. . . cold, icy, quite a bit frosty. And it is.  The statements are calm, and poetically polite. My face dead cold giving not an ounce of emotion and my manner dismissive.

It is the defense of a child robbed of innocence of being as emotional as she can be. It is the foolish attempt of one who feels deeply at mastering what can be an all-consuming opus. My emotions always felt like a cliff overlooking raging rapids that plunge into a waterfall that ends somewhere at the center of the earth.  The levels of emotional lost I could and still can experience are extreme.  So I've always practiced at being practical in regards to them because practicality is the last of their concerns.

In many ways my emotions are always battling my intellect, which is the heavy Mercurial influence in me. However being a highly instinctual person I realized that denying emotions was the first step in taking away my natural gifts. So balance had to be attained. Which meant I had to explore my extremes on both ends.  I'm just glad I survived it. It was a near thing.

So back to my new year's resolution. I told myself I was no longer going to stifle how I feel about anyone.  I in fact practiced this by sending very personal very gushing messages of love to my closest pals who in some way inspire me by doing nothing more than being who they are. The results were as I expected.  I got back some gushing replies and silence.  I knew who would do what. The gushers are just what they say they are.  The none gushers, the silent, were whelmed. You see all of these people feel as deeply as I do and I know what such a message would've done to me. I would've gushed back but first I would've needed to be silent.  And sometimes when you're silent you just are because "Wow look its a unicorn, how cool is that." Bask in the moment.

Me and my bestie in film

As my bestie and sister from another mister put it, all her life she had thought that family should respond and behave as I have with her and yet due to never really seeing it our having it, my acceptance of her became like walking into your living room and seeing a unicorn. In the message I sent was what it was always supposed to be but never quite was, forcing the person to truly believe deep in their soul that it cannot exist. And then holy smokes there it is.  It was a very pertinent explanation that stuck a chord with me and made an odd kind of sense. It led me to a thought process that became spoken that symbolizes most relationship troubles in this world.  If you walked into a room and saw a unicorn what would you really do?

The response tells us a lot about how we as individuals process love. But not just any love, Unconditional love; this facet of human emotion few of us experience and none of us feel worthy of. The truth is of course you don't deserve it, but look it’s a unicorn.  Its beautiful, wondrous, miraculous and most of all a gift. Would you shoo it away for its own good or would you keep and cherish it for as long as it would let itself be yours.  Most of us say we of course would choose the second option.  However the truth is many of us actually choose the first.

What they are made of

Let me explain. Relationship patterns are an interesting process because usually the person committing the pattern cannot see it.  In someone else eyes its so clear.  Oh you date the same fundamental type of person and are always surprised at the results? The person watching shakes their head and considers this a lost case and cause.  And it is but not for the reasons you may think.  Those people aren’t stupid; none of us are really stupid.  We love patterns. In general we choose what we know, what we want and what we expect. Dating the same type of person guarantees that every relationship ends the same way.  There is comfort in knowing where you'll be before you get there. And we humans are nothing if we aren't addicted to comfort.  Even if that comfort is pain.  The need is sometimes nothing more than to fulfill the pattern.

This is also a very sad declaration on the nature of love and how it seems to be increasingly viewed as a burden that takes away instead of as a gift that gives. Most of us choose to chase away the unicorn not for its sake but for our own. The specter of unconditional love is such a miracle blessing that many of us instinctively choose to avoid it due to a higher self-preserving fear of loss and potential rejection in regards to attaining our dreams. The irony is that I think most of us do believe in some part of ourselves that we really can’t have it all.   Living your career dreams leads to sacrificing your relationship ones.

Often I explain that I don't do something or haven't done something because I've had peak experiences of it and now can't be bothered by less.  The real reason could be that I honestly don't want to find anything that would make those past experiences less beautiful. I want them preserved as the peak to make the pain I experienced worth the effort in the long run. And I use them as a road map to attaining something similar thinking that this time it might work. It is an odd sense of displaced loyalty to a younger me that had the illusions of a child looking for pixie dust in every kiss while telling herself there is no such thing as pixie dust. When faced with pixie dust you will deny deny deny until you have no choice but to see that the weird horned horse is really a unicorn.  But if I were honest it didn’t look like a unicorn then, but somehow it looks like one now.  We either traumatize or romanticize our pasts.  Its human nature.  The bad relationship was really bad; the one that got away was so wonderful.  But it is the lackluster present that enables a dramatic past because if we’re honest the lackluster present is actually a lot more like the dramatic past than we like to admit.  The implication being we are still making the same mistakes and learning nothing from them.

