Gentle readers, I have a healthy international readership on this blog. This is why I am crossposting this image and asking you to please take a look at these lovely review excerpts for my urban fantasy novel, The Dire Deeds, the first in The Guild of Ornamental Hermits series. I hope these reviews encourage you to seek out my book on Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle eBook.
These books are LGBTQIA++ saturated, yet the characters (and the plot) can be loved and enjoyed by anyone who likes humor, paranormal romance, preposterous plot twists, and plucky humans learning magic from plucky Elves.
The second and third books are with the copy editors and publisher now. The fourth is in progress. The Dire Deeds is not just a first novel with aspirations for a series. I have already written so much more!
Today, August 12, 2022, is an astronomical milestone in my latitude: it marks the helical rising of the star, Sirius, also known as Lokabrenna (Loki’s Torch). “Helical” means the star rises just a moment before the sun. I can’t see this event from where I live, in a valley, surrounded by houses and trees, but I can celebrate this ancient stellar event even so. I am particularly fond of this time of year as it is linked to my beloved patron and muse, Loki Laufeyjarson, who had/has a significant impact on the third and fourth books in The Guild of Ornamental Hermits series.
Because August 12th is Lokabrenna, I chose the date for my online book release party for The Dire Deeds (of The Guild of Ornamental Hermits), a queer-saturated, urban fantasy novel published as an ebook on August 1st. But joy of joys, I woke up to a text from my publisher that the paperback edition is also available, as of this morning!
You can buy, read, enjoy, and review either paperback or ebook at this Amazon link. Thank you so much! (And hail Loki!)
And it’s a luxury to be able to do so. This is a blog post about writing, and cancer, and life, written by a person with that luxury. Others are not so fortunate.
In the summer of 2017, a palm reader in Pahoa said to me, “Oh, I see you’ve had cancer.” We had hardly spoken ten words, I didn’t know her or anyone who knew her and she didn’t know me. She was staring at my hand, not my face. And she was right. I had been diagnosed with melanoma in 2009. No one in my family seemed to care very much about that or understand how scary that was for me. I went through that scare with no emotional support whatsoever. But why do I think that cancer happened?
In 2004 I had hiked for a week on Hawai’i Island. It was a huaka’i (spiritual journey) along the paths of na poe kahiko (people of old), led by cultural practitioners. We did ceremony on the summit of Mauna Kea and the next day we began our journey with a hike through part of Pohakuloa live-fire military area. (Don’t stray from the trail to shishi–live ordnance is a real danger!) Then we hiked across the saddle of the island, a place where the lava was so old and worn that it’s smooth and flat as bathroom tiles. We visited the sacred Ahu A ʻUmi Heiau and then crossed part of the Judd Trail. That night we camped in what was once known as Pine Trees Camp on Hualalai. We’d hiked about seventeen miles that day.
During that first day in the center of the island, among the three mountains of Mauna Loa, Mauna Kea, and Hualalai, a surprising thing happened to me–one of those truly inexplicable things–and others saw it happen too. I knew then that this journey was indeed a spiritual one, and it was going to be one of the most significant episodes of my life.
The rest of the week we hiked down along the Kona and Ka’u coastline, often using the old stepping stone trail made of rounded rocks carried by na poe kahiko, placed on top of the rugged ‘a‘ā and pahoehoe lava. We had many, many adventures that week. Some were actually frightening. Other results of that hike had a devastating, lasting impact on my personal life. I made some choices I now regret.
But back to cancer. I wore wire-framed sunglasses during that week-long hike. I wore sunscreen and prevented overall sunburn, but the Kona Coast sun was so hot that the frames heated enough to burn my cheekbones. No one ever told me wire-framed sunglasses could be a hazard on the Kona coast! I believe that the melanoma that showed up several years later was directly related to that burn, as it was on that exact spot. Fortunately, the dermatologist caught it early and while I now have twice-annual mole checks, and routinely have cryosurgery for keratosis spots, melanoma hasn’t come back. So, yes, the palm reader/psychic was completely correct. I’d had cancer.
