Tag: Writing

Using Twin Signs in Astrology to Inform Your Reading List

As previously stated in my last post, “Field Notes on Writing, Astrology & Escapism”,

I know that there’s no scientific merit or validity to astrology but also I could care less about trying to prove it.
it be like that
I think learning creationism in place of science throughout elementary school sort of ruined that for me, lol. Instead of continuing on the metaphysical path that was set before me though, I went to the opposite end of the spectrum, exploring New Age ideas and philosophies.  
Anyway, this brings me to a strange epiphany I had this morning, which is that most of my major role models, style icons and favorite celebrities share the exact same Sun and Venus sign combination — Capricorn Sun/Aquarius Venus.
As a little girl growing up in the 90’s, I was an unapologetic Sporty Spice fan. While most people wanted to be the alluring Ginger or sultry Baby Spice, I was running around my living room in noisy sweat pants and a sports bra. 
Most of my favorite style icons — Janis Joplin, Sienna Miller, Kate Moss, Sissy Spacek, Marlene Dietrich, Sade Adu, the Duchess of Cambridge — also share this combination. But what I find even more interesting are the Cap-Sun/Aqua-Venus authors — J.R.R. Tolkien, Simone de Beauvoir, Carlos Castaneda, etc.
In astrology, you only get half of the picture when you analyze sign alone; you must also look at what house this planet is in. 
My Venus is located in the 9th house, an indicator of writing and publishing. Go figure! Language, publishing, and writing are all ruled by this house. 9th House Venusians are also frequently attracted to/attract people from other cultures (*enter my Cuban boyfriend*) and also make great travel writers.
Being cosmically destined to become a writer and work in publishing is an appealing thought no doubt. But this led me to seek out some of the writings of like-signed people, and I have to say, I agree with everything I’ve read so far. At the very least, it’s an interesting exercise leading me to explore works I might not have otherwise. Simone de Beauvoir’s philosophical writing, in particular, is appealing to me.
Although I’ve studied her before in women’s and literature classes, the astrological context makes me see the work in an almost personal way now. Her radical feminism is something I definitely relate too. The below excerpt from ‘The Second Sex’ is the OG “of course you call them females”.
Whether or not you believe in astrology, there is something about the idea of hidden kinship with favorited authors that can change the way you view great works and the lens through which you see the world.
As writers, we naturally possess expansive imaginations. Most of us hope for the impossible to be real each and every day. I’ll refrain from encouraging you to believe in the metaphysical but know that it can be used in beneficial ways in terms of craft. Great writers can use anything as a tool of expansion.

Field Notes on Writing, Astrology & Escapism

To read and write creatively is to live in a dreamstate, or so many would

have you believe. A sizable demographic perceive R&W as beneficial forms of entertainment but some of these people also believe that these pastimes hug a treacherous line between education and escapism in what can only be described as strangely reminiscent 90s gateway-drug propaganda.
The idea that R&W might impact anyone negatively is pretty laughable. Can you imagine the wave of television ads telling us to just say no to a rich inner life indoors? [1] Neither can I. I suppose the only merit to this idea is that virtually anything can be abused to escape the growing hellscape that is the year 2019. But as far as vices go, there are worse things one could fall into in my opinion.
Truthfully, I fell in love with both of these activities because I didn’t understand how to process trauma or how to vocalize what was happening around me a lot of the time. I felt voiceless throughout my early childhood and telling my story in my own words changed that feeling in a big way. Reading first-person perspectives from people in similar situations helped me navigate my world a little better and also made me realize I wasn’t alone.
While my daily reality felt hard to deal with at times, escape wasn’t the only reason behind throwing myself religiously into the arts. Like dreams, these activities allow us to work through our subconscious and process our emotions as well as our environments. [2]
In my family, it is particularly hard to get a word in edgewise or to process anything communally that could be perceived as negative, emotionally or otherwise. In other words, overall empathy and emotional support are both a bit lacking, although it has gotten much better as we’ve all matured. But it’s the sort of family dynamic that makes you pray for water-sign children in the not-too-distant future. 

