My soul is reoccurring
Reborn every winter after death
New body, new depth, new life
Perennial I roam
Perennial I Roam
Book Event
We were joined by a big group to discuss This Thing Between Us by Gus Moreno with the Oxford Exchange Book Club today!! With the book being left up to interpretation, it was really cool getting to hear everyone’s different opinions on how they thought the book truly ended.
The beginning was interestingly in different taste for everyone. For myself, I loved how real the grief was at the beginning. I loved all the different aspects visited when it came to grief in the physical world and when it came to outsiders of the person who had died’s life. It sounded like everyone agreed, but because it was so real and so well done, some did not like the beginning because it hit too close to home and they did not want to be reminded of all the realness that compacts grief.
Another great discussion this book brought up was what happens after death! So many in the group believe that nothing happens after death. I was surprised by this since I have a hard time comprehending nothing happening. But many others believe in energy, in afterlife, in rebirth, and even in conjoining souls. It was cool to hear the concept of energies from the people in the group and how to some the author using ‘you’ throughout the entire book showed that his wife’s spirit was still active. Also, that if we thought about the book in an energy-given aspect how a certain kind of bad energy could have possessed him.
What was really fun about this discussion was getting to go down the different roads of interpretation. We went down the road of an entity, of energies, and even of self-possession of a mind going mad with grief and anger. I liked the clues someone pointed out about the cook and how he had to have been not physically real since he was off the beaten path so to speak. I loved how everyone had assumed this book was going to be a tech horror that turned into something vastly different. It was cool how many people loved the mother-in-law and son-in-law dynamic because it was so “weird” and different which made it cool. It was also really cool to learn how the most random things stick out the most for many people when it comes to horror books.
This book definitely brought many great conversations and topics to the table. I would recommend it for a discussion group. It was so great to have such a big group today with so many people with different backgrounds and demographics to hear all their thoughts on the afterlife, on possession, and on grieving in general.
Book Event
Tonight I got to listen to a new author for me during an event with Collected Works Bookstore & Coffeehouse as they interviewed Heather M. Herrman for her book launch of The Corpse Queen. It was an interesting interview and I enjoyed hearing Herrman’s journey in writing The Corpse Queen.
One of my favorite parts of writing as an unpublished author is all the research, and I love to hear other authors say that it is also their favorite part. Apparently Herrman had to do a lot of research for this book since she wrote this book not knowing the jobs or the places that she was writing about. It makes me very curious to see later how she pulled all her research into her story and if she was able to make it believable. I am also very very interested to read about grave-robbers since from the interview it sounded like a portion of the book will be centered around some historical facts about grave-robbing.
They also talked about characters in general. Herrman stated that her main character Molly was one that she always pictured being the main character, but who kept blocking her from really getting to know her as a character in the writing process. I thought that was very interesting, relatable, and may even show how stubborn Molly is in the heart of her character. Herrman also had said that many of her characters ended up taking different paths than she had expected, which is something I have heard many authors go through. The interviewer also brought up the fact that one of Herrman’s bad guys was a very great character because they were not just bad to be bad but had motive. Those are my favorite types of characters, so I found that to be such a great compliment to Herrman!
From the thoughts and discussions about editing, it sounds like it is always a bitter sweet gift for published authors when they have professional editors to give them an expert’s advice on making their books closer to perfect. Authors discussing parts of their editing process always calms my nerves and I appreciate hearing how much a manuscript can change. Herrman apparently had to change a decent part of her manuscript because she had a lot of focus on Molly and what had happened to her before the story, but the editors wanted her to focus more on the grave-robbing and autonomy aspects of the story. I cannot wait to see if, for myself as a reader, focusing on those aspects more so in the story works to draw me in more.