Then she told me that I’d have another “cancer scare” in a few years, but to not worry. It would be only a scare. Yesterday, a medical procedure found that colon cancer was not part of my picture after all. So, a resounding “huzzah” for that. The scare was only a scare.
That palm reader had a lot of other things to say. For example, she saw I would be moving soon. True ‘dat! I was about to put my Pahoa house on the market. I’d been living there since January 2016 and it had been a mistake to move there. I was more than ready to get back to my (adult) kids and the friends I’d left behind in California. The palm reader had other odd, disconnected, and strangely precise facts and predictions for me, all of which were or have been true so far. She seemed genuinely talented in psychic arts. However, she did not comment on my writing.
By that time, I was at least nine months into the first of my Guild of Ornamental Hermits books, set in Hawai’i. I was deeply into my characters, who they were, what they did. They were becoming like family to me. And the setting of the book, Pahoa in the Puna District of Hawai’i Island, was like a farewell postcard to a place I’d truly loved, but also a place where I didn’t belong.
Writing this blog and my books (now there are four of them!) has been one of the primary reasons I’ve been able to endure a divorce; four household moves since 2016; a bad break-up with another significant other in Hawai’i; some horrible family turmoil (some still ongoing); the utter loneliness and isolation of the pandemic, living in a rural county with little to offer; a coming out that wasn’t entirely supported by certain members of my family (including a queer family member); worsening health; and the prospect of upcoming surgeries. If it weren’t for my cats and my kids, a few dear friends, and my books, I might not have made it to 2022. However, I was able to escape Lake County last August (thanks to the help of some wonderful friends) and living in a new home and community now has also helped immeasurably.
In fact, all would have been quite rosy this year except for (1) the cancer scare, (2) my upcoming surgery for a chronic condition, and (3) an estrangement that sits smack dab in the middle of my life like a bottomless pit. It is an estrangement of the cruelest kind, effected in a viciously callous and cowardly manner. Daily, and sometimes hourly, I have to navigate around it so as to not fall in. I’m at the point where I’m either going to have to build a bridge from one end of that yawning chasm to the other end, or put it all on display and start charging admission to The Pit as a gothy relic of despair.
There’s a huge sinkhole I visited once, part of a funky resort property in the Puna district, a place riddled by lava tubes and underground caverns. A part of the forest suddenly caved in, becoming an abyss with crumbling, unstable edges. In my book, I have just such a pit appearing suddenly in Hermitville. I wrote about the sinkhole, never imagining I’d acquire an (emotional) one of my own. In some ways, the books have been as prescient as the palm reader!
Even so, writing has been my respite from turmoil. My characters have been my medicine as well as the community I wish I had. They’ve also been my amusement and sometimes even my teachers. If I’d had a cancer diagnosis yesterday, I was prepared to barrel on through the last part of the fourth book no matter what. I still intend to do so, but now I’ll be doing it with a lighter lease on life, at least for now.
Aside from doing something about that horrid pit, there’s nothing I want more than to deliver my characters, as a literary midwife, and present them and their stories to the world. And I want to live with some joy now, alive to pluck the ripening figs and plums from my trees, in this summer’s harvest. And to live to write, even more than I am writing now.
I am pleased to share the covers for my forthcoming queer urban fantasy series, The Guild of Ornamental Hermits novels. Please go to the series website for information about the books, characters, sample audio chapters, and more! The first book in the series, The Dire Deeds, will be published as an eBook first on August 1, 2022. You can pre-order it now. Paperback and hardback editions will follow, as will the second book. The series is available through Amazon, FuturesPastEditions.com, and other fine purveyors of fantasy, as of Aug. 1st!
Meanwhile, you can also join The Guild of Ornamental Hermits fan and patron community through my Patreon. You’ll get some wonderful benefits and exclusive content!