Rising Star

In recent years, I’ve found astrology to be a useful tool in psychoanalyzing these relationships and in fictional character development, not that I believe there is any scientific validity or merit to it, rather I find the simple, elemental assignment of various parts of one’s personality to serve as a helpful descriptive device.   
fire suns/moons/mars be like
For instance, my natal chart is mostly comprised of earth elements (Capricorn Sun/Mercury/Saturn/Uranus/Neptune) plus a very prominent fire Moon (Aries) and Mars (Sag), air venus (Aquarius) and rising (Gemini) signs, and pretty much zilch on the water sign front. The way I decipher this information is that I am well grounded and ambitious but am also prone to flashes of anger and impulsivity, am detached and independent in love, and have a very hard time being vulnerable with others.
My mother, who gets along with everyone she meets, is all water, while my Leo-Sun father has heavy fire/air placements, and my younger Aquarius-Sun sister has 5 planets in Capricorn as well as a fire Moon (Sag). [3]
When I realized all of this, everything finally made sense to me, at least with regard to the gapping dissonance between our various and individualistic communication styles. I never really understood as a child/adolescent why my father and sister were so abrasive or how they had the ability to let things roll off of them into the ether. It just wasn’t something I could relate to, and, although I wanted more than anything to be just like them, the lack of freedom to express myself only drove me further into being my own psychologist on the page. 
This is all to say that it’s hard not to view yourself in limited and debilitating ways when you are an earth sign inundated in fire and air. In the end though, it made me much stronger, teaching me how to trust myself, my feelings, thoughts, and observations over that of others, and it led me to a flourishing inner life, even on the darkest days.
When we can’t make sense of our environments or resolve stressful situations, it often falls on us to make it work alone. This is often the case with kin. As they say, you can choose your friends but not your family. So it goes. Part of me wonders though if it isn’t all part of some larger life lesson relating to tolerance, selflessness, acceptance, and appreciation.

Escape the Bear and Fall to the Lion

me tryna steal fams’ positive air/fire energy
Despite the risk of falling too deeply into a world of rich, riveting fantasy, there is also something wholly grounding about telling your story on your own terms and adapting to settings you have no familiarity with or settings that don’t exist at all. In this way, R&W feels very much like dreaming. However, I definitely feel my earthiness when I am alone writing through my thoughts and discomforts, looking for hidden meaning in the mundane.
I think the majority of writers also have a deep-seeded desire to preserve the most vulnerable parts of themselves and to keep them hidden and safe from the rest of the world. To me, writing is and has always been the struggle to turn your pain into art, to construct a place of existence out of sheer nothingness. 



Footnotes

[1] *actively resists the urge to crest said ad on photoshop*

[2] One reason why I love poetry so much is that the subconscious is permitted to reveal itself in a less convoluted way in fragments and images without any need for context.

[3] FYI, your Moon sign is the second most important influence in your chart after the Sun and represents your emotions and inner mood.

Snow

I remember how much my heart ached in the snowy mountains of Colorado that first year. I had never seen snow in person before, let alone touched it.

That morning after the MFA Halloween party felt fuzzy, almost like buzzing static or the high-pitched ringing after a bomb goes off.

I woke from a restless night of sleep next to my boyfriend, still dressed in a half-assed mermaid costume. One feathery eyelash had fallen off, but my scales, which had been sculpted from eyeshadow and fishnets, remained somewhat intact against my forehead. My hands roamed over my body and face, until reaching the top of my head. I was surprised to find the pink hairpiece faithfully secured there, albeit tangled beyond help.

A faint pink light matching the color of the newly formed nest on my head cast itself over every inch of the room. Sunrise.

There comes a point in the many stages after a party when one wakes much too early and is in too much physical pain to go back to sleep, and I had hit that point. I tried waking my boyfriend without luck, then decided to move around.  