Oh naughty black unicorn

It is the same for a person who continues to date those who can never really love them the way they need to be loved. But this is a different level of affliction I think. Addiction to love is a terrifying thing. It is a declaration that someone else has a level of control over your well-being that could potentially end your desire to exist without them. It is a lure and a trap that many find no solace or comfort in the idea of attaining.  They instead choose to forge temporary unions with tried and true results of interest, excitement and inevitable endings.  They tell themselves it will end differently this time.  Deep down inside however they realize that it’s too similar to previous relationships which are why they are preferred. At the core of this is the desire to win the heart of the one that started the mess to begin with. In every new person that holds the attraction the way the one before did, they try again expecting different outcomes.

The result is a declaration about self-worth and what you consider sacrifice to be.  Love is within itself a paradox, a selfless selfish thing. It gives and takes, it births it kills. It is all and none. The true fabric that holds this thing together because it can be everything and nothing at all. It fills in the empty spaces.  There are many people who lack the proper perception of their self-worth, mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It is a fundamentally human flaw and sometimes it takes viewing yourself from the eyes of others to temper it. But self-worth is a highly misunderstood concept.  It is a process of finding all parts of yourself worthy of care and love. It is why religion is so popular. Most religions are based on an idea that the human spirit that embodies a human body is worth unconditional love just by dent of being a creation of an all knowing all seeing all wise and powerful God.  It establishes the ultimate authority on loving yourself. But this is not really a love that can provide a true understanding of self worth.  For some religiously minded people they have done the work, the soul searching and the forgiveness. Some are just going with it.  But a true dialogue that defines self worth starts with self.  Its starts with looking at yourself under a harsh lens and being very critical. This is why people usually find self-worth through either successful or failed love. The successful lover loves your flaws to the point that you realize they aren’t that bad.  A failed love affair forces you to take those flaws to heart and may make you aware of them.  In the last is where self-worth is mostly lost, as some people don't hold the glass up to see what is worthy in them, just why they no longer have a lover.

Me and my bestie in our heads

In the core of that thought is sacrifice. The trick to the thing like all else lies in sacrifice. In order for my bestie to find that unicorn she had to sacrifice, thoughts of family, thoughts of herself, everything.  For people like me, my privacy, my truth must not be held in, it must be made public.  My hard fought for emotional self-control must be ripped to shreds at my feet. 

My favorite song about love is by Mumford & Sons. Its called White Blank Page.  Within this song is the pathway to the light. In this song is the greatest sacrifice.  As the singer finally understands a fundamental divinely uncontestable truth about love that the heartbroken hardly ever ask themselves. The thought centers around the idea, that you can be better, you can do something different and love will be the result. You can read articles about your attitude, consider new style trends.  All the things you can do to make yourself more lovable will not change one simple thing. Who you decide to love. In the end you might just need to date someone you would never date and consider a perspective you’ve never considered.  Sacrifice all of your thoughts about your fault in something and accept a truth about your inherit worth.  Accept that the person was never able to see it and no . . . that was not your fault.

I’ll leave you with the song. .

Blog in Review Best of 2014 #5 Inseparable

She could feel him all the time now.  She would catch a certain scent in the air and anxiety would rise in her belly. The whisper of a voice in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, because she could almost feel breath tickle her ear. She inhaled deeply knowing this was the only way to manage it when they were connected like this. She opened her right hand in front of her staring at the lines and veins.  Warmth glided across the surface ever so lightly.  A fleeting thing feeling as it touched, touching as she felt. The sensation went up her arm, soaked her shoulder, then spread like wine staining carpet over her chest. She sighed in the feeling as her body was slowly being eaten away by his essence his aura. It warmed more in random spots like tiny starburst across her skin.  Tiny eruptions of warm sensations exploded softly all over. He called it sprinkle kisses.

The connection had always been there and visceral. It was like a train station that no one used. The tracks had been laid long ago.  When they first met it was pain.  It had dropped her to her knees the first time it poured through her. She had felt the sharp instant cut, the initial numbness and then she had nearly in slow motion dropped to her knees as the numbness faded for a dull aching that had no source yet could not be appeased. She had gasped loudly as if she had been hit in the stomach.  The sound of the gasp nearly lost in the sudden and hard release of air. She covered her heart with both hands as tears built in her eyes.  She stared dumbfounded to the heavens as they streaked brilliant salty trails down her cheeks. She vaguely felt them streaming down her neck to her chest.  Her skin dried some, her sweater caught the rest. She had stayed there for an eternity it seemed.  Nailed to her living room floor in pain, she had fallen to her back, eyes wide, tears streaming, mouth agape. The pain was acute, sustained.  Her first thought was his name and the pain doubled. This was a soul deep hurt that had survived and fed itself with his passions, ate his shattered dreams and drank of his broken heart. It fueled his nightmares, ignited his pessimism, and nurtured the hearth of his rage.