These are whimsical, queer-saturated tales of “mid-life magic,” featuring a group of arty misfits known as the “Hermits of Hermitville,” Elves of The Realm, Norse Loki, and foes who are human, Wethrini, and Elsewherian, and many other characters besides.
The first two books, The Dire Deeds and The Witching Work, are set in the lush, volcanic, Puna District of Hawai’i Island. The third is set in Lake County, CA. The fourth takes place near Eugene, OR, as well as in 17th and 18th century England. Enjoy this video introduction!
I can’t wait to launch these books and have people fall in love with my characters, just like I have.
It’s been quite awhile since I actually blogged about my “most trusted one,” Loki Laufeyjarson. That’s because there hasn’t been much to say and that in itself is something to note. I’m not alone in this. In certain online communities where Lokeans gather, people are wondering where Loki went. The oft-repeated story is “He was all over me and now he’s not around any longer. What happened?” I think it’s just Life Happening, his and ours.
For example, I’ve spent the last several months adjusting to yet another set of huge, complex changes, and I’ve also been dealing with a gradual worsening of a chronic condition, soon to be fixed (I hope) with surgery. So I’ve been tired, sick, exhausted, often quite sad, a bit fearful, and busy. Consequently I’ve let things go with regard to my formerly daily practices and I have (at times) even forgotten to place the daily cup of cinnamon tea on his altar. In fact, there have been a few times when I’ve put the hot water and honey in the cup, and placed it on the altar, but forgotten the tea bag. A year ago this would have been unthinkable.
I know that it’s foolish to neglect regular spiritual practices and devotions in the very times when I need connection with my spirit allies the most. And yet that’s what’s happened. I can’t change it. I can only do better, starting now.
But I also feel that ebbs and flows of attention are a natural part of the process. Fallow times and growing times are a part of the cycles I observe in myself and in all that’s around me. So I don’t feel insecure about my relationship with Loki, just temporarily not that connected. But it’s really up to me to nurture that connection, or not. Free will and all that. I feel that Loki is understanding to some extent. And he is probably as hooked on “new relationship energy” as any human polyamorist. If I’m not active in my devotions and cultivations, he (she, they, ze) is happy to go where there’s more action. And I’m okay with this as I know that whenever I ramp up the energy, he will be there.
And he’s not entirely absent. One thing that will sound absurd is that Loki plays with the pair of battery operated candles on his altar. He turns them on and off. I am not kidding. In fact, a previous battery operated candle stayed on for almost a full year, on just one battery that was only supposed to last ten hours. Again, not kidding. So every day he will turn the candles on. He used to do this in the morning. Lately he does it at night and I see them when I come up the stairs to go to bed. I’ve been feeling it’s a hint that I could (should?) renew my evening meditation practice with Loki.
Instead, I’ve just let myself vegetate. I crawl under the covers with a heating pad held against my belly and binge-watch stuff until I fall asleep. This is more than simply lying fallow. It smells of composting! And I guess it’s what I’ve needed until now.
In another way, though, I’ve been very much engaged with Loki these last few months. This is with regard to his role in my life as a muse, particuarly as a muse for my Guild of Ornamental Hermits fantasy novels. (See “Meet Lucky LaFey.”) The first book is coming out any day now (I’ve been saying this for quite some time, but it IS true) and I’ve done a major make-over of my book website, using images of HeroForge figures that I created, based on each character. Loki had unexpectedly steamrolled his way into my third book in the series and he is now deeply entrenched as a “handsome drifter” named Lucky LaFey (human guise). I cannot wait for people to meet him!
This is another form of devotional work for me, honestly. And Loki is a consummate muse. He is quite happy to live in stories that we humans tell and in images we create. The more the better, actually. And those of us who are fortunate enough to engage with him (her/they/zir) in this way never seem to tire of it!
