Saint Gabriel García Márquez, the Smirker

My phone was bursting with the sound of Rommy’s uncontrollable laughter. There was joy (and a touch of Latina mischievousness) in her mirth.

“Speak now, or forever hold your pieces,” I said. This usually entices her to start singing my name in a mixture of terrible opera and exaggerated Spanish accent (yes, we have issues). But on this occasion, it had no effect. She just giggled… and snorted. “What is it, woman?”

“Candles!” she said. “I found a shop that sells candles of sainted writers. Oh my gods, Magaly, wait until you see Saint Gabriel. They don’t have Terry Pratchett, but Neil Gaiman and J.K. Rowling have also been sanctified. I’m getting Gaiman and Rowling. I have to.”

She sent me the link to Saint Gabriel’s candle, and the moment I saw his smirking haloed face, I roared until I nearly choked. I mean, look at that expression!
Gabriel Garcia Marquez Candle (1)
If you’ve read Love in the Time of Cholera, “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings”, One Hundred Years of Solitude… or pretty much any of García Márquez’s tales, you probably already know that his dance with religion—particularly South American Catholicism—was always bedecked with layers upon layers of satire and humor.

“I think he would have found the idea of himself as a saint completely hysterical,” I said to Rommy. “I’m getting him.”

In the end, we decided to make things extra special: I got Saint Rowling and Saint Gaiman for Rommy, and she got Saint Gabriel for me.

I’ve placed my smirking sainted writer candle next to my little brother’s ashes. Something tells me that both, my little brother and Gabriel García Márquez, would find the whole thing amusing… And nothing is holier or nobler than good old jollity that makes the belly rumble.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez Candle (2)
After the thought of this post first kissed my mind, I spent some time wondering if anyone would find the idea of a sainted writer candle offensive; and if so, why might they feel that way? What do you think, my Wicked Luvs? Speculate away… and don’t forget to wave at Saint Gabriel García Márquez, the Smirker.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez Candle (3)

Sure, You’ll Lose Some People; but Real Friends? Nah, You’ll Never Lose Those

Someone I’ve known for a bit over fourteen years just became the director of the not for profit organization, where she has worked since we both left the military. She invited me to a party that will celebrate the accomplishment. I called her with my congratulations, told her how thrilled I was for her… and apologized because I won’t be able to make it; the trip would be too hard on my back.

A few days after the conversation took place, she emailed me. Her one thousand and sixteen word message started with, “I intend no offense, but…” Most of the text explained that she was “disappointed in both of us. We both should’ve fought harder for our friendship,” she said, and closed the email with, “I don’t want to hurt you, but friends tell each other the truth. If you let your being ill rule everything you do you’ll find yourself without friends.”

I’m sharing this because a very young Wicked Darling—wave at her, she’s probably reading this post—was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease not that long ago. Her symptoms are severe. Her dietary requirements make my eating restrictions seem like a joke. She is yet to figure out a way to eat out with her friends, which doesn’t cause her enough anxiety to murder her appetite. She can’t drink alcohol, and most of her friends socialize around a drink or three… so things tend to get tense when going to the bar or club comes into the equation.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, tears wetting her words. “I will lose all my friends.”

“No, you won’t,” I told her. “Sure, you’ll lose some people; but real friends? Nah, you’ll never lose those.”

I can speak of this with some authority. I’ve lost many people in my nearly four decades of sexiness (and extreme modesty *cough*). Not because I’ve done something wrong; not because they were selfish bastards; but because certain relationships die when we can no longer nourish them in the way we used to.

And it’s quite all right to mourn these losses… for a short time. Then we must move on.

The world is full of acquaintanceships brought together by common interests. Friendships are rarer and much more complex; they are nurtured by a mutual understanding of life and living, shared by individuals who attend The Party of Each Other’s Lives for more than food or booze.

Would you care to share your thoughts on this matter, my Wicked Luvs?

Embrace the Moment, by Gina Morley“Embrace the Moment”, by Gina Morley

This is part of Gina’s description of her painting and creative process (and my reason for choosing it for this post): “Magaly likes ‘dark and sexy’… and dancing 😀 I used dictionary pages, containing words such as ‘dark’, ‘dancing’, ‘light’, ‘sincere’ you get the idea 😀 I used red and yellow (plus the blue of my hand[prints]) because Magaly is an intensely primal being, so primary colours… I believe she would also admit to being a very ‘fiery’ faerie 😀 so red and yellow also represent the flames of her passionate nature… then a layer of black glaze… cos she likes the darkside 😀 Looks a bit pink here, but it is red acrylic let down with glazing medium… and the grey area is iridescent paint that shimmers when you walk by… just like Magaly 😀 I was going to call it ‘Dancing in the Dark’, but felt ‘Embrace the Moment’ suited it better for now”. Visit Daydream Believer to read the complete post.

Clarabelle and Dee

“Pure of soul and of flesh, she was.
One of a kind, thought the Witch.
Not half woman and half spider,
but one of Nature. Whole. Complete.”
~ Belle du Freak

Often, a writer will say that her stories write themselves; or that characters snatch the pen off her hand, deviate from her outlined plot, and run wild. This is true for many creators of tales, of poetry, of worlds…

When I wrote “Belle du Freak”, the first poem in a trilogy that grew into a quartet that is morphing into a series, I thought I was writing about a witch rescuing a spider-woman from a circus of cruelty. By the time I penned the third poem, plot and characters surprised me with a love story that’s weaving itself to life while swimming in blood and dancing on fire.

Most things about the Belle du Freak poems have been a surprise. For instance, I never named the speaker or subject. But Lorelei started referring to the spider-woman as Belle… then Sharon spoke of how much she loved Belle’s poems… After that, there was no way back: everyone called her Belle. I suspect the spider-woman is speaking into readers’ hearts. “Belle… Belle… Call me Clarabelle,” she whispers… and I hear her, too.

Clarabelle doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of passivity (or maybe she understands perfectly, and just doesn’t give a damn). Her dexterous fingers grip my pen, her chin hovers over my right shoulder, her breath is warm on my ear, her words are clear, “I was born poetry,” she says. “Force me to be prose, and we’ll both hurt.”

I believe in my Clarabelle, so the story of her life with Dee (yes, the witch has been named) will be told in free verse. Because I was a rather unskilled poet when I wrote “Belle du Freak”, I’ll start by rewriting the first three poems. I know three years isn’t such a long time, but I’ve learned so much since then… that it feels like it has been forever and three days.

Would you read a verse novel, told through poems similar to my “Powerful Freaks”?

Whispers, by Denton LundWhispers, by Denton Lund
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