As she lay there unable to move, barely able to stand the pulsing burning fire that was both pain and rage she understood what true intimacy was.  It wasn't sexual at all, it was emotional.  It was living with someone else's pain inside you.  Bound to you in the core of your own soul. No closer mating could ever be attained. She wept as his despair raced through her.  Somehow she had always thought hopelessness was a passive emotion.  How utterly unrelentingly foolishly wrong she had been.  She saw now that hopelessness was a tidal wave. A raging ocean always building to overtake you. He was at war with it constantly. She was not fit for the fight.  For a moment she surrendered to it.  She let her mind drift into the darkness that only soul shattering pain could produce. She felt herself sinking through the carpet, through the floor, through the layers of dimensions that separated them.  She had retreated from this plane and was in a space she had never seen before.

The space was dark, wet and cold.  She was surrounded by walls. Black dirty walls, the ceiling was too high.  Several stories over her head it loomed.  The smell was lacking in life.  Despite the moisture it seemed nothing could live in this space.  The walls and the floor seamlessly bent from one to the other.  She walked gingerly down the hallway.  It had to be, it was no bigger than 4 feet wide. She passed a mirror and stopped to observe herself. She was bathed in light, and that was all. Her dusky skin nearly glowed with an iridescent pearl gleam that was blue and purple. Her eyes glittered as if set alive by flames. Her hair a curly long orange red mane that drifted to some space right past her ass.

Startled she stepped forward to touch the mirror.  Lightly she placed her fingers right above where her heart would in the image. She heard the tinkling of glass.  The mirror contracted at her touch, seemed to take a deep quick breath then shattered.  Instinctively she covered her face waiting for the additional pain of the cutting glass.  Instead she felt a fine mist.  She dropped her arms and stared at them as the dust left red and gold speckles on her skin, fine and iridescent. She glanced up quickly at the spot the mirror came from and she saw a door.

The door wasn't like anything else in the hallway. It was carved wood, deep brown with hints of red. On it was a tower.  It was long and tall, a perfect cylinder of brick and mortar rising from the middle of the ocean it seemed. The top of the tower had a lookout much like a lighthouse. In the window there was the clear figure of a young boy staring out. Dragons circled overhead their tails blending as they formed a ring around the top of the tower. Snakes slithered from the water inching up the base of the tower. The ocean raged and crashed beneath them. The scene was framed with thorny vines braided outside of the main image.

That's when she noticed the door had no knob.  She walked up to it and traced a wave.  The wood was cool and smooth to the touch. She traced up to a snake to the tower and continued to inch upward. She touched the face of the boy briefly on the cheek. She couldn't tell if the door had whelped or if she had.  The touch had spiked the pain for a second forcing the sound. Instinct only made her lean in closer and press her lips to the boy's forehead. Her closed eyes didn't see what happened because in the next moment she was kissing air.

It was a small room before her. Just a rustic setting. A lovely rug on the wooden floor, a fireplace in the corner lit and blazing.  A comfortable chair with armrests and a high back with velvet red coverings. The fact that there were no windows and the walls were bare was a bit odd.  However it was not nearly as odd as seeing him kneeling in front of the chair putting makeup on what was clearly a dead woman. Her skin was blue. The unnatural hue of someone who has long passed. Her hair was a grey stringy mop falling to her threadbare shoulders.  The white gown was dingy with bits of makeup mistakenly dropped on spots. Her lifeless form stared with eyes dark cold and dead. The hallows of her skull were apparent in her cheeks and mouth.  She was propped in the chair with her arms on the rests and her legs pulled closed, feet planted, makeup in her lap.

He would place makeup on a spot on her face that made her look flesh colored. As he would move on to another area the makeup would slowly disappear. He would notice when the spot he was working on was done and then go back to reapply. She slowly walked over to where he fussed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"She's not gone you know." he whispered in a well-rehearsed way. "Any minute now she'll be back and this time she'll love me."

She didn't say anything. She knew what this was and she knew who she was. She took has hand away from her face.  She was surprised that he offered no resistance.  She removed the make up sponge from his hand and placed it in the lap of the woman where the rest was. He just stared at the face of the woman as she went blue. In a matter of moments she faded to gray and then dissolved into ash.

The low keening moan that came from him managed to come through her as well as they watched this happen. He sat back on the floor.  She knelt beside him and pulled his head against her chest. She sifted her fingers through his short brown hair enjoying the solid feel of him. He was cold though. Her other hand soothingly rubbed the back of his neck. He let her hold him as he tried to quiet the storm within him. She closed her eyes and held him closer.  She took slow deep breaths and focused herself. When she inhaled she focused on his pain, when she exhaled she focused on soothing. It didn't take long before they were breathing together and the pain storm was subsiding. Slowly his arms crept up and wrapped around her waist.

