imagination

The Edges of the Rain

Some thoughts on current events in the world, I don’t know how other people deal with trauma, cope with reality, with being in the world. The doors to madness are too much reality, and not enough of it. The doors into madness are laced with too much philosophical contemplation about existence, not enough letting one’s self be. What that means is, each of us is finding our own way. I hope we can all do that with as much decency and kindness as possible.

Work continues on the sequel to The Slick Furies. It’s slower going than previous writes as I am plucking all the good bits from other beginnings of this novel. This book has a different tone, historical, a different degree of seriousness. Certainly there will be humor. I’m not in a rush with this write, it’s important to me to get my vision of this book, this story, onto the page as I’ve imagined it. As with any sequel, building on the first book’s history, characters, some of the emotional bonds are deeper. I feel like, think, The Slick Furies really had a sense of connection between the main characters. It’s important to me to make sure that carries on, that I capture that with this second book as well, though some of the dynamics have changed, and that’s what keeps stories like this interesting. These characters aren’t stagnate, they’ve been affected by the events of the story of their lives.

I’m about to begin proofreading, making corrections to, “The Edges of the Rain.” This is one of the novellas I wrote in 2011, rewrote earlier this year. It was easy to write, I wrote the original draft in two weeks. It was tougher after the fact when I read it and realized what I’d written. I’m hoping to release it this fall. This book is a psychological thriller, a nightmare of greed, a horror story of human nature, and all the ways we compartmentalize ourselves. I’m ready to get to publishing it, to be moving on to other things. So, there will be updates on this book as things progress.

 

Those two books should keep me busy for the remainder of the year. I haven’t been able to really write for a few days after crashing my bicycle, one of my better spills, jammed both wrists/hands, one side of my body is dinged up. It hurts to ride. It’s always something. I get up limping every day as is. But, if I give in to all the hurts and park it on the sofa indefinitely, then I’m done. So I do what I feel like I can, as I can. Living with the arthritis for as long as I have, it’s a balancing act of rest and motion, when possible. The last few days, not so much doing. I say that not in complaint, but as statement of fact and appreciation for those things I can do when I can do them. Something I’ve learned from this, is that in all our commonalities, the things we can empathize with another about, there’s very rarely any actual comparison one human to the next, what is the same about each of us is that we are individuals. Part of why I don’t ever compare what I can do ( or be) on any given day, or ever, to anyone else. ( At least, I try not to.)

Rest in peace, Margot Kidder, Ms. Lois Lane. A story about her from someone who knew her for a time was making the rounds, said she loved the wolves inhabiting the area around her Montana home and would regularly leave meat out for them. According to this chap, she said she hoped that when she died, her friends would find her, tell no one, put her on a bed-sheet and drag her up the mountain so she could be the last meal she gave to the wolves she loved. I don’t know if I’ll ever be quite that at peace with myself in this world, but that’s one of the coolest stories I’ve ever heard.

TS

To Be Happy

I’ve been exceptionally busy lately with no end to that in sight. I haven’t done any writing or editing in at least a week. So it goes sometimes. I was taking something of an unintentional “moment” as it were anyway, to catch my metaphorical breath.

I follow Architectural Digest on the twitter. This evening they offered up this link to a story about Loulou de la Falaise, the “muse” of Yves Saint Laurent. Keeping in mind that she did not think of herself as a muse so much as a collaborator, as she was a designer in her own right and very hard-working, etc. I thought, “Those rooms look incredibly busy/cluttered. None of that stuff matches, but I see how it goes together.” (She mixed patterns like a boss, as they say.) Which makes it sound like I don’t grasp the concept of eclectic/bohemian/etc., when I’ve been looking at decorating and fashion magazines for as long as I could get my hands on them, but I digress. What I thought was, “But why does it work? What makes all of that seemingly mismatched stuff work?” I think it’s the idea, succinctly, that if you love it, it will go together. Still, not the point.

The point is that mixing all those things together isn’t necessarily going to be everyone’s cup of tea. (If you do an image search of Loulou de la Falaise homes, rooms, décor, you will find a plethora of seemingly mismatched bohemian bliss.) It isn’t what everyone would go in for, but if you look at photographs of the woman herself, she is emitting a vibe of fabulousness. The point is, it takes great courage to be happy.

It takes great courage to go your own way, do your own thing, and keep doing it. It takes great courage to own your happiness, to say, “Yes, I do like wearing flowers and plaids together.” or whatever it is, and own it. Embrace it. It seems a simple thing, to like what you like and love what you love, the living of it, however, takes practice.

