Choking You Lovingly

When heat fuels the wanting in my limbs, I creep into your middle, inhabiting your forbidden places. The words “Invasive!” and “Unwanted!” spray out of you and into me… I don’t believe them—wilting shouts can’t touch me. I know that. You know that. So I stretch… curling my tendrils around you, choking you lovingly, my devotion leaving you breathless. You call me “Weed!” and your manner speaks of insult. But looks lie. I smile, squeezing you harder and harder… You wail, “I need my space back, you rot. You don’t belong in my plot.” I feel you trembling in my hold, going limp, and I know you’re doing it for me. So I wrap my Self around your all… until none can tell the difference between my scent, my roots, and what once was you.

sun spreads my passion,
as wild as summer teased fires,
consuming you whole

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a not so wee note…
– When Rommy, over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, said that she wanted poems of “Weeds in the Garden”, and Sanaa’s Prompt Nights whispered her upcoming theme about how “Passion makes the world go round”, I was sure I wanted to write about my passiflora plant.  I mean, passion flowers are considered weeds by many, aren’t they? The idea was too perfect not to run with. Well, at least I thought so. Then the Muse heard the voices of the psycho weeds choking the life out of the skinny tree below… and today’s mildly creepy haibun was born. I didn’t take a picture of the whole tree. If I had, you would’ve noticed that it’s the skinniest of its kind, and that only the leaves of the choker remain. I found the sight quite sad, and scary…

Choking You Lovingly

Rough Writers and Summer Snarks

On a wild whim (or inspired by a gentle kick from Mistress Fate), I accepted my friend Sharon’s invitation to join Summer Snarks—a closed Facebook group, which is sort of a home away from home for the July Daily Writing Challenge, held over at the Rough Writers’ site.

I’m joining the fun unofficially… for although I’ll share my progress on the group and will lurk around everybody else’s postings every now and again, I won’t add my information to the actual challenge. My blogging will not be altered much. I will probably every few days—fiction, poetry, health, witchy living—and on the days I don’t blog, I will post a bit of micro fiction, micro poetry, or micro creative nonfiction ranting on my Facebook page.

I’ll use the month of July to finish the short story collection I want to publish this coming fall. I might share a quote or three, and rage when I get stuck. I need to write the final chapter of Lum and Darlene, finish the last bit of Belle du Freak, develop two new stories… And in case any of you was wondering, yes, I’m adding an AlmaMia Cienfuegos tale at the end—the wild child deserves some page time, even if her world doesn’t quite fit the collection.

If you need a little nudge towards the writing-everyday-front, consider joining in… it might be fun. And like a sexy, talented, intelligent (and extremely modest) writer once said, it’s good to “put your ideas somewhere, perhaps in the world.”

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a wee note…
– You can find Lum and Darlene and Belle du Freak on my Web Serials page.
Edit (7/3/16): I changed my mind about posting for the daily challenge. I will continue to write every day, but I will only blog every few days.

your ideas

A Storm of Desire… to Create, to Reshape, and to Share

“Sometimes fiction is a way of coping with the poison of the world in a way that lets us survive it.” ~ Neil Gaiman

Before my body turned its back (and shoulder and hip and gut…) against me, the strongest weapons in my coping-with-the-horrors-of-our-world arsenal were running and dancing. After I lost running and my dancing had to slow down… I coped through writing fiction… Then my mind was too exhausted to spend hours writing stories every day, so I found release in poetry.

I can create a short poem from beginning to end in my head. Stories, especially the long ones, don’t work that way for me. I need to see the words being born, feel the characters working with me (and sometimes fighting me) before I can know what the tale is all about. If by the time I’m done writing I can’t tell what (and why) I’m writing, I get little to no pleasure out of the process. And yes, not knowing the whats and whys robs me of all those delicious coping points.

Today, I’m happy and then some. After months and months of being able to do no more than a little editing and rewriting here and there, I can finally go back to working on longer projects. If that wasn’t enough to make me grin until the universe’s eyeballs can see every single one of my teeth, in a couple of weeks I get to start attempting to run again—nothing too wild, just thirty seconds of jogging every few minutes to see how my gut and balance deal with it… wee steps.

The collection of short stories and novellas I wish to publish this autumn is priority. But it’s super yummy to know that I can dedicate an hour or three to novel writing as well. I’m thrilled to know that the storm of desire to create, to reshape, and to share the stories that brew inside my head will, again, get a chance to see the light… and the dark, of course. 😉

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In Every Woman