She jolted up and was in her living room again. As long as she lived she would never forget that day.  That had been the beginning of their unique odyssey.

Blog in Review the Rundown

So I'm starting something new in case you haven't noticed. Its a year in review. I wanted to find the posts that got the most views and garnered the most attention.  Here they are the top 5:

# 5 Inseparable
Her first thought was his name and the pain doubled. This was a soul deep hurt that had survived and fed itself with his passions, ate his shattered dreams and drank of his broken heart. It fueled his nightmares, ignited his pessimism, and nurtured the hearth of his rage.. . 

#4 Unconditional Love, or What We Really Mean
So back to my new year's resolution. I told myself I was no longer going to stifle how I feel about anyone.  I in fact practiced this by sending very personal very gushing messages of love to my closest pals who in some way inspire me by doing nothing more than being who they are. The results were as I expected.  I got back some gushing replies and silence.  I knew who would do what. The gushers are just what they say they are.  The none gushers, the silent, were whelmed. You see all of these people feel as deeply as I do and I know what such a message would've done to me. I would've gushed back but first I would've needed to be silent.  And sometimes when you're silent you just are because "Wow look its a unicorn, how cool is that." Bask in the moment.

#3 Manpaper: The Originals
Now this latest version of manpaper is by no means all there is. Below are the originators.

#2 9 Days - A Novella of Mythic Proportions
But the very interesting thing is that underworld activities were shrouded. There have never been many tales of who Hades actually is. Yet the method of how he acquired his wife and subsequent equal queen of the Underworld is one of the most prolific stories surrounding what I believe is the often very misunderstood lord of needful things such as death and the dead.

Thus 9 days.

Think of 9 days as the mythological version of 9 and a half weeks. A sheltered lovely child, a lord of darkness and the unveiling of who they both truly are.

#1 Missing Love Stories
As a dark woman I've always taken those images with a grain of salt as I much preferred getting lost in a book as opposed to an unrealistic impersonation of who I was supposed to be. The irony is that you tell yourself it’s not that bad. You actually try to accept some of it as truth because the alternative is too much to bear, which is the evidence of others denying you and those like you the very basic staples of humanity.

I was Persephone this past Halloween

Well that has been my year and I hope to have more lovely profound flights of fancy and stunning realizations and always. . keep writing.

Have a LOVEly year,

Always w/love,
Sue

Transcendence

Lovely word and fascinating movie. All of us have ideas about what would make the world a better place. I do but I shape them more around what I can do to make the world a better place. I thought the most interesting thing about the movie was the ways it embodied the word.  A state of transcendence is described as the state of going beyond limits, exceeding confines, becoming more than what you were ever meant to be.  The movie was about life beyond death, and life beyond death reshaping life as it is irrevocably.

The irony about it is that the entire time the main character was trying to attain what they already had.  In many ways I think we as humans endeavor to do the same thing. We fight our confines just to attain what we already have. We all seek some form of liberation from our humanity. We limit who we interact with, who we allow ourselves to be seen as, we limit all things that push away from the downfalls of humanity. However it is the downfalls of humanity that spark the most vibrant and amazing aspects of being human.

Some of us do this by procreation. This belief that somehow creating new people will cement our transcendence. The irony is no one remembers the parents of a great human being. We rarely recognize the brilliance of a human when they are alive and demonstrating it. We often have other words for them. Anarchist, rebel, criminal.  It just depends on who is doing the naming in most situations.

Others do this through labor.  Work plain and simple. But the lure and the ultimate lie of this is that work has permanence. And in a way it does until someone else's work comes along to shatter it. In those situations all that can be done is to try and use work to facilitate well being.  When all is said and done legacy is a lie. Its a myth we tell ourselves to deal with what can be seen as an unfair lack of time bound in our human forms.

Its ironic that in many ways I believe our short lives are our only true gift. I believe the purity of who we can be and what we can accomplish are only possible because of the frailty of life. The things we fight for, live for, and die for define the sanctity of our existence. We move through this life this existence with hardly a clue as to what is needed or expected of us. We leave our callings to belonging and love.  We make connections and declaration based on tribal and regional affiliations. We find and discover things that bring us hope, beauty and joy. Some of us even deny ourselves the pleasure because of the fear of loss. Not ever understanding that the only thing lost is the moment.

We move through this space and seem not to understand that simple fact. We define what is important. We verify what brings us hope and joy. We dictate what love is and where it is spent. Now is the essence of humanity. Now is the world as it is. Now is the only truth.

