L Becker – Page 5 – This is how the end shall be written….

Pandora and Eve

We find in science that it is the genetic markers in the female that are passed down, making the female progenitors of the human race the ones with the power. It makes one consider if early civilizations feared this power and thus the insurgence of a male dominate sky god bent on supplanting and dominating the earth goddess from which he emerged.

At the beginning of recorded history, of recorded myth and legend, God and Goddess stand united in their power and their being. Using myths for hundreds of cultures as a basis, the hypothesis would stand that humanity began with a Matricentric or egalitarian societies. Matricentric, being societies that were centered on the authority of females, rule and decisions were placed in the hands of women, as males were warriors, hunters and did not live as long, therefore the females of these societies were left to create their own rules and government. Egalitarian societies were more balanced, with power falling on both male and female elders equally. Based on the evolution of mythology one can see how this balance of belief is reflected in the gods and goddesses above. From the matricentric cultures we have the development of the Mother Goddess; the Earth from which all life is born. She is represented by Ki in Sumerian myth, Nertha of the Norse, Danu of the Celts, Kabau of the Akkadians and Gaea of the Greeks. From her was born the gods, Sun Gods who were at once sons and lovers, being born by her and then consumed. As humankind evolved into more egalitarian cultures we see the god become more consort than child, equal and still born of the earth. These representations of the earth honored that life came from the womb of women. It gave honor to both the female and the male, showing that neither was complete without the other. And then evolved the patriarchal societies, and the monotheistic.

In the first book of the Bible, Genesis, one can clearly see both an egalitarian and patriarchal creation story side by side. They were written centuries apart, the myth about Adam and Eve, was written prior to the creation of them both at the same time. God sees that it is not good for man to be alone and so creates him a help meet. He causes Adam to sleep and “the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto man.” (Genesis 2:22). Bringing Eve out of Adam and presenting her to him places her in a subservient position, the evidence of a patriarchal mentality. And in a more egalitarian version “And God created humans in his own image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27).

Further evidence of the shift to a patriarchal mentality is the domination of the Sun god over the goddess. Earth becomes subjugated, losing her power and potency, we see this in the evidence of Aphrodite, a reincarnation of the Goddess Ishtar who is fierce and unconquered, but in the Greek patriarchy she becomes a spoiled, haughty, flighty female without the substance of her former self.

Eve and Pandora, once creatrix goddess’ of their cultures, shrink into shadow, losing their power as they become subjects to the male superior societies in which they are surrounded. It is the fear of losing power, of becoming emasculated by the female deity, as seen with Cronos’ castration of his father Uranus at the urging of Gaea, the Earth Mother. It is this fear turns Eve, the womb of life to the “the lance of the demon”, “the road of iniquity” “the sting of the scorpion”, “a daughter of falsehood, the sentinel of Hell”, “the enemy of peace” and “of the wild beast, the most dangerous.” It turns Pandora into the bearer of all the gifts of man, from the holder of Hope, the cause of man’s pain and misfortune. She is the bane of man’s existence, born as punishment for knowledge and civilization.

In the middle ages, this was further advanced, to an almost hysteric level. The church elders draw upon scripture, urging submission and silence upon women, arguing that “Adam was first formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression”. It was Eve who was tempted so the early Fathers of the Church blamed her and all women thereafter responsible for sin and the Fall of man.

Woman and Man were created through science and through myth as one; their physical union is the creation of life and in our ancient past both were honored for their place in the catalyst of life and society. But through fear and aggression, ignorance and the need for power, the balance shifted and the union of Male and Female was lost. Even now, humanity struggles to find our balance, to shift the power from one hand to the other, and ideally into both, so that the scales are balanced once more.