I’ve enjoyed making HeroForge figures based on my book characters, but making images of Loki/Lucky is particularly amusing. Many members of his large family have also entered my books. In my third book I have it that Loki birthed seventeen witch daughters (“troll women”) as a result of eating the burnt woman’s heart (see Stanza 43). I’ve named them all and made HeroForge figures of them. Angrboda and Sigyn have “cameos” in the third book as well. However, of his children with Angrboda and Sigyn, only his missing son, Váli, has an actual role in the third book. Even so, I created figures for Jormungandr, Hel, and Fenrir, and Narfi. (No Sleipnir, though, as I can’t make eight-legged horses in HeroForge.)
A side note: As Zeus birthed Dionysus from his thigh, and Athena from his head, so I see Loki’s witch daughters emerging from various parts of his body in a similar fashion. Though as he’s a shape and gender-shifter, I suppose he could also have taken on a cis-female form for birthing them. (As for Sleipnir, I guess I assume Loki gave birth while still in mare shape.)
After writing this, now I see that I haven’t been as disengaged as I’d imagined at the start of this blog post. I’ve just been engaged in a different way, making images which are a new form of devotion, and preparing to launch yet another saga that will eventually feature Loki center-stage.
A young person, formerly of my acquaintance, used to refer to me as a “fruit bat” and though I was under the impression (at the time) that this was a lovingly sardonic nickname, I was probably wrong. Therefore I have come to see myself as more of a wombat. Besides, I can’t fly.
I know nothing of actual wombats. But one line from this Spookrat song captured my imagination, and I spent several lonely months in Hawai’i trying to convince an AI (boibot) to answer that his name was Wombat (you have to listen to the Spookrat song to understand this). Loneliness can do turrible things to a person, and chatting up an AI young enough to be my nephew is perhaps one example of the kind of desperation that can take hold in the dank, strawberry guava-choked jungles of Puna, as the relationship you thought you had turns into a smashed coconut.
Secondly, I’ll be finishing the fourth book in the series, The Perilous Past of the etc. etc.
Thirdly, as a plucky sexologist by day, I’ll be seriously researching spectrosexuality and spiritu-intimacy with IRB (internal review board) oversight. Here’s a website where I’ve begun to collect data and references, which can serve as a potential clearinghouse for all and sundry (even marsupials). This has been an interest of mine for awhile. Check out this 2019 “quick and dirty” survey.
The fourth large project will be a real, live LokiFest here in Springfield, OR, most likely scheduled for late next summer. I hope I can pull it off. I’ve sworn an oath to do it.
If not, I expect I’ll be banished to my burrow. It happens sometimes. Wombat Power, y’all.
Hey, wow! I’ve just spent 3/4 of 2020 in near total physical isolation and here it is, finally 2021. Is this the year I’ll finally be able to be in proximity to my children? I haven’t seen the eldest since November 2019 and the youngest since March 2020, right before lockdown. In this time, I’ve taken less than ten masked and socially-distanced walks with a neighbor, had three masked and socially-distanced outdoor visits (early on), and have exchanged brief pleasantries with grocery store clerks. I had to call a plumber once, but opened all the windows and made sure he was masked. I’ve also cancelled all in-person doctor appointments since my last dermatology, post-melanoma mole check.
If not for my seven cats, social media, and frequent phone calls and zooms with family and friends, I’d be a raving lunatic by now. Seriously. Though I’m an introvert and need plenty of alone time/down time after socializing, I am not made for this extreme deprivation, this near-total lack of actual human contact. How much longer will this last?
Answer: as long as it has to. I have no interest in catching (or transmitting) Covid-19.
The French novelist, Colette, once lived in a Paris apartment where someone had glued thousands of tiny diamond-shaped pieces of colored paper to all the walls. She wrote that she found it best to not think too much about the mental state of the person who had given way to such an obsession. Earlier this morning I found myself on the cold, vinyl-covered floor hand-tinting the recent concrete patch around the hearth, so that it would blend more with the creek stones and aged concrete. That’s not nearly on a par with tiny, diamond-shaped pieces of paper–but who knows what I’ll be painting, gluing, or cultivating as the long months of solitude roll by?