What I always seek is to sing the song in every key.  Sometimes my notes are happy, sometimes my notes are sad. At times I wail and at times I moan.  From time to time I rise like the coming tide and crash like the coast ashore. I crest and hold for days, I swell and drop, I burrow and shriek, I cry in joy and in pain. Its in those notes in that phrase, in that bar, octet, reprise symphony is life. All that it can be, all that it shouldn't be all that it is and all that it is not. The point is not to control, regulate or build.  Those are distractions from your song. The point is to live and life can only be lived in one way now.

True transcendence is freedom from ideas that hobble, thoughts that condemn, habits that contain.  Transcendence is viewing hurt and pain as notes in the harmony of the concerto. Its viewing joy and happiness as the underlying melody that's always playing whether you hear it or not. Its in the rhythm of your beating heart. The lulling hum of your breathes.  The harmony of your flowing blood. The buzz of life singing around you.
 

Missing Love Stories

When I write it is often a plea or has a correlation to desires I possess in my day to day life. I write the world I'd like to see as opposed to the one I live in. Very simple method displacement. I take the reality that bothers me and I replace it with a viable beautiful one.  So of course my genre is romance. I find the world in my sight to be painfully devoid of true romance, honest passion and selfless love.  So I write about it. I pair up people and give them hell and let them figure out where they stand, what they want, and what they need.

Love Alchemy

A couple of years ago I decided I wanted to change the world. So I began mapping my Sci-Fi series which will be called loosely and subject to change Genesis 2020.  I'm giving humanity a spiritual reboot of sorts. This series features a changing of the guards as mortals will attain immortality in some instances, some will be the earth mothers and fathers of a new generation of humans, and many will be there to see to it all.

One of the books that I began features a couple that I feel like expresses the most conflicting dynamic in American culture. The male is a white, southern, high powered movie producer.  The woman a mixed race poor artist. I met Colan and Fiona in a dreamscape. They were hiding in a place that I seldom find myself in yet have made the most wonderful discoveries there. I call it my space of truth. They contacted me and wanted to tell me their story. It’s a good one, and they knew that someone like me would understand.

When you live life as an American, especially a dark female American from a poor southern family there are many aspects of life from your childhood that you were never included in or invited to. Somewhere along the way you have to either conform to low expectations or refuse the whole damn thing.  I chose the latter. To this day I cannot place my finger on how or why because I've never really seen much that was different than what is portrayed on television, in movies, or magazines like everyone else. I chalk it up to my mother's unending faith in me to be who I needed to be and not settle for who others wanted me to be.

Classic Romance Novel Cover

I say this because media is what it is. In my recollection the 80s where overrun by respectability politics and racial caricatures. But that was for everyone, white, black, red, yellow, male, female, teenagers, and children. Everyone had a prescribed formula. It wasn't till the late 90s early 2000s that characters became deeply complex people. All accept for women and minorities. So not even close to everyone. As a dark woman I've always taken those images with a grain of salt as I much preferred getting lost in a book as opposed to an unrealistic impersonation of who I was supposed to be. The irony is that you tell yourself it’s not that bad. You actually try to accept some of it as truth because the alternative is too much to bear, which is the evidence of others denying you and those like you the very basic staples of humanity.

One night I was shown how bad it was. I was dreaming with Colan.  He showed me a place that he would like for American film and cinema to get to now that he's head over heels for our lovely Fiona. You'll get to read the fit Fiona put him in for the first book of the 9 set series called Life Goes On sometime next year. It wasn't just a breaking in spiritual realization as much as it was an epiphany of a lifetime of strategic and collaborative brain washing.  As an artist Fiona forced Colan to see the things she could see and to replace the images he often associated with grace, beauty, love and valor with an image hardly ever associated with it in mainstream media. His open eyes became mine.

See how gorgeous we all are: http://humanae.tumblr.com/

For years I thought the portrayals of dark skinned people both men and women where as fair as possible and this instance destroyed that thought. I told myself it would be nearly impossible to reproduce the vivid imagery of that understanding in the written word. How can I show what I saw? The scene was resplendent. A scene of love and courage, the beauty of it pouring from the two souls. The scene was shot close, mostly faces of the man and the woman. They were exchanged plateaus of love and affection. She glowed in the scene.  Her lovely brown skin showing all the colors hidden there within. No brown is just brown, it’s a sea of shades of yellow, red, bronze, beige, slightly bruised peaches and chocolate milk. Papaya and carrots, beets and butternut squash.  His skin reflecting a myriad of colors as well. They stared into each other's eyes intently with purpose and grace. Love pouring true. She was going to leave, trying to leave because it’s what she thought he needed. The heroine, constantly by his side and pulling him though his darkness. He's grateful, complete and fulfilled from the journey. Through shared pain and shared grace they had found that point, that moment of divine grace within each other.

