…with Heart-Bits in It

I have always felt deeply (perhaps even peculiarly) attracted to trees and dirt and frogs and bones. Growing up in a farming village filled my soul (and brain *thank goodness for that*) with a sense of respect for the land (you truly appreciate Nature and her ways, if her moods directly dictate what you get to eat, where you get to go). In my childhood, no ritual was as natural or as important as those attached to the harvest of rice, coffee, and cacao beans.

In those now gone summers and autumns, I didn’t think of what we did as ritualistic. It was just living. We cooked the first cauldron of rice in the field (the growers always ate the first bite). We danced and sang as we roasted coffee beans (dancing and singing and laughter enriched the taste of the brew, the Old used to say). We did witchy things without calling it witchery. I didn’t use the term “witch” to describe how I relate to nature and her gifts, until I felt the need to help others understand what I did. Saying, “I’m a wild witchy woman” is much easier (okay, simpler) than calling myself a lover of trees and dirt and rain and Dark Moon nights and sex and dance and words and smiles that come from the gut and life…

I love sharing things in ways we can all understand what I mean (well, I try). This is one of the reasons why I changed my blog’s tagline from “Poetry, fiction, and other Dark bits with Bright in them” to “Poetry and fiction with heart-bits in it”. I’m not dropping the dark and bright tag because I think my writing isn’t exactly that… Not at all. I’m choosing heart-bits because the phrase does a better job at describing what I write.

Other Bits

– The delightfully bastardish Facebook idiotic Team keeps on marking most of the links I share (from my blog) as spam. I have asked about it, and it was suggested that people who follow me (or who follow others who follow me) are labeling my blog links as spam. This makes no sense to me… Why would anyone follow a person whose work they don’t want to see? I mean, just stop following me. Or, unfriend me. Or, ask whoever might be sharing my posts with you to stop doing it. I will continue dealing with it (for a bit). Any advice?

– If we are friends on Instagram, you might’ve noticed that I’ve changed my URL from @magalyguerreroindarkerwords to @wordsbymagalyguerrero. This shouldn’t affect our interaction, but I wanted to tell you anyway… I’m feeling rather rambly (and adverby).

– If you’ve yet to help me choose the direction in which “This Lingering Maybe” will go, please visit the 55-word tale and choose 1 of 3 paths. I’ll write the next chapter tomorrow.

bits I’ve shared on Instagram
because… why not, right?

My id is a poet
in love with strange.

Love understands wild,
weird and me.

bee, the one
keeping things blooming
bright and wild

In Darkness, Let Your Fire Be Light!

Can you smell it…

feel it…

hear it…

the scent of autumn dancing in your bones… the chant of October, whispering… (October always whispers), “I’m adept at the powerful-but-forgotten art of lifting spirits”? Can you sense the fiercest bit of you, the one that makes you You, singing (shouting and shouting), “When things go bad, make them good… bite into life, let fate feel the magic that is you”?

I do, sense it… and I bite into life—teeth sharp, soul willing…

…and I write. Sometimes, I do it with others. Let me show you:

If you could read the thoughts of your wickedest Dream, what would your Dream write about you? Rommy and I pondered the question (with all the seriousness it deserved) and shared our findings at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. Go ahead, take a look-see.

I’m a journal and notepad hoarder. And like all stationery-loving dragons, I often delight in my stash. Yesterday, as I adoringly went through my paper-hoard (I want to handwrite my entries to Hedgewitch’s Friday 55), I ran into this giggler of a note (quite mad, indeed):

About Witches in Fiction 2017…
…yes, my Wicked Luvs, there will be a Witches in Fiction this year. Give me a week or more (I need to tweak a detail or three), then I will have an announcement post for you.

To those who asked about October publication, the answer is no. Apologies… But don’t be too upset with me, I will publish something hot and deep *cough* to warm our winter.

That’s it for now, my Luvs. Why don’t you delight me with some bright bits of you? Any yummy plans for the fall? Have you been keeping safe? Are you crafting?

Be fiercely you.

Be wild (if you want).

Do it with others (if you can).

And remember… in darkness, let your fire be light!

When the World Starts Stinking this Much, We Must Art Ourselves Some Potpourri

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.” ~ Lady Chatterley’s Lover, by D.H. Lawrence

.
I had an interesting conversation with a friend, who wanted to know why my writing has “gone from blood and guts and dead things to love, love, love, and sexy things.” He is not complaining about the change. He has been reading my words since before I shared them with anyone else, from when they were wee scribblings on the margins of schoolwork… He’s just surprised that in a time of much turmoil, I’ve “chosen to go freaky sweet.”

He’s not the only one asking. In the last couple of weeks, some of you have messaged me with similar inquiries: “Your writing’s so sexual lately. What’s going on?” And, “I wish I was getting some of what you’re getting. All I do is watch the news and scream bloody murder. Share, dammit!” And my favorite, “Why aren’t you writing about dismembering things? Dismemberment feels adequate. You haven’t gone romantic? Don’t scare me.”

My answer to these questions is short: I’m a child of balance, a soul who believes that what we feed grows. Right now, I believe we must feed what makes us feel good.

You see, my Wicked Luvs, I delight in writing that is passionate, that heats up the blood, that makes muscle want to move bone, writing that digs deep, deep, deep… and makes the mind feel things (or, at least, that’s my intention *cough*). Tales that are sexy, dark, and bloody have always been my favorite to write and read. They touch all the right spots in my brain. Writing them into the world makes my darkness deliciously bright. I love it.

But…

…right now, the world is a raging mess—people are drowning in the results of climate change, nations are being led by dangerous idiots, groups are feeding monsters we hoped dead, people around the world (and the Web) are dismembering each other’s hopes.

But (thank goodness)…

…there are also people trying to spread pretty spells, individuals trying to feed emotions that relax the body, that nudge the brain to release serotonin, oxytocin… and other happy hormones that conjure up smiles… even, if for just a bit.

I can’t go to the streets and rally against injustice and bigotry. I can’t donate millions to help those who need it most (I’ve done my wee monetary bit, but it’s not enough). There is so much I can’t do. But I can write of happy, happy, happy love in lust. And share it.

I will spell lusty words, let them feed on what burns in my flesh and bones, infuse them with love (the way I know it), and then send them into the world.  As I said to my dearest Rommy, on a post she shared on Facebook (about a man whose beliefs should make most people a bit sick), “when the world starts stinking this much, we must art ourselves some potpourri… if we can.” And I can. So, I will write sex… in love.