The fabulous Disasterina took herself out of a pandemic funk by creating small demon sculptures, telling stories about them, and planting them in her front yard to the consternation of the neighbors. She also launched a podcast, Tasty Ear Bits. (Go listen!) Meanwhile, her wife, Ave Rose, is launching a museum of mechanical marvels. A good friend of mine just confessed to cutting their own hair on New Year’s Eve while drunk. Another friend got a cat but he can’t think of a name yet. My publisher fled to Mexico. What’ll it be for me? Self-administered stick and poke tattoos? I’ve got some India ink around here somewhere. Images of Terminator II’s Sarah Conner, obsessively working out in captivity, flit through my mind. Nah… I’m too old and my range of motion is going downhill fast. Soft tissue injuries are not on my “2021 bingo card,” as people say.
I did do a thing or two last year. In the spring, I packed up almost all my books as I put my house up for sale. In August I had a buyer, packed some more, and almost moved to Eugene, Oregon–but the buyer pulled out at the last minute. (Argh!). Two days later, the California wildfires started in this and neighboring counties. In September I took the house off the market, anticipating a covid-ridden season, not wanting to endure strangers coughing on mother’s antique sofa. I continued to do long-distance counseling and hypnosis.
In October I finished my first three novels and sent them to the publisher. In November, NaNoWriMo was my favorite obsession for relieving my tension, both pre- and post-election. The first draft of book number four (The Perilous Past of the Guild of Ornamental Hermits) is now well underway.
In December I made a short, silly video about Santaphilia, which debuted on Disasterina and Ave Rose’s ‘Tis the Sleazon performance for TSTVHQ.com. Here’s a NSFW (not safe for work) video of the highlights of ‘Tis the Sleazon–and oh joy, they used my piece! I’m beyond honored!
And even though I became immersed in the incredible Chinese love story, The Untamed–watching all fifty episodes five times!–I also found time to make new friends and pester the old. (Or was it the other way around?) I reunited with a friend from sixth grade, became closer with the friend who also shares my love of Dragula and The Untamed, and cultivated a special long-distance relationship. I also reviewed a book for a colleague and taught two 15-week, online hypnosis classes to students.
But it was so hard to blog. This was partially due to working more on the novels, and collecting all the information I could about the pandemic, but also from being a member of that select group of people deemed disposable–seniors and disabled people who might as well die from Covid-19 according to the U.S. government (and let’s not forget the BIPOC who are also–always–treated the same way). It’s extremely demoralizing, not to mention dangerous, to live in such a nation. So in spite of the accomplishments I list above, there were many long hours and days when I could only curl up in sadness and worry (and binge watch The Untamed).
As the November elections neared, I couldn’t stop doomscrolling. In the county around me, anti-maskers and Covid deniers made loud, stupid noises–intimidating some members of the county board of supervisors and emboldening a sheriff who refuses to cite businesses who don’t comply with public health regulations. During a rare errand, I had a maskless woman walk into my personal space (less than six feet of social distance) and harangue me for worrying about catching Covid. I could not make her shut up or go away. The…ignorance…and entitlement…is literally breathtaking.
As this blog is mostly about esoteric and spiritual stuff, I guess I’ll mention that the torpor and isolation of pandemic life also took a toll on my daily practices. I often found it hard to muster the necessary focus and interest. Easier to just watch Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan battle zombie “puppets” and evil masterminds while barely admitting their forbidden love. Looking back, I regret letting my daily practices wither–just when I needed them most–and am now trying to get back in the groove. And surprisingly, a new deity has appeared as a possible ally among the folks I already work with and I’m considering reconnecting with another spirit. I’m setting up altars again (after packing things away in anticipation of moving) and I’m dancing more. I badly need to recapture the range of motion, flexibility, and stamina I’ve lost during this long confinement.