Up!

At no time did the scene reposition to show her breasts. The language used was vernacular English, no so called 'black' speak.  The man and woman were on equal footing. The lighting just so to give the ethereal nature of the connection. No body shots at all, this was an intellectual meeting of the minds and a stunning interaction of the soul. It was saying nothing but everything in Lost in Translation, it was the unveiling of the art room in 50 First Dates, it was "Thanks for the Adventure" in Up.  It was every instance of pure beautiful perfect love I've ever seen that made me cry and yearn for a love like that which now I saw, never had previously contained a single dark face.

Black Love

When I woke the image of it blazed brightly in my mind. Complete, perfect and beautiful and I knew in that moment that I had never seen it.  It wasn't part of my lexicon as a lover of romance. There was not a single movie I could recall where the scene had been built so painstakingly and so beautifully. Never for someone who was dark. Our love is always relegated to giving in and giving up like Jason's Lyric, or Love Jones. Sent to the seediest place, over sexualized, over stimulated and then tainted with tragedy.  Calm acceptance in the face of insurmountable odds like Monster's Ball. Happy endings need not apply because they are happy enough.  But not only that, those moments of true blissful acceptance and love are lost, never viewed or portrayed as something you would die for. Our moments of triumph always involve being given the opportunity to excel, still not quite human, but good enough in some matters of social change and of course feats of athletic excellence. But a love story. A true story of love between people of color that involves nothing more than a heartfelt desire to create the most perfect moment even if all others are lost is beyond us. Not seen, built and not given. Those stories of true love are found as standalone testimonies of dark women learning to accept and love themselves, implying that the rest of the world is not capable. We are too foreign, too unrecognizable as lovable beings to hope for anything more.

Romantic Movies

The loss I felt at that realization was one of the most profound moments in my life. As a woman who is encased and dependent on love, it never struck me that the reason why it always seemed like such an unsolvable mysterious fairytale was more than just inexperience. It’s an internalized attitude of love not being an available commodity for those like me. Love was contingent to acceptance, something that is usually not a part of the American experience for anyone regardless of background, yet even more so for those of the other variety. So the outliners of love became obvious points of acceptance. Perhaps love can overcome the racial issues in a relationship, the cultural calamities, even the religious bias. But love, for the sake of love was not a possibility. As a person of color you must be exemplary and perhaps someone will forgive your background enough to develop a passing acceptance and affection for you and this includes other people of color.

How it Can Feel

The stunning truth of what I had been shown all my life crippled me for hours. I cried as if everything beautiful and precious in this world had been stolen from me.  I cried as if all faith and hope was lost. I cried for the crime committed to so many like me. I cried for my femininity which suffers blows of lack of love constantly as I blame my figure, my not so perfect face, my hair length for lack of love. I cried for my darkness that rendered me unlovable for more of the population than I would like to know. Mostly I cried for my humanity because of all the things lost with the realization that love was not something portrayed as something I was fully capable of that was the one that denied me all I've ever wanted in life.

Love, the ability to feel it, give it and receive it is an inalienable human concept. Personhood of other animals is usually determined by the ability to attain complex thought and love. You will find that they are not mutually exclusive as we equate complex thought without emotion as an inanimate function. Emotions, and not just any emotions, but love specifically is the high bar for being human. Being willing to risk all for love, to survive for love, to overcome for love. In many ways none is more human than romantic love. The inexplicable pull and tug to a complete stranger for no comprehensible reason shows the extraordinary capacity of humanity and life. To be denied that, in any form is tantamount to death. Stolen then are the chances to redeem the glory of all life holds that is sublime and precious.

Who Love is For

When people are cut out of stunning and moving instances it not only cripples the people who are not being portrayed. It equally cripples the people who are, who are being told that love comes in shades of beige, blonde, maybe redhead or brunette. That love has a certain figure and form. Being told that love exists within confined spaces determined by socioeconomic and religious guidelines. Those being told that what they may feel for someone who is not of this character mold must not be real because its outside of the lines where love lives.

I came to the understanding years ago as my marriage fell apart and birthed my path as an author that I was, still am, and will always be a love based creature. As love left my life I had to create new ways to pull it back in. I cannot live without love. I craft for joy and I create for passion. I reach out for love, always reaching out for love. I will always write of love and the beauty it brings to this place. I'll write of the lives it has changed.  I'll write of the healing it has done. And I will write it with faces that we never get to see experiencing these amazing events with hope in my heart that those days will end one day and love will be truly available and visible for all.

