when you get lost

when you get lost, pick up a pen, a pencil, your phone, keyboard, paintbrush, chisel, hammer, loudspeaker, break open your chest and rip your heart out.

whisper to it scream why you’re still here why you will not give up how you are too stubborn to just die you are too glorious to accept this misery this lack of life.

force your heart back in refuse it’s radio silence, sew yourself back up, one foot in front of the other into the garage, hook yourself up to the jumper cables and step behind the curtain, take control of the command center hijack the speaker system, scream like you mean it until your neighbors believe it.

dig up all your broken bones, peel off your empty dead skin, collect the blood and hours of secret tears, chew it up spit it out, push the pads on remove all the metal, stand

CLEAR!

bring it to life, fashion it into rope, make an incision, tie it to your gut find your way home, crawl back into who you knew you were always meant to be who you want need to be, because this drowning in a walking flatline only ends one way.

you don’t need advice until you know where you’re headed.

the man on the moon doesn’t know, put a glass to your ribs and listen, you do.

pick up an ax, stalk the brokenness out back to the post you’ve been chained to, throw the strongest link on the chopping block and SAY CHEESE annihilate them.

take a flamethrower to your slave masters, use their ashes to create your own garden because you can feed yourself.

this is about you, sit in the fire and when you open your eyes push magic through your veins like electricity, a closed door cannot stop your flames.

and if you’re feeling cold, warm yourself with the licking of lashings scarring your insides where no one can touch you, make it all better.

make it all better.

you’re going to burn. burn true. heat cities. grow multitudes. create mammoth atoms to spin within your own sphere, always pulling you, holding you home.

 

By Daphne Shadows

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Things I’ve Learned From Some of My Favorite TV Shows

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Lessons Learned from Scooby-Doo:

Don’t split up.

If you play video games too long, you’re going to turn into a zombie.

Werewolves are actually green.

If dogs could talk, life would be a lot more interesting.

 

 

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Lessons Learned from X-Files:

If there wasn’t something to see here, there wouldn’t be security guards making sure no one saw anything.

Persistence gets you somewhere. (I’m not entirely sure where or if you’ll like it, but it’ll get you there.)

Some aliens are really freaking short.

 

 

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Lessons Learned from Bones:

A human being can be both extremely intelligent and simultaneously common-sense-challenged.

Ice bullets don’t work. Blood bullets do!

Don’t take pregnancy tests at work.

Just because someone is in a coffin, doesn’t actually mean they’re dead.

 

Writers Write, Right?

Well, I was reading some quotes recently and the thing that kept coming up was how a writer can’t not write. It just doesn’t happen.

I got a little concerned.

Not so concerned that I questioned whether or not I’m a real writer, but enough so that I wondered if I was messing with my talent by not living up to consistent writing.

I got to thinking.

I haven’t worked on my manuscript in over 4 months.

Great.

I haven’t written in over 4 months – what kind of writer am I?

But nobody said I had to work on my manuscript to be writing. Now did they?

Nope.

I have been writing. Almost every single day.

I’ve been writing blog posts (though most of those don’t see the light of day) and journaling like a madwoman. The journaling is to keep myself sane but I’m surprised by how much its helping me open  up to myself.

So see – all those quotes are right. I can’t not write. I’ve needed it in one way or another.

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I had a case of black and white thinking. All or nothing.

Either I was going full out writer mode and working full tilt on my manuscript every day for hours – or I wasn’t doing anything.

Those were the only two labels my brain knew how to formulate.

Oops.

 

Seeing in black or white (all or nothing thinking) isn’t realistic or helpful. It’s harmful. And it keeps me beating myself up. Glad I noticed it. Now I can knock it off!

 

I’d like to start doing some creative writing though. I feel that itch. Okay, so its more than an itch – its like an ogre with a battering ram inside my bones, chest cavity, head, and heart.

But I’m not ready to work on my manuscript. Why?

Because I’m still working on myself. I can’t write authentically if I can’t even live in my own skin authentically.

What could help me move this along?

Oh, I don’t know.

MAYBE WRITING!!!

Journaling and blogging aren’t my only options. I can free write, write short stories, do whatever I want for creative writing. I don’t have to work on my manuscript until I’m ready.

That doesn’t mean I can’t write.

I’m a writer.

And writers write.

 

What do you consider writing consistently?

Do you journal?

Free write?

Write short stories?

Letters?

