Beloved Maya Angelou, Rest in Peace

"Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size 
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips, 
The stride of my step, 
The curl of my lips. 
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, 
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please, 
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees. 
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees. 
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes, 
And the flash of my teeth, 
The swing in my waist, 
And the joy in my feet. 
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered 
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them, 
They say they still can’t see. 
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back, 
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed. 
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud. 
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels, 
The bend of my hair, 
the palm of my hand, 
The need for my care. 
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

”

—	Maya Angelo

A Soldier's Angel

I am a soldier's angel

In a war of words between worlds

About what is wrong

About what is righteous

I am a soldier's girl

It's 3:35 in the morning and I'm sitting down to type this with this song stuck in my head. Stevie Nicks wrote it after visiting veterans in a hospital. I hear it and I think not only of those battles our troops are thrown to but of the battles each of us play a part in. I'm a soldier in an army to keep peace among the abused, the neglected and the forgotten. 

I'm a soldier in their army

They are the soldiers of my heart

I try to make them smile again

Though it tears me apart

Their bravery leaves me spellbound

I try to be a small part

Of bringing them back again

They are the soldiers of my heart

Every damn day I see it. I close my eyes and I think back to all the people I've watched suffer. I think about the people I've pulled from the ashes. I remember the girl who was raped and ran to me for shelter. I remember the girl who's boyfriend thought she was a punching bag. I remember my own boyfriend throwing me down a hall when he was jealous for no reason. I remember seeing a child think that maggots in their home was something normal. I remember so much pain and suffering.

And I remember standing up to right those wrongs.

It's so much, though. It's so hard to be that rock. It's so hard to see all the pain and not want to do something and at the same time I think to myself: "Will there ever be an end to this battle?" It seems like I'm drawn to the suffering. If there are people in pain, if there are people who need protection or help, I find myself there.  

It's 3:42 in the morning and I'm still typing, a bit drunk from being tired. But I've never crawled into a bottle to hide. I've never taking drugs to numb the hurt. Because I'm a soldier.

I am a soldier myself

And no one walks away

From this battle

Only Human

Sorry for the lack of posting. I've been in the hospital. I'd like everyone to meet Tony! 

This beauty of a cyst had wrapped itself around my left ovary so tight that they not only had to remove the cyst, but take my ovary with it. It was the size of a softball. I kid you not.

So, why Tony? Thank my Tumblr friends:

meganegilmore:

Just got home. Had emergency surgery to remove my left ovary and the SOFTBALL SIZED CYST attached to it.

I’m on drugs today so posts will be minimum here and on punmasterbrett. Love you all!!

texts-from-the-bus:

NAME

IT NEEDS A NAME

when you feel better. first you rest up and feel better and then we name your exorcised body parts there is an order to this

homemadepestoaioli:

Seriously, kitten, feel better. One of my best friends had an ovarian cyst removed, and she was trying to go to class the day after surgery. One of the only times my first aid has ever come in handy, because she passed the hell out right into my arms. Luckily, I’m a 5’2” beast and caught her.

But definitely paint or do something creative like that while you’re on the meds. It will be hilarious later.

And, just as a side note, SCAR VIA TONY is an anagram for ‘ovarian cyst’.

I think you should call him Tony. When you get mad, you can be like ‘DAMMIT, STARK.”

meganegilmore:

TONY IT IS!

texts-from-the-bus:

HI TONY

BYE TONY

homemadepestoaioli:

SCAR VIA TONY

The Life and Excision of Tony, an Ovarian Cyst

Coming this Summer from Iron Penguin

Book cover. We need a book cover.

meganegilmore:

My cyst gets more reblogs than my writing. *sigh* Story of my life.

homemadepestoaioli:

It’s all from the same people, though. Happy to a-cyst you.

i’m so sorry

texts-from-the-bus:

CEASE AND DE-CYST: BOOK TWO IN THE ONGOING TONY SAGA

meganegilmore:

Who’s making the book cover? Someone needs to get on this. I in-cyst.

homemadepestoaioli:

We need a-cyst-ance. This is ovary our level.

texts-from-the-bus:

I like how this darn thing keeps getting reblogged with the same three people over and over again. You might say it’s become rather in-cyst-uous. 

homemadepestoaioli:

CYSTERHOOD OF THE TRAVELING TUMBLR AUNTIES

meganegilmore:

I love you guys so much. You’re never ovary the top.

Force It

Usually, when something doesn't come easily, you don't want to force it. Like that time with the electrical outlet. But sometimes, a little force can pop things right into place.