Love Alchemy from http://www.tellurideinside.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/osho-wake-up-dangerous-love.jpg

Classic Romance Novel Cover from http://www.respiring-thoughts.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/lady-of-winter-_bg_042.jpg

Up! from http://fictioncalling.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/up__married_life_by_symphonikaa-d59vz42.jpg

Who Love is For from http://www.quotes-for-love.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/401886_530695336968353_341075957_n.jpg

How It Can Feel from http://www.christineduvivier.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/website-24.jpg

The Muse

Sasha watercolors 1998

I’m terrified, for the first time in my life I am honestly tempted to run
All of my bravado, my shit talking ways lay at my feet in dust all but done
Uncertainty does not even begin to describe the depth of my emotions
Confusion does not skim the surface of my delusional notions
I never asked for this, did you, I never wanted this, how could you
Dragged me in by the thick of my hide, kicking and screaming fuck you

I’m petrified, how on earth did you expect me to feel
But it was never about me; you just wanted another way to deal
Selfishness is something I’m all too familiar with, I know how it works
Daily I exercise my right to walk hand and hand with assholes and jerks
Denying the true motive for my rather inhumane form of expression
Deep down inside I just crave to be in their mists, their latest obsession

I’m telling the truth, maybe for the first and last time in my life
I suffer a hole the size of the world ever growing with it’s strife
The shell I wear is the only shield I have against the pain trying to take me
This false persona the only defense against the masochism I want to set free
Lying to myself as I lie to you with a smile of indifference a lack of concern
While I hold myself together trying to quell the fire of outrage that will always burn

Can anyone honestly love a creature such as myself, you see my dilemma
Does such a self-sacrificing creature exist that can tolerate my self-imposed enigma

But I see you, through the haze of tantrums in the face of moral obligation
I see you, through the lies of society on the path to a throne of uncharted destination
Somewhere between my own damnation and your condescension, humility seeped through
Somehow I found a door to another plane of myself of unrecognizable texture and hue

Logic is a notion that can only be defined by itself
Emotion carries facets and karats of immeasurable wealth
I want to taste your tears, revel in the face of your jubilation
I want to incite your passion, stand by you in moments of humiliation
I want your unguarded expressions, be the cause of your lack of concentration
I want what has been denied to others, a bond that defies all analytical explanation

Then I’m resigned by the need and the dependence of such thoughts of you
My lack of patience subsides in the face of avidly wanting to see this through
But my wants are incidental, never as important as I have desired them to be
My need inconsequential as I let fantasy run the course of what could be you and me
In the shadows of my own trepidation that for whatever reason you just might call my bluff
I humbly carry the haunting notion that ultimately my dreams of you will have to be enough

Pause

Whisper

Pause, it just takes a moment to realize where I am
Only a moment to understand and see through the scam
I wanted the best at first, I usually want the most convenient
But it has gone far beyond the thought of mercy and being lenient
Now I crave another layer, a deeper knowledge of relation
I yearn for that untouchable state beyond fear and elation
Not quite the unnatural high produced by a drug called ecstasy
But instead an emotional height created by the awe of human synergy

I know it exists, it dances around my form taunting me with it’s perfection
I know it exists, holding itself just out of my grasp reveling in my rejection

Pause, again I hold still and wait for the recognition
Still awaiting the moment when the fates will end my persecution
I only desire what others take for granted, I only want to have those precious instances
But I remain unmoved unswayed by the power that consumes all it influences
Now I thirst for the storm it brings as it swallows whole all that it embraces
I hunger for the brush of it’s wings as it flies to overtake the heart it chases
Not quite like lust that rushes in and ebbs to nothing like the morning tide
But instead the constant consonance that prevails when it should subside

I know it exists, it lives behind the eyes of a well loved child
I know it exists, holding the secret of creation, making chaos less wild

Like and Unending Circle. . Linking Like a Chain

Waiting

Somewhere near the end of time
Someplace lost, perfect and divine
I called it's name and waited for an answer
It moved slowly closer like an erotic dancer
It taunted me from afar and held me enrapt
Promised to hold my heart, my soul entrapped
Just as it arrived, I turned to run
Just as it reached for me, I wanted none
It's power frightens me, It's glory blinding to see
More than me, yet not nearly as offensive
Infinite madness, yet slow and pensive
A moment's hesitation, a moment's pause
I feel myself being clamped firmly in it's jaws
Escape is impossible, regret useless
It's true intentions I can only guess
Yet, I want it's heaven, I crave it's hell
I hunger for the lives it's lived, the stories it can tell
Let me go, set me free
If I swallow you whole, I will cease to be
My destruction in your hands, my salvation in your trust
And whatever the outcome, I know the decision will be just
Should I cry for mercy, or obnoxiously demand more
Ask to be tossed like a rag doll or expect to be taken to it's core

My decision made, I close my eyes
Releasing all self-doubts, all others' lies
I trust you, Whole and true
I love you, I love you