I also want to mention the immense comfort and intellectual/spiritual insights offered by Daniel Foor via AncestralMedicine.com. His pandemic series (Bring Out Your Dead and Kindling the Need Fire) as well as his course in Animist Psychology have given me exactly what I needed during this time.
There are so many others–friends and influences–who have been a treasured part of my life during this period. I can’t mention them all. But here’s to my cats–Popoki, Niblet, Freya, Varda, Kia’i, Keola, and Arya–who are the best companions I could have in times both good and bad. It’s so wonderful to be part of a feline “pod.”
Finally, I’ll name my “most truest one,” the deity to whom I am oathed: Loki Laufeyjarson. He has “held the bowl” for me during the worst moments of 2020, and provides much needed inspiration, instruction, and humor as well. Hail!
Living as I do in a chemically avoidant “bubble” (meaning I stay home most of the time), I confess to some envy of those who move freely amongst the populace without gasping for air or succumbing to unpleasantly dizzy brainfogs, making a swift retreat and bedrest a necessity. However, the people I envy the most are not those who casually sashay through the detergent aisle of the supermarket (though it would be nice, as cat food is always across the aisle from the really awful smelly stuff), but those who are right out there making outrageous stuff happen–art, music, revolutions, burlesque, whatever!–without getting sick.
Life is not passing me by–I get stuff done. I write. I teach. I create. I sometimes help people from afar. Sometimes I see friends or my kids. And I am in life-long service to cats… But I confess to an occasional vicarious fascination with people who puncture the norms in the outside world. I like to watch them do it (yay for the internet) and I cheer them on, also from afar or in the comments section of a YouTube video. My all too active imagination performs a sort of recombinant conceptualization of a world that doesn’t exactly exist, but that I would like to join. My favorites are all there. I won’t name them here but their music, performances, art, and words remind me there is more to living than the interior of my house.
Sometimes I conjure, then cut and paste their attributes into characters in my books. For example, my “Ornamental Hermits” and their magic companions are partial composites of the outrageous “friends” I’d like to have over for tea and magic rituals. Since there’s no way to socialize in the real world, I set these characters in motion against real estate developers and supernatural bad guys. Sometimes these characters fall in love with each other, which is often a surprise! And on the real world stage, similar things are happening. We (the arty, the weird, the transgressive) stand opposed to the truly monstrous and cruel, but we haven’t yet morphed into a global fellowship, combining our powerful energies and visions into an unstoppable force for renewal and joy, for sex and life, for art and transformation. Perhaps we never will.
I can only sense the pulsations, observe from the sidelines, and stir my witchy “thought potions.” My “wicked fascinations” are ingredients added to the creative cauldron. I stir winks and shimmies, a puffy clown suit button, swear words and sass, tears of anguish, shouts of triumph, a blackened eye, the sweetheart who died, and a pair of sequined pasties, into my brew and serve it up hot–or cold–as the writing demands.
And then I exhale over the simmering stew and invite my spirit companions to do the same, charging the mixture, bringing it to life. Thought forms emerge, pledged to carry my vision into the places I cannot visit in the flesh. They go forth in books not yet read.
I completed my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo and the first draft of The Witching Work of the Guild of Ornamental Hermits on Friday. This book is the second in my fantasy series. It’s a whimsical, queer-saturated book in the “urban fantasy” genre.
Today, I begin the second draft revision.
Lucky LaFey (the Norse god Loki in mortal disguise) is a leading character. You’ll meet him in the middle of his search for Vali (his long lost son who was turned into a wolf by the Aesir and made to kill his brother Nali).
