My Fate, My Destiny

I hold my fate in one hand and my destiny in the other. 

I reach across the plain to drop one to find that neither will let go.

I reach across the sky to release one in the wind and realize that I cannot let go.

My fate stares boldly back at me from the base of my right palm.

My destiny laughs as it watches the play from its place in the base of my left palm.

They know a secret to this place that I have yet to discover.

They taunt me from their vantage point holding their own favor.

I hold my Fate, the words vibrate, in my mind

I hold my Destiny, the words resonate, through my heart

In one hand and the other, floods my soul

My Fate, nothing is ever promised

My Destiny, nothing is ever gained

In one hand, I know the way to go

And the other, I’ve always known the way.

My, how long have I run from myself

My, how often have I avoided my own face

In, so many ways the road is revealed

And, carelessly I have chosen to stray away

I hold my Fate, in this hand as I close it into a fist

I hold my Destiny in this other hand I now close into a fist

I own, My Fate, I own, My Destiny.

Opening, I rub my palms together.

Now they are as all parts of me,

One . . and . . . the same.

From Perilous Flight
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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
On Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords

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.