Category: Misc Writing, Mythology, Philosophy & Religion, Writing Blog | Comments Off

January 2

Kitchen Table – A Short

John walked into the kitchen, turned to toss his keys onto the table and stared. He couldn’t help it. Lying there in the center of the table were his keys. The very same keys he held in his hand. He looked long at the keys on the table. They had the same bottle opener for a key ring. There was even the same 49er key his five year old niece had given him for his birthday. He looked down at the keys in his hand, rolled them in his fingers. They were real. He reached out with his other hand and touched the keys on the table. They chinked when he touched them. They too were real. He picked them up and held both sets, one in each hand and there was no way to tell them apart. He turned and carrying both key rings walked back to the front of the house, looking as he went. Everything looked as it should, and there his car sat where he had just parked it. Or did it? Had he ran part of the wheel onto the lawn? He searched his mind, he couldn’t remember if he had. He turned away from the window and looked around the living room. There was nothing different then there should have been.

He shrugged, his mind was playing tricks on him. So, he had found a set of keys like his own. That didn’t have to be that strange, did it? He returned to the kitchen, he was still thirsty. Everything inside of him went still, as there in the center of the table were his keys. His eyes slowly lowered to the keys in his hand. Two sets, yet there, staring at him, was a third. He felt everything grow still around him, even the house seemed to hold its breath as he made himself walk to the table. Reach out to take the keys again. They were real, heavy in his hand. He closed his eyes. Was he losing his mind? Was he perhaps asleep? He forced himself to walk out of the kitchen into the hall. Again his eyes swept the rooms spreading around him, his ears strained to hear. No one was there, no sound could be heard to alert him that someone was trying to play a prank on him. But they had to be, right?

He couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something was amiss. Even though everything else seemed as it should, it didn’t feel the same. Again he went to the window and looked at the car. It was still parked, tire partially on the lawn. There was the newspaper lying on the walk leading to the front door. Hadn’t he already picked that up before he had left the house? Hadn’t he? Dread crept into him now as he looked slowly around the living room. The TV was on. When had that happened? He specifically remembered turning it off when he left. But it was on, with no volume. On a channel he knew he would never watch. What was going on? He crossed the living room to the hall way that led to the back of the house.

“Becky?” He called out, but only silence, heavy and dull, greeted him.

He entered the bedroom he shared with his fiancé. The bed was made where he had left it unmade only that morning. The book on the nightstand was not the one that should have been there. It was Becky’s nighttime read, not his. He looked around the room.

“Becky?” He called again.

He turned and went out into the hall. Why did he feel so scared? These were such small things. Surely Becky had returned to the house during the day and made the bed. She had watched TV and just forgotten to turn it off when she left. That explained everything else, but what about the keys? He looked down at the three sets of keys he held in his hand, but now there was only one set.

He swallowed hard, looking down the long hallway to the kitchen where the light shone out. He had to know, he had to look. He stepped through the kitchen door way, looked at the table.

There in the center of the table lay his keys. Beneath them was a clipping from a newspaper. He stepped forward to read the word, ‘Obituary’, followed by HIS name.

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December 24

A Discussion of Heroes

Heroes? You want to talk about heroes? Ok, do I just get to list one? If that’s the case I do NOT have the ability to decide on which one. Should I list them by genre, era, media? Seriously, I LOVE heroes and have tons of them. OK, let’s do this in a somewhat organized manner:

REAL Heroes (meaning they are flesh and blood, breathing, currently alive heroes):
Nora Roberts – Love her work, though currently her stuff has been a little cookie cutter
Patricia Cornwall – Seriously, her medical thrillers are amazing
Sylvester Stallone – This guy has an amazing work ethic, is a good father and has some amazing talents, he paints, he writes, he directs, he acts…..And anyone who can create an Action Feast like Expendables gets a hero nod from me. Seriously, he’s got CHUCK NORRIS in Expendables II!!!

