Freewrite for Mewrite.

Challenge #1: Stop writing about me. I do it too much. On to other topics . .

Science Fiction. Its the all-time greatest genre. Why? I’ll tell you why, becuase it can be anything, anytime, anyplace, with anyone and still rationalize sense out of it. It can deal with the detailed plot or the abstract idea, human nature, and the non-humanness of the unknown. It can be anything you want it to be. Take Farscape, for example. Its my favorite show. The characters are believable, developed, rational, quirky, and so very human. They have flaws, they make poor choices, they act rashly, they admit defeat and flee fear just as they also act as heroically at times as any fictional character must. At the same time, they deal with trauma, sexuality, fear, respect, racism, spirituality, love, hate, war, diversity, ethnic cleansing, mental disease, right and wrong, good and evil, and the ambiguity that exists between those two abstracts. All that, and I’m only on episode 30. My Fiance watches all kinds of dramatic TV, like Nip Tuck, (ew) and all it focuses on is the drama in the terrible human decisions we make. It never addressed what happens when you provide as stable living environment for your family, what that might be like, becuase that’s boring television. Sci-Fi can totally discuss that issue, and make it exciting by changing the scenery and making it an original experience, while telling an everyday story. Its original creativity, talented writing, believable storytelling, and enriching motifs that make this genre have such a fanatic following. I don’t care if people think I’m a nerd when I’m watching Star Trek, Firefly, Farscape, Buffy, Doctor Who, or any other creative television experience. I’m getting far more than entertainment out of it, and they can keep their dramas of the human “experience.”

Rock on, my Scifi and Fantasy friends. Rock on.

~Caitlandia

We The People …

I have never considered myself a politically involved person. I don’t attend protests or rallies, I don’t debate current events, I rarely even read the newspaper. It as come to my attention, however, that every decision we make, large or small, reflects the way in which we, as citizens, consumers, and taxpayers, shape our nation. I do not now, nor will I ever become interested in the game of politics, but I do understand and uphold our original constitution and the intent with which our founding fathers wrote it. As such, I will forever be an activist in my every day life for freedom, equality, and the acceptance of diversity, as were the intentions woven into this country’s governing foundations. It is my hope, that as a diverse and educated nations of socially aware citizens, we can demand sustainable, ethically produced products, maintain nonrestrictive social expression, retire inconsistent and socially repressive laws, and continue to participate in the ever-present discourse of the question: Where are we going?

We can complain about the various environments of our homeland until the end of time, or we can make positive contributions every day that move us toward the change we hope for. Patriotism means more than hanging a flag. Act accordingly.

Another Overshare. As usual.

If what you put in is what you put out, it’s no wonder my life is listless. It’s been recently brought to my attention by a medical professional that unless we are writing our own script in life and everyday situations, we will never feel whole. I can think of few times I have ever felt that I am making decisions or talking or acting in a way that is purely of my own creation. Rather I constantly act, considering the situation and audience and assuming the role I know they want me to assume. I can’t blame anyone but myself for that choice, I have been doing it unhindered for 23 years. I’m not going to do that anymore. I foresee there will be some resistance, and some generally pissed off people rebuking me for my wicked and changed ways, but maybe they aren’t people I should be interacting with anyway.

I asked myself the other day, “what do I want?” The fact that I didn’t know was sad, but the fact that I immediately started searching for an answer filled my soul in a way I have not known before. Searching for what I want, instead of what someone else wants, bares so risk of rejection or wrong choice. If I don’t like it, I simply toss it aside and move on. For others, this might seem a ridiculously juvenile process, but my juvenile days were spent being an adult, and I need to go back and learn the lessons I skipped when I lost my youth. This is new to me, and it is the first thing that has ever given me reason to desire a future. I honestly do not think I will ever be suicidal again. That ship has sailed unmanned.

Zombie Survival Plan

Mal told me to write a Zombie Survival Plan for my freewrite topic. So here goes, step by step, this is what I would do if … wait, correction, WHEN it happens.

1.       As per Fiancé’s request for any emergency, immediately upon hearing the news of the Zombie Apocalypse, run upstairs, lock self in master closet while loading shotgun, filling pockets with extra shells, and donning all-weather zombie killing clothing.

2.       Go downstairs, affix dogs with their survivals packs, and take get mine (already pre-packed, because we’re that awesome) and lock up the house, to deter looters.

3.       Inspect roads, if they look drivable, take Vinny the Volvo, if not, take the bicycle while the dogs run next to me, and go North, toward Mt. Hood.

4.       Hike into Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness Area due to its remoteness and yet closeness to my house.

5.       Set up camp atop a hill with dogs and weapons. Use short range radios to communicate with our fellow wilderness friends who already know where to meet us (because we’re wilderness nerds and we like maps).