I loved hearing Heather M. Herrman’s passion when it came to death and how beautiful it is to her. She made very great points that death should be honored and that it is just a way of life. She was stating that at a time death was more talkable and approachable in a sense, but that now it feels untouchable and uncomfortable to talk or think about with many people. She said that her book is definitely scary and about death, but that it is focused more on life and living to claim your life. To Herrman horror is hopeful. She says she wants to find the meaning of life, what makes humans tick, and wants to get the point across that a body is just a body. There is more to death than sadness and a beauty to the spirit.
The interviewer ended the interview with a cute game of Would You Rather with Heather M. Herrman about her book. It is always interesting to hear an interview like this one tonight and how the writing process was for the author. After hearing all of this I am excited to see how it all came together. I can’t wait to read it!
To Mend a Broken Heart after Grief
To mend a broken heart after grief
Is to stitch it full of scars
Never beating the same
Never loving the same
But always hurting the same
When memories turn to shards
Death of a Family Member
I missed the event I was planning on attending this last Thursday because we were at the visitation of a beloved family member who passed away this last Sunday due to Covid. To tell you Covid is scary is just yelling out into a loud screaming wind. These last few weeks were hell for us along with the nurses and doctors working on my 50 year old father-in-law’s case. The fear, confusion, and sadness are things that I wish no one had to experience in all of this.
This was my father-in-law, Patrick Michaels. He was unconditional love. He was an amazing grandpa, father, brother, cousin, and so many other titles that he always ended up rocking. We loved him dearly and he loved us so much that he fought for his kids and grandkids harder than many of the nurses had seen anyone fight up until his very last breath. Seeing him fight a battle that could not be won was just so devastating. I will honor him and love him forever, but wish that we could have done it while making many more memories.
I am blogging this to honor what a hero you were and always have been. You have raised some amazing children who you live on in. You have created a legacy. I don’t know how many ways you have saved your two sons and daughter spiritually, but I do know that it was enough to build them into the amazing people they are today. Just know that each of your grandkids and their kids will always have a piece of you. You will live on forever in all of our souls and even the ones after. Your love is a love that will stretch generations to come. And your heart is one we will miss the most.
From a Vulnerable Place
This week has been a very vulnerable week, as I write this from a different state about to attend a funeral. From the recent death, all the rejections I’ve gotten so far, and dipping my toes into a past that threatens to drown me, I would say that it has been challenging mentally. I tried to find a poem I have done in the past this morning before having to get ready that didn’t sting and burn to the touch of a thought, but the only one I found was one that I thought fits well to the day I had yesterday.
Resentment inhabits me from so long ago.
Alone. My family’s eyes boring into me.
Always the outcast.
No one by my side.
I never want the same for you.
Everlasting Rest
Everlasting Rest
She’s weak, she’s tired.
There’s nothing no more.
She’s helpless and lost,
once called a whore.
She eats, she pukes,
no more her best.
She’s dying, she’s slipping,
everlasting rest.
Had to return to the sad stuff from the past today, especially since last night was an extra hard night for me. But the good thing to come out of the sad past is looking at it and realizing how far you have come and that you had made it even when you had thought that you wouldn’t. So if you ever think that you can’t make it now or if you have a relapse, you can remember what you had made it through before and know that you have it in you to do it again.
(Three Poems) Crazy What We Can Pull Through
I’m going to do three poems today from my past. Not the worst ones. There are some that I am a little hesitant to share, but maybe I will get to them one day. I have just so many journals full of them. I want to get them all out there, but I’m not a fan of letting anyone into my past and seeing my dark side. I’m talking my really really dark. But I feel like people should know that no matter how dark you may be or have gone, that you can pick yourself back up. Some of my horribly terrifying poems I have written shock me at how messed up I really was. I look at myself now and I feel so much stronger, better, and happier. I remember not too long ago when I thought that I would never be able to make it out of a certain something. I could see no light at the end of the tunnel, but I did it. I conquered something that I never thought would be possible, and doing that has made me realize that there are so many things that I can do and accomplish that I don’t even know about yet. It has made my marriage stronger, it has made me desire more to better myself, and it has helped me help people close to me and I’m hoping one day people who don’t even know me.