Untitled

What I See

Before the end of my day, my thoughts slid to you
Before time has dragged down the sun and the moon is pulled onto centerstage
Before the stars start to shine in a dance of dark and light as they battle for the sky
Before the haze of the city’s nightlife and lights bring the illusion of day

My thoughts slid to you

They rest on your face where your light eyes see me as if they have never
They curl into your hair, dark as dusk, sifting through the strands of raven-colored
They pause at your lips, like a broken sigh recalling the feel of your breath in a
They drape across your throat and shoulders testing the strength and conviction
of such a strong throat of such a breadth of shoulders defying gravity in a way

My thoughts slid down the chest housing the heart that adores me, holding the
force that drives you, moving the tide that powers you, do you have any idea
They kneed the arms of solid integrity, the proof of determination and hard work
feasted so silk that flow along your face whisper that sounded of love but was indeed my name
that only Atlas himself is familiar with
what a treasure is buried here?
because you would have it no other way.

And then you enter

Bringing fact and fantasy together in a rush of surreal ecstasy, reminding me of
what you see when your eyes eat me alive, when your arms hold me as I writhe,
as your heart pushes closer to me in a vain attempt to meet it’s twin.
As you breathe love that is a whisper of my name, as your midnight silk kisses
my face and neck as your shoulders and throat beckon coyly then demand hotly
for my lips, my hands, my arms, my eyes, my nails, my teeth, my passion, my
And in a flash as gradual as sunrise, the moon is pulled to rest, the stars bow
joy, my pain, my pleasure, my will, my heart, my soul, my life.
before the next ruler abiding their time to glow and shine.

Dawn is pulled from the darkest pits of night and

My thoughts once again slid to you

When Did This Start?

Did you always look at me like that or have I not noticed
Yesterday you looked at my lips as if you felt they needed to be kissed
Did you always smile at me like I was the very reason for it
The other day you flashed it at me like the most entertaining thing in the world was my wit

Did my heart always speed up when I see you or did that just start happening
When it did it last night it felt just so natural like that’s the way it’s always been
Did my mind always drift to you at the most unexpected times or is that new
It struck me a second ago that I don’t seem to think of much else that doesn’t relate to you

Was it before or after we met my ideas on life became drastically different
Now I think the world is beautiful, life is rather nice, and all things are heaven sent
Was it before or after our first conversation that I noticed how underrated talking is
The more I hear your voice, the more of you I discover, the more I wonder when we’ll have our first kiss

Was it before or after I noticed how adorable you are that other men have seemed lacking
I know that it makes me not need their backing
Was it before or after I started to fantasize about us together that I forgot the promises I’d already made before
Just when I thought that every part of my life was determined and set I feel like now you’ve shown me another door
I’m starting to believe that all those changes in me are recent
And I think what I see in you isn’t imagination but a persuasive hint

I’m starting to accept my need to understand you
And I think that you can cope with what you’re starting to feel too
I don’t want to keep on trying to figure out how this started in the past
I just want to concentrate and put my mind to trying to make it last

So I’ll stop sitting around and trying to pinpoint the events by the exact days
I think now I want to set aside the befores and afters and take you by the hand and shoot for always

Blame it on The Moon

Ruins watercolor 1998

The timber of your voice should have been my first clue
The way you smiled at me and held me carefully close to you
Maybe the glint in your eyes should have told the story
Or the brush of your lips on my temple as you whispered “don’t worry”
Your scent filling my head with thoughts I can’t relate
The feel of you beneath my fingertips making it harder for me to wait
Are we victims of midnight, perhaps slaves of the full moon above
Can we cast the blame elsewhere or are we simply doing the unthinkable and falling in love

Perhaps it was in the way you touched me with your hands just like you were with your eyes
The way you took your time to show me beauty before finding your place between my thighs
Maybe it was in the seamless way your body fit mine or was it the other way around
We lay together so perfectly that if one calls I’m never sure who made the sound
Your lips finding that spot on the back of my neck that always sets me off
Your caress light yet strong making me feel like my skin is so soft
Too many love songs on the radio or weddings in June is what I though of
Could they really be our problem or are we simply doing the unimaginable and falling in love

Maybe it was the second glance you gave me as if you saw me in a new light
The look on your face should have given away the entire secret on sight
Your voice, you r touch, your lips all telling me what I refused to hear
Your eyes, your smile, your scent signaling that I have to face my worst fear
Something tells me that I’m not alone but you find that you are ensnared too
Then again maybe in the end it has absolutely nothing to d o with me or you
One minute were having fun the next wondering why we always part so soon
Whether love songs, midnight, or weddings in June, personally I prefer to blame it on the moon