Real Heroes (Meaning they used to be alive, flesh and blood heroes):
Christopher “Kit” Carson – seriously makes Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett look like pansies
Audie Murphy – 5’6″ and kicked major butt in World War II, got turned away from every Military Division but still didn’t give up until the Army finally enlisted him, was wounded, multiple times, saved his friends and fellow soldiers countless times, received every medal of honor our government can bestow, AND when he came back advocated and fought for soldiers to receive care for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Robert Louis Stevenson – a little bit of a cad, but his work inspired me
Errol Flynn – until I learned more about the man outside of the movies
John Wayne – Who doesn’t love the Duke?
Katherine Hepburn – Never played the damsel in distress, always presented an intelligent, strong and savvy woman, way ahead of her time
The list could go on but I will stop myself here and move to the next category.

Fictional or legendary heroes:
Apollo
Anubis
Ankou
Sir Galahad
Sir Gawain
Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe
Robin Hood
Zorro – Who makes the sign of the Z (I am giving away my age and singing the theme song right now)
Batman – because he doesn’t have any super powers and he still kicks butt!
Gambit from Xmen
And on and on and on.

Ok, so I have tons of heroes, maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to be polytheistic, but I have heroes for every aspect of life. Heroes are essential as guidelines of how we should be as people. Their actions and stories lend us strength to do the right thing no matter the cost or the odds against us. We need heroes, the same way the peoples of Ancient Greece needed their gods. Heroes reflect what the human being can achieve if they rise above doubts, fears and weakness. They are who we all want to be.

I totally agree that heroes do not necessarily have to be larger than life, but their purpose is to show and guide us to be more than we are, to be better and stronger than we could ever imagine we can be. That is why many of us have heroes that are personal, not known by anyone other than ourselves. Because they are the ones that enable us to do more, achieve more. They are our heroes because they make us be who we want to be.

Heroes, not just the iconic, larger than life, fictional or spiritual heroes, but the down to earth, everyday people who somehow manage to rise above the chaos and stand out from the crowd, are essential to the fabric of human existence. By our very definition we are creatures of the herd, milling about, reacting only when there is something to react to. I think in our deepest core we do not believe that we have the capability to do more than be born, work, procreate and die. It’s part of our physical nature, but there is more the human animal than just the physical, evolved behavior. We have thoughts, and souls and we want, in our deepest core, to be more than we are. To somehow matter. We are all part of the herd, but every single one of us wants to rise above the crowd and be noticed as something unique. That is the purpose of the hero, whether fiction or fact. They show us, that no matter what, there is more to us as individuals and as a species. They show us that against all odds the good in humanity can triumph. It may be fiction or religious stories that inspire us, but their purpose has been service. To inspire. A culture without heroes has either reached its zenith of spiritual evolution or has simply given up.

It is almost essential that a good hero have weakness’. If they did not, then all of their “grand” accomplishments would mean very little. If they didn’t have to struggle to overcome obstacles they wouldn’t be heroes, they would just be very lucky. The weakness’ of our heroes helps us to relate to them, helps us realize that even we can accomplish great things, that we can overcome our own weakness’ and short comings to be the person we want to be. Without weakness’ there would be no human connection between heroes and the people who admire them. It is the triumph over the adversity that makes them heroic not the final result, it is the battle over themselves and their surroundings. The fact that they will keep going regardless of the Kryptonite is what makes them a real hero.

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December 18

Odysseus Vs the Cyclops

But my return was not to be as speedy as I had hoped. I was waylaid along my journey, met with dangers and frustrations and now, I feared I might never return home. We had been at sea for some time when we came upon the island of the Cyclops, it was a bountiful land, blessed by the gods and its inhabitants lived in a state of ease with no need to till the land or build ships to set out in trade. Everything they needed was provided for them by the earth and wanting to gather some of that bounty to replenish the stores in my fleet, I took a small party and ventured in land to seek out the inhabitants there and partake in their hospitality. We came upon a hillside in which a series of caves opened like yawning mouths and soon realized that the islands inhabitants made their homes inside the mountain. Into one of these we ventured to find that its inhabitant was out for the day. I decided to wait for our host and while we waited we made merry over fresh cheese and milk from his stores. The day passed and as evening fell we heard the approach of our host. First entered into the cave a flock of wooly sheep and we stepped forward to present ourselves to our host, but our words of greeting died before terror. The creature who entered was man in shape, but monstrous in size with a single eye in the center of its forehead where it should have had two. Overcome by a sense of dread we shrank back into the shadows, hiding, and I realized I had made a horrible mistake in coming there. We hid back into the shadows, planning to slip out of the door when his back was turned, but the moment the last of the sheep had entered he sealed up the entrance to the cave with a giant boulder, so large that I knew we would not be able to open it.