When Are You Theirs?
They keep coming and coming,
visions black with fear.
Eyes start blurring
from straining them to clear.
They won’t go away,
small glimpses of hell.
Killing, sex, and burning,
people dying out.
They keep on taunting,
never going away.
With nothing left worth seeing,
our imagination it plays.
Words they keep on coming,
silent as the grave.
All filled with lust and torture,
raping another’s game.
They just keep on stalking.
People, they want to sleep.
Kids while they’re playing.
Pets while they eat.
They just sit and watch at sin,
of sex, guilt, and play,
of lust, envy, and anger,
anything that’s lame.
While we’re all lame inside,
can’t move. Can’t think.
Can’t swim. Can’t flush out evil.
Can’t work. Can’t sleep.
We have things go in our heads.
Are they real? Are they true?
Is it when they control,
or end up marking you?
Marking you with scratches
from their icy fingers that burn.
With eyes that slice like knives.
With memories that yearn.
Is it when they make you suffer?
Is it when they make you play?
While making you have sex?
No control left to escape.
Leaving, It’s up to them.
To make fear rule.
As you keep on having visions,
while the demons take with you.
(When Are You Theirs was when I was having hallucinations when I was in late middle school and early high school, which I’m pretty sure were caused by a mix of medications I was taking. I won’t go into what the hallucinations were of course. Also, just so it is known, I am only now just naming some of these poems so it is easier to separate them and find out their meaning. In my journals they have no names. The poem below this I won’t name.)
Life is done.
Death is near.
We all hear panic.
We all see fear.
We close our eyes
to block out the pain.
The darkness has taken,
the light from the day.
She runs to hide.
Hide herself from strife.
He comes for her.
Comes to take her life.
He grabs her now,
rape in his mind.
His face all darkness.
His eyes not kind.
His hands all cold.
He holds the knife
and thrusts it home.
Her end in sight.
It strikes her heart.
She holds her breath.
Blood in her mouth.
Blood on her breast.
Her face turns pale.
She sheds one last tear.
Blood in her eyes, she swallows
the last of her fears.
(A poem with a mixture of elements I was obsessed with and that were going on at the time.)
Please
I’m lost, lonely,
frustrated, scared.
Worried, confused,
trapped, and bare.
My thoughts are running.
I’m drifting away.
I’ll never know if
I’ll see another day.
Everyone reads me
when I want to stay closed.
Waiting to seize me.
Me not wanting to go.
Waiting forever
for someone who’s real.
Not leaving me helpless
and making me feel.
Being numb and cold
not feeling a thing
makes you …. want to
only just dream.
Because while everything’s moving
as fast as it goes.
It calls into question
how far we will go.
Will we go on forever?
Are you and me real?
Or am I just sitting alone
waiting to feel?
Feel someone with me.
Someone against my skin.
Someone to love me
and let me in.
Someone to work with.
Someone to hold.
Please tell me you are out there.
And where I should go.
I’m done with being confused,
lonely, and scared.
I’m in desperate need to find you.
I need you here.
(Another one from my past, but sometimes I find some mistakes and/or I add on and finish up some poems from my past. Which is what I did for this one. It is great to see more clearly now. Not as clear as I would want to, of course, but clearer than when I was younger. Just have to keep sifting through our minds and figuring things out until life is precious to us again. Diving into these poems in my past feels like greeting and getting to re-know the past me. Sometimes it is dark and scary, but it helps to know that I did and have pulled through, and if I ever get encountered by darkness as black and vivid as what I have encountered in the past, that it is more than possible to pull through it again. :))
Clenched Death
Life,
death.
Everything covers her.
She wants them both.
The growing need
it pushes her,
to do something
that most won’t.
She holds her death in one hand.
Seven pills in a fist.
It is funny that that is God’s number,
for he will be seeing her
after this.
Another poem from my past.
Regaining Lost Aspects: Mind and Soul 