Essays?

Compile and rework research?

What exactly do you consider to be the meaning of “writer’s write”?

Are you ever a victim of all or nothing thinking in any area of your life?

 

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For the Love of Donuts (plus Cops and maybe some Aliens)

I love donuts.

Donuts are so freaking magickal that I cannot describe in words their wonderfulness.

 

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National Donut Day

Just in case you crazies didn’t know, last week on June 5th (it’s always the first Friday of the month) was National Donut Day!

Donut Day was established in Chicago, 1938, by the Salvation Army. During World War I and World War II, the Salvation Army took donuts to soldiers. During the Great Depression, they sold donuts to raise money.

There’s also a National Donut Day on November 5th, but I can’t seem to find where it came from. Neither can anyone else. Perhaps the aliens couldn’t make it here in June and decided to mind-ninja us into thinking National Donut Day was actually in November. Not that I’m complaining.

Both are unofficial national holidays, which is a total sin, but I’m down as long as people celebrate it. And donut shops, always good when donut shops celebrate donut day!!!

 

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Police and Donuts

Why on earth are cops plagued by the donut stereotype? I swear they’re going to do a movie about a killer donut species that attack cops and take over their bodies. Alien donuts. Or – or! – evil donut initiation. *rolls eyes*

I mean, Jeeze. Why?

And what’s so wrong with being a donut junkie anyway? Seriously. Donuts. They are magick. As long as you don’t eat 80 of them a day, you won’t be unhealthy.

Anyone who eats donuts has a high level of intelligence (like me) because only someone extremely wise would know to eat the magick oozing, chocolate, maple, cake, and old-fashioned cakes.

But honestly – where did the stereotype come from?

 

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No one knows for certain when it started, but there are a few theories as to why it spawned…

  • Donuts are cheap, so when the police have to ditch their food because some wacko decided to jump off the roof of your local Ben and Jerry’s, dressed like a medieval knight, demanding someone find them their stolen fairy wings – they don’t have to give up an expensive dinner that they really wanted to finish.
  • Donuts don’t go bad that easily. Well, some do, but most can stay in the box throughout the day. That way they can eat them whenever they get the chance.
  • In a lot of places, donut shops are the only places that stay open all day and night long. It wasn’t until recently that food places stayed open past the late evening.
  • Cops drink a lot of coffee. They have to stay awake practically all day and night long with quick bursts of unconsciousness. Who sells a lot of coffee? Donut shops. Guess what else they sell a lot of, which happens to be cheap, filling, don’t go bad or melt easily, and are sweet? Donuts. Imagine that.
  • Some donut shops will give police free donuts, for two reasons. One, law enforcement are in the business of protecting their city, so maybe it’d be nice to give them some free donuts. And two, having cops sit in your shop is kind of like having free bodyguards. No one is going to break into your corner donut shop with four cops sitting there. It is probably a good thing to point out that its illegal and considered bribery in some places though.
  • Donut shops have a place to sit down inside. For beat cops, that’s nice. Some police have even said that at night, it’s helpful to have a lit table to do paperwork at. (too much paperwork for Daphne)

 

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So see – there are perfectly good reasons for cops to eat donuts. However, I also read in a few places that it’s a generational love. Some newer cops have either been driven away by the stereotype or believe sugar is the devil.

 

Me? I just want some freaking donuts.

 

Do you enjoy donuts?

On Genre Fiction being the Scum of the Literary World

Why do you read books?

I mean seriously. Why bother? Its paper, ink and made up people and places and mostly none of it is true.

 

So WHY

Do You

READ BOOKS.

 

Stories. People like stories. They’re fun. They’re an escape. They teach us something, even if we don’t consciously realize it. Stories help you understand yourself better, as you decide what you think and feel because of everything you just read. Or you have parents that beat you and stories give you a place to live that’s safe from your reality. Or you simply have your head in the clouds and love the adrenaline rush of being someone else inside your head.

 

What KIND

Of Books

Do You Read.

 

Anything? Everything? A specific genre? A few different genres?

I know you’re supposed to have read books in school, mostly literary novels. You most likely hated them, hated having to read them. I know you’ve probably read the dictionary, at least one word on one page, if you’re my generation. Younger and you might have simply googled what the word meant, but hey – it’s still a dictionary. I know you’ve read fluff pieces on or in a magazine whether it’s on the internet or in the grocery store line that never ends. I know you’ve probably read your children’s crazy words if you have kids. I know you’ve read your own inner monologue if you keep a journal.