I did not know what to do; we were trapped with a monster and had no choice but to hide. But our hiding place was quickly discovered as the creature stirred up the flames of his hearth and the cave was filled with golden light. We were discovered and the monster turned on us with a roar. We froze and the monster spoke, his voice a roar that made the cavern walls shake.

“Who are you and what brings you here? Are you pirates?”

My men cowered back in fear, while my own heart shook, but I spoke though I was sure my voice trembled with my heart. “We are come from the fields of Troy. We are but travelers heading home and seek your hospitality as the gods see fit.”

He laughed at my words. “I do not serve the gods that you serve; I will offer you no hospitality but this!”

And as he spoke he lunged forward, grabbing two of my companions and before any of us could try to stop him or defend them, he smashed them to the ground, crushing them so that blood and brain spattered the floor in a dreadful hot shower. We cried out in anguish and rage, while he stuffed his mouth with the flesh of our companions. He laughed while blood ran down his chin, then left us to our fear and soon sat back in repose. My anger burned inside of me. I would have run him through, but I knew the blade of my sword would be nothing but a pin prick to a monster of his size. So through the long night we waited, planned and plotted and by morning we still had no plan on what we should do. As morning dawned the monster wakened, and grabbing two more of my friends devoured them for breakfast. The cavern was filled with our cries and grind and crunch of men’s bones. He left us then, once he had eaten his fill of human flesh and sealing us up inside left to take his flocks to field.

That whole long day we tried to move the boulder or find another way out, but we were trapped and could do nothing more than wait for the monster and what cruel fate lay in store. Even came and with it the monster and his flock, I tried to plead with him and then to bribe him with a succulent wine we carried to spare our lives. But he drank our wine and still killed more of my men. But the wine sent him into a deep sleep and while he slept we devised a plan. Using a staff of wood we found, we crept through the shadowy cavern to where the monster slept. Then, with the help of those who still remained, I plunged the end of the staff into the monsters eye, gouging out the orb, destroying the flesh while the monster howled in rage. It thrashed in torment, flinging us wide and we scattered to hide while it lurched and stumbled around the cave, shouting and screaming in pain. Blinded it could not see us and so we spent the night unmolested and prepared for the next step of my plan.

Morning at last came and with it our chance for escape. While the monster felt its way over to the boulder that sealed the door, we quickly strapped ourselves to the underside of the wooly sheep that milled about the cavern. They were large and their wool thick, hiding us from him. Though he could not see, he positioned himself before the cavern entrance and when the boulder was removed, he felt along the back and sides of each sheep as it passed between his legs. But one by one we slipped out unseen, hidden beneath the bellies of his sheep and we were freed into the fresh air of the morning. I was the last to leave, I waited until I knew my men were safe and only then did I crawl beneath the belly of his price ram, and clinging to the dark wool, face pressed against it, I let it carry me outside, while above me the Cyclops searched and cursed because he could not find us.

I mourned the loss of my men, but praised Zeus I had escaped. Once we reached the fields in which the sheep were want to graze we climbed out from beneath them and raced back to our ship, praying to never see a Cyclops again.

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December 12

Fiona – A Short

By firelight she danced, moving like the flames, hips undulating. Her hair unbound fell like a fire around her. He could not look away from her.

She knew he watched, unaware of what he truly was, yet drawn to him because of his power. She danced for him, only and made him need her in spite of himself. Long after the flames were spent he found her, came to her in darkness to take her. She was waiting for him.

“I had hoped you would come.” It unnerved him, there was nothing meek and mild about this priestess of Athena.

“You do not know what I am.”

