When the Dog Bites

When the Dog Bites

Amazing!

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So I have my entire life been unable to fit exactly any label. I was sporty,  nerdy,  geeky,  a loner,  a bookworm,  social,  antisocial,  introvert,  extroverted,  a joiner…well you can see where I am going with this. It was not a true issue for me,  and was all in the same breath. I always felt like I was on the outside.  I laugh… I collect labels… But then I would hide the fact that it hurt.  Why should I be a label?  I have never been very good at limiting myself…

That being said…. My twelve year old is very much like me.  She is fluid in who she is and what she does. She asked me today…. Mama why do people have to label each other?  Why can’t they just accept that each person grows and change with each passing day? …….how is it that this child who has not yet reached even a decade and a half umderstands something that eludes over half the human race?

Perhaps we need to learn instead of separately labelling each other,  to instead celebrate the uniqueness that is the human race.

Next Time You See Me

The next time you see me
I will have changed,
Even if it is only a day
In between.

The next time you see me
My views of the world
Will have taken me
Down places that I may not
Even be able to explain.

The next time
you see me
Wish me well,
As I will you…
For you can never know
When the next time
You see me will
Be our last.

Define Art

According to Wikipedia… An artist is : An artist is a person engaged in one or more of any of a broad spectrum of activities related to creating art, practicing the arts or demonstrating an art. The common usage in both everyday speech and academic discourse is a practitioner in the visual arts only.

I find myself so often considering whether or not I should use the title of artist.  I know that I am an artist… But I feel like what I do doesn’t seem as good. Yes this is my anxiety talking. But part of the issue is art is truly subjective. I can look at a picture and feel like it is genius,  and then you can look and see it as garbage. The same thing goes for any kind of art…. Paintings,  poetry,  yarnwork, music.  With no baseline to measure the art against,  is it really any wonder how many artists fail to have strong self esteem?  Add the fact that you then are expected to,  if you want to make a living from the art,  find the way to sell these small expressions of your soul. It takes a huge amount of courage to even show another soul what you have done. Then deciding what you are worth?  Bah I see it as nearly crippling.

How to Write More Meaningful Symbolism — A Writer’s Path

by Millie Ho Netflix’s Luke Cage was an entertaining series, and it also helped me understand how to write better symbolism. Here’s a summary of my talking points. AVOID USING SUPERFICIAL SYMBOLISM In school, I was taught to reference existing works or mythologies if I was writing symbolism. For example, a guy who […]

via How to Write More Meaningful Symbolism — A Writer’s Path

Fangirl Friday: Bestselling steampunk author Gail Carriger releases a F/F novella plus GIVEAWAY

Fangirl Friday: Bestselling steampunk author Gail Carriger releases a F/F novella plus GIVEAWAY

Women and Words

HELLO, dahlings! Welcome to another Fangirl Friday and this time, gracious me, my little shiny plumblossoms, we are graced by the presence of none other than Gail Carriger (hard “g” in Carriger), the award-winning and NYT bestselling author whose fabulously attired and deliciously quirky characters inhabit her paranormal steampunk universe.

I am a huge fan of her work not only because I dig steampunk but also because I love its tongue-in-cheekiness with regard to Victorian mores, AND amidst her panoply of characters are those who are LGBT+. They are beautifully wrought and eminently human (even those who are paranormal), and I find myself missing them when I finish one of her books.
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Her bio puts it best: Miss Carriger’s novels are urbane fantasies mixed with steampunk comedies of manners.

And indeed, if you have not indulged in Carriger’s work, I am afraid your soul is lacking. But that’s quite all…

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Saved

I wrote it all down,
All the hate,  anger,
All the pain,  emotional drain.
I wrote in ink on paper,
As if that made it less real.
I included the ecstasy,
And all the joy.

Then I folded it as small
As I possibly could,
So it would take less space.
I hid it in a box,
Away in some forgotten place.

The paper keeps the memory
That I was unable to truly bear,
Stored away from having to care.