The first thing I noticed, after walking to the bedroom window, was a small streak of red-orange peeking over the mountains, fighting its way to me despite my desperate need for continued sleep and aspirin. The second thing I noticed was the endless, snow-covered landscape. Every ordinary object I had come to know was now unrecognizable, and I could not tell where the parking lot ended and the street began.

The night before had been chilly, sure, but no one, especially a southern girl like me, had expected to wake up to this. I’d waited almost three months to see my first snow, and it was otherworldly.

Starkwhite quiet blanketed the cars in the parking lot below. My Black SUV could’ve been mistaken for a white dune. The light seemed brighter than usual, as if amplified, reflecting off of the shimmering earth and into the air, causing me to squint, the way I did when looking at a pool of water. It was beautiful and completely foreign.

I practically squealed as I threw on a men’s jacket, running out of the door, down the stairs, and into pearly dawn.

Snow wasn’t something I minded in the beginning. Perhaps because it was new and exciting to me then. I hadn’t yet driven in it with my pathetic 2-wheel drive nor had a group of strangers pushed me out of a drift on campus, and I certainly hadn’t skidded to a jarring halt just barely avoiding a violent smack into the back of a stopped Subaru. Like everything else in this new world, snow was alluring until it wasn’t.

I must have looked downright insane twirling around the parking lot in my fish scale leggings and irretrievable pink hairpiece with one giant, vibrant eyelash flapping in the mountain wind, but I didn’t care. And I didn’t know the turbulence that would follow in coming months.

Not long after that morning, my then-boyfriend gifted me a copy of Mary Ruefle’s poetry collection, “The Most of It”. When I opened the book, I noticed an earmarked page; on it, was a poem entitled, “Snow” – a poem that now serves as a time capsule of that day.

Snow Pt.I
Snow Pt.II

There is something about this poem now that makes me feel completely enveloped by a time when everything felt damn near perfect, if only for one day. It reminds me of a world where I could be anyone or anything. A world where I was 24, in love, and finding joy in the ethereal unknown landscapes around me.

I am no longer the woman who once felt astonished in the presence of snow, but the beauty of poetry is that it can take you right back to a place you thought you’d left behind.

Why Self-Publishing is Frowned Upon

Something I’m asked fairly often is: “Why don’t you self-publish?

In the moments following this question, I usually mumble some quick excuse and shrug the idea off because the truth is that my aversion to self-publishing is complicated. It’s not like I haven’t thought about uploading an e-Collection of work onto Amazon.com before.

I mean, why not, right? It’s modern, convenient, affordable, and you don’t need anyone’s permission or approval to do it. Nor do you have to fight through a massive slush pile to be noticed by publishers. Heck, you can bypass the publisher altogether, avoid book contest fees and months of waiting to hear back, and maintain creative control over your work.

As someone who has built a career in publishing as both an editor and as a writer, I believe my perspective diverges wildly from the majority of my peers, at least when it comes to legitimizing yourself as an author and legitimizing the work itself (both of which important are incredibly important to me).

So what exactly makes an author or a book “legitimate”?

If you’ve never sat down and thought about your own definition to this question, you should do so asap, and try not to overthink it either. Like snowflakes, no two responses are the same, and there is no right or wrong answer. Your beliefs and the standards you impose on yourself are completely subjective.

My personal journey through publishing and my lifelong academic pursuit in the field of creative writing have both come to define my somewhat high standards.

The truth is that anyone can publish an eBook, and I mean anyone. In fact, the first thing that comes to mind when I think about self-publishing is the endless wave of YA paranormal romance novels and sci-fi books with mediocre, redundant vocabulary as well as completely predictable story arcs, characters, and narratives, which began popping up after “50 Shades of Grey”. For writers in these genres, self-publishing makes absolute sense, and might even be the most optimal method of publication. What better way to get your work directly into the hands of readers in this incredibly competitive market?