No, she did not know, but she knew he had power, knew she wanted to share that. She knew to he had been alone for years, not realizing it had been for centuries. Fiona spoke to that loneliness to get what she desired.

“I know you want me, but it is not just my body you desire.”

“What do you know of that?”

“Let me ease your solitude.”

He took her, but did not ease his hunger with her blood. He shared her body and came to love her. He did not admit why he needed her so, unable to admit it was her resemblance to his long dead love, Deirdre. A love he had killed with his thirst. He loved her to right all he had done wrong. That blinded him to the coldness that lay behind her eyes. He loved her to his undoing.

He only came to her by moonlight, that was his curse, to never see her by day. When he left her it was just before dawn and she followed him back to the hidden place he slept by day. She followed him, watched the slumber that stilled his breath, the coldness of death creeping back into him. She followed him when he left her, saw him feed, drinking human blood. And she knew that where his power lay.

She made him confess all he was by promising to love him and be with him forever. Made him believe she loved him as much as he loved her.

She seduced him, though she made him think he had seduced her. And in darkness one night he changed her. It frightened her as he took her blood, the pain, the viciousness. It hurt as fang pierced flesh, as he drained her blood. It made her limp and helpless in his arms. She was repulsed by the blood she had to drink, his blood. But she wanted his power and knew this was the only way. He held her gently as she changed, brought her the first taste of human flesh, the tender flesh of a child. She found she craved the blood, found she enjoyed taking life. Enjoyed the fear she could invoke, the power she now had over others. She was more savage than he. Draca watched in horror this monster he had created, who would betray him.

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November 21

Darkness – A Poem

It whispers in like something gray

Somehow alive in the absence of the light

It runs across your skin

Reminding you

That you are at its mercy

No longer safe

It can surround you like an embrace

And if you aren’t careful

It can find its way inside

To pollute, to distort, to whither

Inside of your heart

It will sneak inside, slither in

Like mist and smoke, curling down

And inside to your heart

Gently at first, until it begins

To squeeze

Tighter and tighter until it penetrates

Penetrates everything until nothing remains

But the deep cold of darkness.

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November 18

Evolution vs Creationism

Evolution

I was raised in a Creationist family, meaning the concept of evolution and humans evolving from primates was considered not only ludicrous but in my family blasphemous. Because my parents believed so strongly in the Creationist theory, they did not send us to public school and instead chose to teach us themselves. Let’s just say much of my education was sorely lacking. The concept of evolution and even that of dinosaurs was explained away in this manner:

Scientists found large, random bones of deceased animals and just pieced them together how they saw fit to make bizarre animals and thus prove their theories and that the planet was only six or so thousand years old, as detailed out by the history in the Bible. Yes, the Bible was fact in my family and science was the fairytale. Humans did not evolve from apes, and the proof was that there were no half human half apes walking out of the forest, therefore evolution was fiction, just made up by sinners who wanted to denounce God made everything as described in Genesis. Another favorite thing for my mother to pull out to prove that God was the creator of all things in their current forms was to say that on Darwin’s deathbed he denounced his theory of evolution, repented and accepted Christ into his heart.

Now, with that as my early education, you can understand why I chose to take this class. I am not one to argue with fact, with the detailed, meticulous and long years scientists have devoted to discovering the history of the planet on which we stand. This does not change my belief in God, or in the belief that He did indeed create everything. It only further astounds me at the complex perfection of His Creation. That the balance required to create life is so perfect and that evolution is a complex and delicate process that takes thousands of generations to bring the human race to where it is today.