It might also seem or sound frivolous, except that I promise you there’s nothing the least bit frivolous about happiness, about finding whatever it is in life that makes you smile or brings you joy.

“it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” e.e. cummings

I thought I’d share that thought.

TS

 

Too, as in, Also…

from  ‘Gold Mine’

_____this true heart______________

I will write your name on every breath from now until forever, forget you never, know that I have not let go of this true heart. Forgiving you and him and them and everyone, everything, sing ever louder, stronger, taking claim of every wind and every rain, rising up out of every flame until my name escapes your lips in your sleep. And you know that I loved you and I loved him and them and everyone I could and everyone who would take it from me and I have no regrets about that. I have no shame. I am seeds in clouds and dreams about to be born again and I am wishes in the fountain and I am the highest mountain and I am Winter sleeping, teardrops weeping for every soul who never knows what I am talking about. Saints and Sinners, fabulous beginners, I am the echoed call to everyone who has ever fallen, praying, saying, in the deepest dark, get up, get up, get up.

Love is not a withered vine, love is not petals fallen, and longing unfulfilled, and love is not what men have willed, love is everlasting understanding divine and mine, oh mine, love is mine, to keep. Rainbows, unicorns, candy cane and fairy tales, artifice too soon to fail. They tell you that you have to sacrifice all to scale the castle wall and I say to you that all you have to do is be true, be true. Let go of all the hatred in your heart, let go of all ill wishes, let go of vengeance, you cannot kill Angels with it. Gossamer is fireproof and Angels own the ceiling that is the sky and everything beyond the dawn and everything you wonder on and everything you think is gone they carry with them in the folds of feathers blue and they do remember you, they do.

I will write your name on every page and wash away your hurt and rage and wash away your ache and heal the scars on your heart you thought were permanent and the ones even you had forgotten in the burden of flesh, until you believe again, in everything you let go of to leave me.

You think you want to hear my battle cry, that it will crack the Heavens, flash like lightning, pound like thunder, but I tell you that my battle cry sounds like children laughing and wedding vows, those kept, and those broken, and waterfalls, and crowds cheering at a home run, my battle cry is every Spring, every green thing that makes it through the snow, my battle cry is the song that makes you sing even though you don’t want to and the Hallmark commercial that makes you call your mother, my battle cry is the smell of roses on the breeze and fireflies in the night, racing to the stars, my battle cry is everything we are and trade for things that do not matter. My battle cry is restoration, resurrection and everlasting, surging out into the farthest reaches of the Universe, there is life here.

I will write your name on every breath from now until forever, because if all of this suffering was somehow right, to anyone, then there can be no end to the love that is needed to heal and it will start with me. And someday, maybe, we can talk about bravery and change and freedom. Freedom, that I’ve paid for in some way every time I’ve exercised it. I will love you in every word, every ache, in every break, in every breath and everything that I can, and hope and pray someday, you understand me, and you.

(Written 2009)

 

Psalm

Lead us into hands

That will care for us and keep us safe

Onto paths that know the way,

When we are lost and cannot find it on our own,

Keep us in the light,

Or light the dark we wander in

Enough to see,

Save our souls from lingering

Too long in places where we shouldn’t be,

If it were possible to be such places,

bring us back

From edges we’ve been lured to

From lies we hoped too long were true,

Open up our eyes that we might see the beauty

Of the heart

Broken down the middle clean

Stripped of artifice, laid bare and lean,

Exposed in sentience for a world to better know

The soul that dwells within

Lend us the courage to grasp

Whatever threads are left to us,

Of gossamer, of silver fine, quick spun,

A life of shadow finally in the sun,

Each of us a part of One,

Returning to the source,

Let us hope and hope to find,

The bitter root can still be sweet,

In memories of better dreams to keep.

 

Teri Skultety

The Slick Furies

Have you got your copy of the THE SLICK FURIES? It’s the most kickass, badass, amazing, vampire novel that ever lived. I don’t think you should wait for Christmas. This is the perfect novel for all the rainy days left of spring, and, especially, for all your summer vacation reading. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, well, probably. You’ll be chomping at the bit for the sequel!

You can get your copy of THE SLICK FURIES on Amazon today, available on Kindle or in fine, paperback form!

 

Substance.

The substance is imagination.

Go beyond zombie mantras.

Learn how to see the world…
…in a blade of grass.

FantasyArt0102