Writing with the Cyber Punches

Every now and then, a person or event hits us so hard in the virtual teeth, that we struggle on the ground, staring at our attacker, and wondering, Why? At that moment, deep in our assaulted heart, we’re certain that we’ll never get up again.

Then the heart remembers the first time her feelings were bloodied—we’ve all been there—and she thinks about how she was convinced that the pain would kill her. Right there, when she’s sure that death is eminent, her brain rolls her eyes, and says, “Hey you, nincompoop, can you hear me? Of course you can freaking hear me; neither you nor your ears die way back then. And guess what? You’ll not perish this time, either. Just put on your big girl panties. No! Not those useless silky things; the red cotton ones with the tiny black skulls and the lettering that says, ‘This knickers were made for butt-kickers.’ Good. You’re grinning. That’s the spirit. Now feed that grin some common sense and action until it bursts into cackles, then think of a tale or three, and write with the cyber punches.”

Yes, my brain is rather loquacious… and sagacious, too. I like her ways, and care to listen to her advice. So after a group of lowlifes stole my work from my about-to-become archive blog, I gave myself some quiet time to grief for the loss (and to rage in severely descriptive phrases), before I took action and continued to keep on keeping on.

This website is my first step towards moving forward. I’ve already created new short Fiction and Poetry pages; mostly, I transferred the links. I need to do something similar with the book pages, which remain at Pagan Culture. My about Me page, on the other hand, it’s quite the treat. Seriously, my Wicked Luvs; do read “i am Stories” and “i am Poetry”, if you have a minute or three. For my latest approach to a bio was a therapeutic blast to create. I suspect many of you might enjoy the living friskiness of the words.

All my new short fiction, poetry, bits of witchy living, writing, reading and publishing updates will be posted here… so do consider following by email *cough, cough, cough*. I plan to reread Pagan Culture from beginning to end, in order to create a categorized archive to keep here. I suspect the process might take me the rest of the year, perhaps longer—we’re speaking of almost 1,300 posts.

For as long as I’m conducting my Pagan Culture archival exploration, I shall publish a weekly notice (over at the other blog), informing anyone who is yet to visit/follow my new cyber-home that the Midnight Margaritas are now being brewed here.

Again, my Luvs: fly around, take a look at “i am Stories” and “i am Poetry”, follow via email, Bloglovin’… have a good time, and leave a comment or three to feed my wicked grin.

Rebirth, by Peace Simon

Rebirth, by Peace Simon

Calling on the Wild (hot coffee) Fumes of Coleridge

Five minutes and thirteen seconds; that’s how long I’ve given myself for this entry. I’ve never been able to embrace the wondrous art of “free writing”. I think too much, too often, too loudly… and I’m all right with that.

Are you wondering why I’m trying this exercise then? Well, I need a post in order to continue working on this new site. I must have some kind of template that will show me what things will look like on the blog.

I wonder if, once the final move is done, I will care for this spot as much as I do for my beloved Pagan Culture… I will. I know I must… even if I highly dislike the reasons behind the current moving rush. Those people should get something terrible between their toes; okay, not terrible… but, perhaps, something itchy that reminds them that it is terrible to take other people’s mind children.

The anger remains a tad raw. No one should be able to steal my thoughts and pretend they did my thinking. I wonder if my free writing skills will convey my meaning. I suppose I can’t think too hard about something that it’s to be done without considering the process at all, right?

Oops! my 13-second warning just buzzed. I guess five minutes don’t stick around for long when one free writes… freely.

While Gently Weeps, by Peca