Environment leading to Evolution

On Page 206 of Essentials of Physical Anthropology by Clark Spencer Larsen the text describes how the Fayum region of Northeast Africa as being a lush and tropical location much like Southeast Asia is today. An environment prime for the growth and evolution of many primitive primate species, most notably some higher primate species, the oligopithecids, parapithecids and propliopithecids. Anthropologists have found a large amount of the Oligocene primate fossils concentrated in this area, which in our modern world is a harsh and arid desert, devoid of the life it once hosted. The environment is a key ingredient to encouraging the evolution or extinction of any species, those most able to adapt, survive and pass on their genes, furthering the survival of any particular mutation, thus leading to evolution. Animals that once existed in the Fayum region are now extinct, because the environment shifted, becoming what it is today. This of course raises the question of what the face of the planet will look like in a few thousand years, will the desert of the Fayum once more be the lush tropics it was, or will it become something even more different? Kind of makes one wish for HG Wells’ time machine.

Comment

Like Lorena stated the Adapid and the Omomyids were the first true Euprimates. These creatures thrived due to the rapid temperature increase of a significant period of Global Warming that changed the face of the world. It gave rise to tropical environments all over the world which in turn changed the form of foods available for animals to consume. Therefore animals with more attributes suited to this new environment thrived and gave rise to the modern appearing primates and caused the extinction of the less well adapted plesiadapiforms. In a world with more tropical environments, the Euprimates were more adequately suited with their grasping hands and feet, were able to become more arboreal, there was also an expansion in the brain size and the eye orbits as well.

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November 14

How the ShadowGate was Born

The other day I was asked if I had always liked Angels. It’s a valid question considering I’m working on book three in a series about mostly angels, demons, heaven, God and questions of faith and duty. My response was no, that I like Angels, but they weren’t something that has always appealed to me. In fact the ShadowGate series didn’t come about because of angels, at least not completely. Its creation in its current form can actually be attributed to demons. But even that is not the full beginning. I guess I should, for posterity, explain where this all started.

Once upon a time, in what feels like a lifetime ago, I was a 22 year old married woman. There was this song by Alan Jackson (When Somebody Loves you) that really struck me. It was all about true love, not just between a man and woman, but what happens when someone loves. Somehow it struck something inside of me. I wrote a story that showed the depth of love, being lost and then redeemed by that love. What came from that was a short story about an angel named Gideon who obeyed without question and was betrayed by another angel who was jealous of him. He was tricked into believing that he had sinned and he allowed himself to be drug into hell where the Devil tormented him, blinded him and worse, was the loss of God’s love. In that moment was born a fascination for angels. Not because of their power, but because of their blind faith. They were created without free will. Created with no choice but to love and obey a God who may or may not love them in return. I wrote ‘Fallen Angel’ in six days, a reflection of myself I wasn’t even fully aware of at that time. (Download a copy of Fallen Angel) Two months later I was facing separation from my husband that led to a divorce. Gideon and the plight of the ever obedient angel, the celestial slave was set aside.

Fast forward 10 years to 2011. I had an idea for a story called Angel’s Gate. This was my original story idea:

“Church sheltering angels as they do their divine work on earth. Micah is an angel of death and treated like a lesser being by the humans in comparison to his angel companions who are angels of life and good. He begins to think humans are beyond help since he spends his time taking the lives of those in the worst parts of town. He sees murder, rape, starvation, drug over doses. All the worst in humans. He doesn’t see the good, feel the good and the darkness starts to invade him as well. Then he meets this child a young girl who is left in the care of the church. She does not treat him with fear, she does not know he is the angel of death, but thinks him a nice man. They talk and he sees there is innocence and good still in the world. Then he is given the vision of her death at the hands of a child molester/serial killer and instead of accepting this is her fate, he stands against her death and becomes her guardian as well. God is pleased that he has finally learned to love the humans, to care what happens to them, and not just do his job. But to be a part of the world with them.”

I started writing the original draft of Angel’s Gate in November 2011 for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). The story came to life and in the end was NOTHING like the above idea, aside from that it was about angels serving here on earth. It was about blind obedience and sacrifice. I finished it in 30 days, finishing just at the end of November 30^th. I was happy with it, but it was different from everything I had written before, there was a shadow to this story, a touch of grief. A reflection on my life at that time. I finished it, set it aside and thought no more of it. A few years later I toyed with the idea of writing a sequel to it, about one of the secondary characters, Samuel, a Guardian Angel. Nothing came of this and nothing came of the original inspiration either. Life got in the way and I forgot all about angels and demons had yet to sneak into my imagination. Instead I wrote about Zombies, the end of days & Armageddon in many forms. I wrote some intricate fantasies and Angel’s Gate was forgotten.