Also, I don’t mean to knock these genres as a whole. I’m just not a paranormal romance novelist or much for sci-fi in my day-to-day writing. More importantly, for me to be taken seriously in the writing community I’ve built my life in, self-publishing just isn’t an option. Other people have to recognize your skill before you earn your place in the sun.

Industry & Incest

The circles I am referring to here are chiefly comprised of two main groups:

1) Higher Education

This includes a) insular MFA communities which are somehow still connected on a national level that often feels downright incestuous and cult-like; b) overall holier-than-thou ivory tower poets, fiction writers, essayists, professors and intellectuals; and c) university presses.

2) Small Press

Anything other than the five or so major publishing houses like Penguin, Random House, and HarperCollins is considered small press. Even if the press makes millions of dollars a year, it’s not considered a major publisher. This leaves a pretty wide range of presses. Many though, don’t make much in the way of profit and are run by professors and/or well-to-do writers that supplement the press with their income.

The kind of publications that come out of these circles are the kind of publications that have limited prints, big community and award prestige, as well as zero financial return. This is this type of work that is created out of love and is often the most rewarding to read. 

Only a douchebag would self-publish in such circles. However, it’s perfectly acceptable to start your own press to publish work from other writers you enjoy but never for the purposes of packaging and distributing your own work.

One benefit of small press is creative freedom. Editors rarely try to push the work in any way. Manuscripts are, for the most part, published as-is. This is also a space where you can push the boundaries of genre hybridity, which is awesome. However, you pay between $15-30 in reading fees every time you enter a book contest. While 99% of these fees go directly toward producing the winning book(s), most can’t help but feel like they just bought into a pyramid scheme, one which they have no hope of reaching upper echelons of.

Given the unspoken rule about self-publishing, insular community, and competitiveness of it all, an insidious type of nepotism results, despite the best efforts of the community to prevent such conflicts of interest. You scratch my back; I’ll scratch yours (i.e., you publish my book; I’ll publish yours). This is something I quickly grew tired of in graduate school. When you begin to notice how those who are published are connected to one another and who the heads of these presses are, it’s a little disheartening. But, in a way, it’s not much different from the highest form of publishing. 

“No one said life would be fair.”

In grad school, it was insulting if you were dubbed a “career poet”, which implied that you were a brown noser intent on schmoozing your way to the top because your writing couldn’t stand on its own.

The serious academics in my program didn’t really care about this insult though because, unlike the rest of us, they knew that anyone who wanted to get ahead in this industry, like it or not, had to network; also, that this practice was critical to becoming a successfully published author. And yes, of course, there are exceptions to this statement, but not many.

This is a fact I never much cared for. I grew up with this grand fantasy of some freckle-faced editor at a major publishing house randomly picking up my manuscript from the slush pile and, within a few lines of reading, them exclaiming to everyone within earshot that they’d just struck 14ct gold, thus propelling me into my new life as the next J.K. Rowling.   

Unfortunately, publishing is neither fantasy or based on merit. It’s based on sales. If you’re an optimist, maybe it’s a little of both. 

You and I may look at a book like “50 Shades of Grey” and balk or wonder how the hell so many people enjoyed a book that was intentionally written as “Twilight” fanfiction. But here we are in 2018 the year of our lord still talking about it. After growing in popularity, it was picked up by a subdivision of Random House, not because it’s a good book but because it’s popular. 50 Shades was a smart business decision that drove sales through the roof and led to a three-part movie deal.

And I’m reminded of this shit-eating lesson every time I open up my HBO GO app and see the image of Christian Grey teasing a blind-folded and tethered Anastasia Steele. 

What can we learn about publishing from pop fiction?

Over the years, I have done my research on some of my favorite and relatively popular authors and discovered that most of them were not classically trained in writing. Many of these writers didn’t bother with the slush pile, not in small press and not in any of the major publishing houses. Instead, most of these people grew an internet following, publishing their work online for free initially, then releasing eBooks that actually made money, which is damn hard when your book costs $0.99.    

The first real-life example I saw of this was both unforgettable and way too close to home. 