The list goes on.

 

What Type

Of Books

Are All of Those.

 

Literary, nonfiction, cozies, informational, fictitious, stream of consciousness.

Is one of those BETTER than the other? Did any of them AFFECT you more? Did you end up LOVING one of those and now you search out that kind of writing, essays and books everywhere you go? When you’re in the store for diapers or canned soup, do you check the book racks to see if there’s anything good? Do you wander around the used bookstore? Wonder if your sister, children, mom or best friend read, and if so, what?

 

Which

Books

MATTER.

 

All of them.

End of story.

But because this is real life and real people are contradictory, let me explain.

 

Apparently

I Write the

Scum of the Earth

Why? Because I don’t write non-fiction or literary novels. I write fiction. Fantasy, horror, paranormal. Dear cookies in heaven, I’m the devil!

 

There’s this

Theory

 

It’s an opinion really.

That all genre fiction (for example, what I write and romance, adventure, etc) is scum. It is pointless. Shouldn’t be read. There are snobs who turn their noses up at it and declare the writer of such garbage a freeloading brat who needs to get a real job, while the literary author gets to work and does something real, something important.

 

WHY?

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I have no idea. Maybe it’s one of those things where young people turn their noses up at old people, saying they’re better. And old people look down on young people, saying they’re ignorant idiots with easy lives. People apparently aren’t happy with themselves and need a “reason” to put others down, elevating themselves. In their head only, that is.

Regardless of where I go, all I hear about is people deciding they’re better than other people.

When really, we’re all just opinionated. We have opinions. We have likes.

I like books.

Do I care what kind of books you read?

NO! No a million times over. As long as you enjoy books, I’m a happy camper. And if you don’t like books, well that sucks and you’re missing out but hey, that’s you and I’m me.

 

See How that Works?

 

Honestly, I’d like for people to get over their selfish snobbery and pull their heads out of where the sun don’t shine.

 

GET OVER YOURSELVES.

Everyone.

Right now.

 

I like what I like. You like what you like. The garbage man down the street likes what he likes. The kindergarten teacher, too.

 

Does that make me stupid?

 

No.

Does that make the literary writer stupid? The suspense novelist stupid?

NO!

 

Writing a book

IS HARD!!!

 

I cannot stress this enough. I don’t care if you’re writing for professors, chemical engineers, third graders or the mom who has five minute breaks every couple of hours. WRITING THE FREAKING BOOK TAKES WORK. Hard work. Hours every day, just like a “real” job.

 

Genre Fiction

Is NOT

Scum

Literary Fiction

Is NOT

Snobbery

 

One bad apple does NOT ruin the whole bunch.

So knock it off.

I should be able to take a creative writing course in college and not have a professor look down on me, belittle my work and call it scum because the monsters aren’t 100% human.

But I can’t, now can I?

Because apparently, genre fiction is the scum of the literary world.

Now how

DUMB

does that sound?

necRomance Me

All my secrets
Covered in lies
Half truths you know
The Departed rise

Hunted now – make their lies true
Never enough for any of you

Truth rages
Whispers haunt
Inside it screams
Thoughts taunt

Bleed bruises gone ‘til I can’t stand the sane
I’ll bleed them dry to destroy my pain

Shadows of sun
And crimson spires
More will come
Deleterious desires

Disregard their wailing, desperate screams
As their nails scrape and scratch the seams

If you’ll listen
The daemon know
Ignore their accusations
Don’t make me go

Here in the darkness they know me well
Quiet now; let the contusion swell

My lips deceive
The Wronged stalk
Stay tonight
Outline you in chalk

Close your eyes and pretend you don’t want this
It won’t’ burn for long; my only promise

Never mind the corpses
Kiss away the pain
Hold me tight
So the blood can drain

Murmers it for your soul in design
Whatever you do, they purr, don’t sign

Porcelain skin
Eyes keep forever
Putrid and still
Don’t want their never

But when the Gray lashes and cuts you quite deep
With needle and thread I’ll make sure you keep

Stitch me together
A monster they say
Watch me breathe in
Their ache is my play

Flesh cannot betray – ignore the agony
Breathe deeply – give yourself over to me
Sink your teeth into my skin
Let the inevitable begin

by Daphne Shadows

'necRomance Me' by Daphne Shadows