I think that needs to be my approach to writing. Have you noticed? My blog keeps missing days. It's sucking. That's happening to my book, too. I don't know if it's my depression or what but I just have lost the will to do... well... anything.

So I opened this up today and forced myself to at least write down my feelings. Maybe, just maybe, it'll be the kick I need to get my butt in gear.

Distractions are Distracting. Seriously.

It sounds simple. It sounds like something you should not have to explain. But I have to. Because OH. MY. GAH. I am obsessing with Tumblr and I can't get myself off to write. It's bad. 

I even try to justify it. "I'm following other writers to get tips and tricks." or "I little RP will break up the mental block." LIAR!!

It's SO hard! There are so many things out there that are taking me away from what I'm supposed to be doing. Hey, can you tell me how to not be distract... Oh look!

My Security Blanket... Fanfiction

My security blanket has to be fanfiction. Not reading it, writing it. I have to do it now and then because I want instant approval. And there is no bigger audience than that of fanfiction. It is also one of the most judgemental. These are canon characters you're messing with and the fan base already had a clear idea of what they want. So to receive approval from these readers means that I've listened, studied and related to the characters enough to make it believable.

So yeah, it's a writing exercise and it's good for me. But I don't do it for the practice. I'm an artist. This means that I crave approval. And this is how I get it.

The Good, the Bad, and the WTF?

When outlining a story, you start with the basics. You have your characters, their problem, and the solution. That's how it works. But what's in between is the fun stuff. You have good guys, bad guys, and then those questionable people. No one does this better than the Whedons. From Buffy the Vampire Slayer to Dollhouse to Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., you can expect one thing: You never know what to trust. This is what keeps such a devoted following. The eye candy helps, don't get me wrong. (Brett Dalton, if you're reading this, I swear I'm not trying to objectify you.)

You could easily write a story about a knight saving a princess and getting a happily ever after. But we've all heard that. What about the story where the princess is really a clone of a cyborg engineered zombie and the knight is a mutation of a lizard and really wants to bring the princess to his lair for his evil master?

Okay, that's a little crazy. But you get my point.

Predictable is boring. Keep your reader/watcher guessing. That's the key to a truly good story.

The Angel of Demons

She tucked the knife into her boot and picked up the gun from nightstand. Beside her, his lifeless form didn't make a sound. His blank eyes stared up at the ceiling with dazed wonder. He hadn't seen it coming. They never do. They always see the dark brown hair and deep, soulful blue eyes and fall right into her trap. Briefly, she wondered who he was. The blue sheets were a sky littered with bloody clouds giving him a skyline that he soared upon as the sacrificed angel.

She stood, picking up the discarded denim skirt and shimmied it back on. She'd always put on her boots first for some reason. Perhaps it was because she was armed that way. Tying on her halter top, she gave one last look at her mark and grinned. That was an easy fifty grand.

*~*

"Laundry is clean," she reported. "Fold it and put it away by midnight into the drawer." She hung up and tossed the disposable cell into her purse. By midnight, her money would be at the bus station in a locked briefcase. It was the same routine, just a different drop each time.

How does one become the most highly trained assassin in North America? That was something she'd been asked several times. Is it in the blood? Is it the nurture versus nature? That was something the she'd asked herself many times. There really was no easy answer. She was raised in a typical American home and did average in high school. She'd even been the prom queen. So how, only five years later, did she end up making millions by killing people? How could she sleep at night and think nothing of the life she'd taken?

She was the dark angel. 

Facts of a Story

Fictional stories are often judged on factual things. Which is such a strange thing to think about. But fact checking is done so much.

Do people realize that this story... our story... we gave it life. We gave it reality. We wove it around in our minds until it became a real world to us. So to tell us that we're wrong, we're not feasible, we're not believable is to tell us our hearts cannot sing. 

I can't believe that. In all the universes in all the realms of all the wolds... my heart will sing.

Casting Your Canon

This is kind of a continuation of the last post. When I start a book, I usually have some actor or actress already in mind. Like Nicolas in this current book? I totally see him as Josh Hartnett. And Thomas? Oh, if I could only cast Neil Patrick Harris... *sigh* 

Anyway, I bring this up because it's yet another thing I wonder about. When my book is published, I have no idea what will happen. I really hope the one day it'll become a major blockbuster like the Hunger Games. 

But who would really get cast? Would I end up with the ones I always pictured? I hope yes, but I also hope no. Why? Because I'm wondering if there is one actor or actress who walks in and all of the sudden I gasp and realize this is it. This is the complete personification of my character.

Who do you cast in your headcanon?