In 2016 my life as I knew it came to an end. Everything I knew was stripped away and I went away for almost an entire year. (It’s a long story and one day I’ll tell you all about it.) During that year it was as if I had rediscovered my writing. I wrote two books, neither about angels, both contemporary action stories, thrillers with lots of gunfire. But they sparked my passion and love for writing. I was introduced to the works and words of some amazing writers; JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and many, MANY others. I read voraciously, wrote obsessively and met a demon. His name was Dance. And he wasn’t evil. Suddenly I began to think of what it was to be a demon, born of darkness, having no choice of fate or destiny, branded evil for nothing more than being a demon. This demon Dance was hunted like the rest of his kind and I was introduced to the Keepers of the Faith. These religious zealots had made it their life’s mission to destroy all demons. They knew nothing about demons, only that they were formed of darkness.

The more I learned of Dance’s world, the more I discovered an entire universe filled with not only Demons but angels, who looked down upon demons, because they were born of the darkness. I met Errant, Dance’s grandfather and guardian. And through Errant I met the first of all angels, Talis and Lucifer. From them I learned about heaven, discovered the Gate and realized that all of this was the continuation of the story I had written almost five years before.

Like one possessed I crafted this world, but it wasn’t like I was the one creating, more that I was discovering a world that had existed and was just waiting for me. The next thing I knew I was writing the sequel to Angel’s Gate, Guardian Angel and expanding a world into something I had never imagined. January 1, 2017 I began Guardian Angel, in a place without access to my notes or original draft and Samuel became Gideon. My heroine, Casey, became AG (for Angel’s Gate heroine, because I couldn’t remember her name for the life of me) and the name stuck. This incarnation was stronger and Casey no longer fit. I wrote the first draft of Guardian Angel in 34 days. 136K words in a little over a month. I wrote as if I was transcribing a story already written. I’ve never written a book with more ease. It was all there. The world grew and what started with a 4K word short story in 2011 and was re-inspired by a Daemos teenager became the beginning of the ShadowGate series.

When I returned home in April 2017 I immediately pulled Angel’s Gate out of mothballs and rewrote it. It took me a little over a year to do the complete rewrite. Now I am doing the final polish as I work on the cover art and setting up a publication schedule for it.

Guardian Angel is scheduled to start the editing/drafting process early next year while I currently am typing away like a fiend on book three Angel Child. I’m exciting to see what happens as Angel Child has hit the halfway mark and is heading toward the last leg of the first draft.

However, the thing I am really REALLY excited about it book 4, Sanctuary. In this story I will finally be tackling the original story idea for Angel’s Gate, about Micah, a Guardian Angel here on earth that is beginning to lose his faith. I’m excited to hear his story and VERY excited to share it with you.

So there you have it, the story of how I came up with the ShadowGate series, where it all began. One day I’ll share my ‘Bible’ with you, the book with all my notes, all my plots and all my character profiles.

Until then,

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November 7

When the Story Just Flows

Some books seem to take forever to write. Months of prep, months of getting to know each character, of figuring out or discovering what comes next. They become the most intimate relationship in your life. And then there are those books that seem to simply come to life, fully written in your mind. Your fingers can barely keep up on the keyboard as you watch the story unfold. As if you are simply transcribing something that has already been written before. Each character is a fully developed, living and breathing entity and you rush to capture their every word. The writing of these books is simply magic, almost effortless on your part.

I say ‘almost’ because there is still work. Countless hours in front of the keyboard in just a short span of days versus the usual months of hunt and peck I usually do. More, your mind becomes filled with this one story, there is no room for anything else. You think of it when you’re walking your dog, when you’re in the shower, when you’re having lunch. You think of it at work, while grocery shopping and even when you’re sound asleep. You walk around with random conversations in your head with people who only exist in that magical realm of your imagination. You fix plot holes while making dinner, all the while reveling on this high of pure creation.

