Delusion

I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize that person. In my mind, I am a plump witch sitting in the corner of a room that glows with a crackling fireplace, peering over my glasses at you. I am a waif with huge eyes and fairy wings. I stand on the edge of a cliff, my hair streaming behind me in a storm. In my mind, I am never, ever ordinary.

And then I look in the mirror again, and damn it, I see a round woman with hair that curls into a grandma perm without any effort. I see bookish glasses, a tight mouth that turns into too, too much when I smile. A face to be forgotten, like those of a vanguard of women my age.

Do you blame me for preferring fantasy? Do you ridicule me for wanting to be the protagonist of my own life? Do you scorn me for standing here smelling roses and taking up the space a younger, more beautiful woman could be standing in?

Don’t tell me about it. I prefer my delusion.

The Nature of Poetry

Did I mention that Josh Young — one of my characters — taught me to write better poetry? Given that Josh doesn’t exist except for pages in a book and in my mind, this would seem impossible. But when I wrote Josh, I created him as a talented English major who got teased in grade school because he was too beautiful, and who has grown into a formidable young man with mystical leanings. (Whether he is still beautiful or not, I expect, depends on personal preference, but his girlfriend/wife Jeanne thinks so.)
Josh, as an avid student of English literature and composition, learned about the same things I learned in that poetry class in college, but he took them more seriously. He identified as a poet, so he understood metaphor and developed the ability to distill his thoughts in the purest way possible. I, on the other hand, wrote entirely out of emotions, and my poems are of three sorts: “There’s this guy, I’m so blue, and I’m so blue because there’s this guy”. (My husband would argue this is still the case, bless him.)

When I wrote Josh’s poems in “Gaia’s Voice”, I had to write as Josh. In reality, that meant pulling up all those technical things I learned in my poetry class (long LONG ago), and pull Josh’s thoughts through that process. In my imagination, it looked more like this:

Josh stood over my shoulder. I hadn’t heard him approaching me, and I blamed my hearing as much as I credited his Aikido training. “Have you thought of holding back your passion?” he inquired as he read the words over my shoulder on the screen.

“Holding back?” I asked dumbly. I defined myself, if by nothing else, by my passion. I highlighted a block of text to delete it —

“No. Don’t deny the passion. Channel it. Play with it. Hint about it. Concentrate it like a laser beam and zap someone with it at the end of the poem.” I turned around to see him push that unruly lock of black hair out of his eyes.

I stared at my words on the screen. They made “How do I love thee” sound coy. They bludgeoned, they overwhelmed. They didn’t tease the way first love would. They did not capture Josh’s feelings. Moreover, they did not capture mine.

“Poetry captures an experience, not a speech,” Josh noted. Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he walked off into the white existence of my imagination.

Wish Me Luck

After editing my many-times-edited first novel, I have submitted it to a digital imprint of a respectable American publishing house (for those curious, HarperLegend). I’m a little reluctant to do digital-only, but they do handle some of the marketing and sometimes bump someone up for paperback.

One of my difficulties in getting published, I think, is that I write a different sort of fantasy than people expect (at least I hope that’s it and not that I can’t write.)

Are there gods/goddesses/mythical creatures? Check.

Are there talents and abilities not found among the human population? Check.

Are there epic battles? Yes. But the good guys are pacifists and trying not to kill anyone. HUH????

What’s the main conflict of Reclaiming the Balance? Civil rights for half-human beings with superior strength. (And falling in love with an intersexed half-human being is the B plot)

Any epic gods? Well, Lilith (remember her?) forgot her identity for many years and became a psychology professor. Oh, yeah, the Garden of Eden was staged for legend’s sake.

And Lilith ran off with Adam. (OMG, that Adam?) Yes and he’s an incorrigible flirt.

You get the picture. Wish me luck — and drop me a comment!