6.       When Fiancé can meet us there, affix zombie slaughtering devices to his giant truck for maximum zombie kills when driving.

7.       Using our camp as a base, rescue our friends while smoking motherfuckers.

8.       Create a refugee camp in the mountains for our surviving friends and keep killing motherfuckers.

9.       THE END.

Come to think of it, we’re pretty creepily prepared. MRE’s, pre-packed overnight packs, weapons galore, including firearms and bows, for when the bullets run out, and knives of every shape and size (my personal obsession). I never realized Gabe and I were this creepy.

You and I

My subtle passenger, my lifelong companion.

Shadowing me so carefully hidden in your silken shroud.

As a child, you watched me grow. Taught me,  guided my learning.

Translated the path before me into words I could understand.

You gave me peace inside the chaos the rest of the world fears.

And I misunderstood you. Thought I had conquered you. Took my fearlessness as a boon to my own fortitude.

All the while, you waited quietly in the dark crevasses of my life, silent. Patient.

I wasn’t fighting you, all those long years of “should I” or “shouldn’t I.”

The enemy was of my own engineering. An alter flame built to the wrong master.

But I have found you again, my sweet mentor.

I remember the lessons you taught me, and the Reaping Way. Hand in hand, let us do your dark works.

~C

Its Complicated …

 I’m not going to get political, but I will say this: I understand that a long time enemy of our nation is (allegedly) dead, and that will hopefully be one more step towards bringing our troops home, but lets keep in mind that there are a lot of facts the public does not know about the situation, our boys are all still over there, and we have too long a list of names who aren’t coming home. The excitement people keep exclaiming over the death of He Who Shall Not Be Named seems a little too cheery for such a complex and (to me) sobering issue. Nothing about our presence in the Middle East has been either black or white, and with these ever-changing shades of gray I feel that we need much more than a childlike sense of exhilaration over what are being portrayed as victories. We are educated, civil right toting citizens of a developed nation, act accordingly. Hopefully with grace and consideration.

~C

Razorblade: A Love Affair

It was never about attention, and few ever knew. Those who did never said a word, not knowing or understanding the nature of the act. I was careful, meticulous, exact. Rarely did the desire rack me so strongly to shrug off my veil of careful secrecy.

I kept my trusty razor blade hidden away inside a wooden box full of old money from other countries my grandfather gave me. It was crusted with blood. Washing the blade was not part of my ritual, would draw too much parental attention and require leaving my bedroom, which in those days I did only when survival depended on it. That sharp little thing was my best friend, my only reliable companion. It never let me down and always finished what it started. I loved it. I would stare at it for long moments before and after the act, while that lovely dark-red blood gently dripped from those perfect little wounds.

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Fear

Fear has been a big problem for me for as long as I can remember. Whether it was fear of getting hurt, disappointing someone, death or rejection, I’ve been paralyzed in my life.

Since the fourth grade I’ve talked about being a writer and worked on writing books. I took classes, read writing magazines and books. Nowadays, I follow authors on twitter and read blogs in an attempt to gain more knowledge. I do everything I can but the most important thing…actually write.

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Summer in the City

Its only Spring, but this perfectly clear, blue sky day and the sun on my skin is making me hungry for those summer days. Those long, summer days I adore so much when the heat makes life slow down ever so slightly and everywhere you go people fill the streets. Cooking, eating, drinking, playing, lounging. Everyone moves their lives outside for those precious few months of warm, dry Oregon summer sun. We walk around barely clothed and totally unoffended by it, its the heat, and everyone forgets conventional rules of modesty for a while. Everyone smells of warm skin and fresh cut grass is everywhere. The days get so long, dinner never really ends, we all just sit around the table out back, or on the porch, or around the fire pit, talking and drinking long after the late sunset finally comes, waiting for the house to cool. Everyone smells like campfire. The hot pavement and dirt and plants diffuse their many scents as they cool in the evening. Somehow we all find a new energy in the summer, to stay up late into the night and still rise with the early morning sun, as if to maximize our short season of perfect weather. We hardly sleep, drink every night, and yet never grow tired of the pace we set for outdoor adventure in every spare moment we are not working. On the river, at the camping spot, up the mountain, on that bouldering rock, over at the coast, down in the valley, the dessert, the plains. We go everywhere with every spare moment we have. At the end of these long days, when the dogs are tired and dirty from playing in the river, and we have put out the fire and said farewell to our constant outdoor dinner guests, we go into our house with dirty, bare feet to lay in our bed with no blankets and all the windows open, hoping for a breeze, and sleep off our exhaustion only to rise again the instant the sun peaks over the horizon.

~C