This my friends is not what writing is normally like. Normally it’s sitting in front of the computer screen and trying to string words together that stopped sounding right within seconds of opening the document. It’s chaining yourself to the desk day to day to day. It’s WORK. Work I absolutely love. And then, THEN there are these books that just flow and make all those hours of pounding your head against the wall that stands between you and inspiration worth it. Like I said before, this doesn’t happen often. I’ve been writing and for 33 years and it’s only happened 3 other times. It’s happening again and I’m loving every minute of it.

This book is just flowing, fast and pure and GOOD. I’m happy with almost every sentence I’ve written. Everything seems to make sense. It almost doesn’t feel like I’m doing this, but I am. It’s a magic book and I’m having a blast.

Well, until next time,

Category: Misc Writing, Writing Blog | Comments Off

October 30

The Note – A Short

It came in the mail. It came with the bills and junk that came every day. It didn’t stand out as anything too unique, just a rumpled manila envelope with a funny bulge in one end. John grabbed it and everything else with it out of the mail box, shoved it and everything else into the side pocket of his laptop case and headed into the house, more concerned over the text message he had just received then the mail crumbled into his bag. His current flavor was demanding more intimacy and the one he was ready to go after was more interested in his friend then him. So he tossed the mail onto the kitchen counter by the sink and left it there. And there it stayed a mangled mass of print ads and bills while he cajoled the woman he wanted and broke up with the woman he no longer did. For three days it sat there in an ever growing pile of mail, forgotten. Only boredom and a spilled beer saved it from being ignored for too long. His elbow caught the bottle and it toppled over sending a stream of liquid into the nest of forgotten mail. Panic flooded him as was natural and cursing he scooped the beer and much of the liquid into the sink, then began picking his way through the sodden mass. The junk mail he discarded, the bills he frowned at and set aside to dry and the package, dirty, manila and now wet with beer stared at him. His name and address had been scrawled across it with a black marker, but there was no return address and the handwriting he did not recognize. Curiosity had him picking up the package and feeling it with his fingers. It was thin, with a soft bulge at the end. He slipped a finger beneath the flap and ripped it open. He pulled out the single sheet of paper then, turned the envelope over to dump the rest of the contents into this hand. For a moment he just stared blankly at the eye patch, a leather eye patch that any pirate could be seen wearing in any movie. He turned it over, saw initials stitched into it, his initials. Still confused he looked down at the note and read it.

John,

You won’t understand, you won’t believe, but you must. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. This was once yours. Put it on and try to remember me.

Victoria

He turned the note over, but that was it, there was nothing else written on it. Ordinarily he might have just thrown the whole thing away. But there was something vaguely familiar about that patch. He hesitated for a moment, then put the patch over his left eye. Nothing happened and he stood there, feeling the fool. What did he expect?

John.

He turned, heart suddenly in his throat and there she stood, her face pale, transparent.

I’ve waited for you.

He ripped the eye patch away, but she was still there, wavering like a mist just out of reach. “Who..?”

Remember me, John. She reached out and her hands seemed to pass right through him, right into him and it was a cold, very cold. Remember me.

He felt the rise and fall of a deck beneath his feet, felt the wind harsh against his face and smelled the salt brine that was tossed high with the spray.

Remember me.

He remembered this; somehow he remembered this in the depths of his soul. But he did not remember her. She came closer and he saw tears, spectral tears in see through eyes.

Remember me.

Again the surge of deck, the creak of rope and rigging and then into his vision it all came, the memories of the life that had once been his and the woman he had once loved. She stood before him, wavering like the memory, but more tangible. She lifted her face to his, lifted hands to cup his cheeks and though they were cold, her lips were warm when she kissed him.

Remember me.

He remembered her…

Category: Fiction, Writing Blog | 2 Comments