As part of earning our master’s degrees, we had to teach at least one ‘Intro to Creative Writing’ course per semester, and we often discussed our trials and tribulations in the MFA lounge. One day, a classmate, who was already well-established in the small press fiction community, told me she had a young student in her class who’d electronically published one of those YA paranormal romance novels on Amazon.com.

I rolled my eyes at this. But when we went to look at the book profile, we were both shocked to see that the student’s book had been purchased and downloaded thousands upon thousands of times. There’s a metaphor buried somewhere in this anecdote that I don’t care to parcel out. Just know that it stung. 

While part of me feels against self-publishing and also that it is the downfall of literary quality and integrity, as it allows the market to be shaped by popularity, I can also see the appeal of it. Moreover, the act of self-publishing feels like a reflection of my generation, a generation characterized by instant gratification and ADHD (which I have btw). However, if you take a closer look at us millennials, we aren’t just a bunch of tech-hungry, selfish, pick-me jerks. We are brilliant entrepreneurs who constantly find new ways around a system that benefits from our mindless complicity and financial participation, like weeds refusing to be left under concrete to wither and die, always finding a way to the light. Perhaps, self-publishing is merely an extension of this resilience as well as a refusal to be buried.

The Heart as a Stag Torn Apart by Hounds

a heart is not a

way to tame something fierce

when I was young

a pack of wild dogs ate

the livestock at my school

even taking with them

the llama that spat in my eye

one cold morning

your mother is back in town

leaving notes in paint chips

about love and other demons

I have been waiting

for the right moment to collapse

in a room without men

days when

something other than self-importance

became big enough to swallow

you never asked to whom or what I belong

which is for the best because the answer

is nowhere near the surface

my heart is an animal

bolting at the slightest disturbance

when it is dark

I send prayers to the forest

and yearn for a being

I do not know

Artemis, cast into shadows,

had a twin brother

who became the sun

became a reminder

of how to hide

love from a man

Prompt of the Day: Any Genre

Today’s prompt is to write something using this photo as inspiration. I don’t know the original image source unfortunately, but I saw it on Facebook earlier today with the caption: “Farm workers in California continue working while the fires blaze.” It reminds me of one of the YA novels I started last year in which a human-caused ecodisaster blocks the sun, causing an unstoppable super winter set to wipe out all human life on earth.

There are a lot of things I see when I look at this photo beyond fantasy though. It’s pretty terrifying to witness something so post-apocalyptic happening right now. It also snowed in the northern part of my home state of Louisiana, today. Currently, I’m huddled next to a space heater in snow boots and a down parka typing with numb fingers somewhere in the middle of New Orleans. Yesterday, my phone wouldn’t quit buzzing at work from a tornado warning. And last week it flooded within a matter of minutes at the beginning of a thunderstorm. None of this is normal.

For these reasons, I feel torn between a political essay about migrant workers in CA and a short story in the same vein as the YA mentioned earlier.

Either way, this prompt doesn’t have many restrictions, aside from using the photo as inspiration for your opening scene. Any genre is fine. Try to write at least 500 words.Use at least one color. Mention the word “burning” somewhere, whether in or out of context of the CA wildfires. 

Feel free to post what you come up with in the comments section. I’d love to read it!

Thinking of You at 2 AM

Thinking of You at 2 AM

 

The stove clock is still off by an hour

despite the fact that it’s been a whole week

since daylight savings time.

A baby water moccasin darts

across the foot of God without much thought.

This is still a city. Where your arms meet my waist.

Where the river bend meets a bus station.

In my dreams, you are pressed against my back. Loving me fiercely.

The past is a shroud I carry through wet southern streets.

It’s not you that needs letting go.

When you speak the world is still.

When you speak the restless brambles bend back.

I am the god of war. Even if that war is me.

You have to keep me at the right distance.

Which is unfair. A bit like heaven if you ask me.

Is this a test? Sometimes I wonder

what’s between the teeth of knowing.