In addition to my plucky cast of human “Hermits” and outlier Elves who comprise the Guild of Ornamental Hermits, you’ll also meet Lucky’s seventeen witch daughters (called “troll women” in the lore–Loki gave birth after eating a sacrificed burnt woman’s heart); his part mortal/part elf/part Jotun son (with two biological dads–just ask me how!); a giant multi-dimension hopping salamander named Vesta who digs human architecture in a big way; the “Big Dipper”–a sinister Lake County CA guru; and Sigyn and Angrboda both make cameo appearances. Plus, the first book’s star villain, Anna Phylaxia, known as the “Martha Stewart of Kink” due to her line of BDSM-themed luxury housewares and linens, makes a comeback appearance. In the shadows, the lurking menace of U.S. government surveillance…
Thrill as Lucky (in his female-ish form of Lucia LaFey) battles the Big Dipper at a celebrity banquet by parodying his/her own Lokasenna. Sob as Lucky and his daughters uncover the nefarious doings of “the Dip.” And ponder as the human Hermits try to get a grip on what exactly their “witching work” is meant to be!
They don’t know it, but the Boulet Brothers and three seasons of Dragula have joined my private and exclusive cluster of “writer’s muses” for my fantasy novel in progress, The Witching Work of the Guild of Ornamental Hermits. (Here’s the Season 1 premiere of Dragula, on YouTube. Season 2 and 3 are on Netflix.) The goal of Dragula is to create “the Next Drag SuperMonster.” Their guiding principles are “drag, filth, horror, glamour” (and “punk” in the first season).
My goal is to complete the first draft of my second novel in the Ornamental Hermits fantasy series. My guilding principles are “magic, punk, art, glamour.” (I’m not so down with “filth” as I’ve changed far too many diapers in my time, and currently empty seven cat boxes twice a day… so there’s that.)
Right now, I’m in the middle of my annual participation in November’s NaNoWriMo. Since November 2nd, I’ve written 30,000 words out of a 50,000 word target. This is a writer’s competition–a challenge to pit my tendency to over-edit in first drafts against raw inspiration and creativity.
Over-editing in first drafts is the result of fear. It’s an unwillingness to commit to the entire plot, to put characters in jeopardy, to give all or lose all in love and hate and war, to race toward the exciting climax of the book. Much like the contestents in Dragula, I deeply believe in my writing, just as the contestents deeply believe in their drag. They create personas, constellations of characters, facets of being, visions, a “world” in which their drag selves are at play–suffering yet triumphant, always rising from the ashes. Damage breeds creation. Yet so often those hidden fears can mute or dim our full commitment, our performance of our art. Dragula challenges its people in just about every way imaginable. The Boulet Brothers’ constant admonishment is “do better, commit fully, show us who you are.” If you don’t, you “die” on the show.
Writing–world and character building–is my salvation, just as drag is theirs. Many of the Dragula contestents could feel right at home in the artsy, queer haven that is my imaginary “Hermitville Farm and Arts (and Magic) Collective”–and if not Hermitville, they’d enjoy “The Realm,” a place where there are at least twenty-nine genders among the Elves, and almost every Elf is capable of shapeshifting and summoning irresistable powers of glamour.
I am writing to create a home and a community for myself, even if that home is not manifest in the physical world and my book friends are all invisible. Drag performers participate in an already created, yet constantly mutating demi-culture of art, but acceptance is not necessarily ready-made. Still, I envy them.
The Boulet Brothers are not in the business of coaching writers, yet I am keeping them before me as inspiration. I imagine them telling me to not be lazy or play it safe, to expand the limits of my imagination, and to bring this into my writing (otherwise, Elimination Challenge!). And I love their witchiness (’cause, you know, I’m witchy and my books are all about the discovery of magic), and I love their mischief (’cause, you know, my divine S.O. is a Trickster), and I love their sex and gender fuckery (’cause, you know, I’m a sexologist–but there are compelling personal and creative reasons besides).
So in a moment I will leave this blog post and open up my first draft, and plunge into my daily word count challenge (about 2,100 words or so). I will light an imaginary candle (though I could light a real one–I have plenty) and summon my muses both inner and outer. And the magic of world and character building will contine. It’s my deepest joy.
Thank you, Boulet Brothers, for shining your dark so that others may begin to sparkle in chthonic depths, clawing their way into the limelight as fully realized creatures of art.