Animal Totem Talk

In recent conversation with a friend, the topic of Animal Totems came up. I was reminded a long time ago of a side conversation with someone in the past when I mentioned that I don't eat Octopuses or Squid anymore because I've recognized them as deities/totems for me. The person was shocked that I wouldn't "eat my totem" and I suppose, given the act of transubstantiation in Catholicism whereby they eat the body and blood of Christ every Sunday, that the eating of a totem might make sense. Well, I don't have to worry about eating any animal totems now since I'm no longer eating meat but I am actually very down with a little transubstantiation of my own. 

I believe in the power of symbolism (more so than the protestants who claim the break and wine to be just symbols). If I wanted to partake of my totems, whatever animals they may be, I would symbolically ingest and, therefore, truly ingest the archetypal essence of the creature into my being. For Hannah, who has a fox totem, we could eat fox shaped cookies or make an alcoholic beverage to honor the Arctic Fox or the Bat-Eared Fox. You get the gist. I don't need to put the actual matter of the totems flesh into my body to incorporate it's nutritional (spiritual) value. 

Moving on. I don't know for sure that the Octopus is my official totem as I am sometimes more in awe of it than I am relating to it on a spiritual and characteristic level (or I could be wrong - who knows!) but I know that in light of the conversation with had with our friend the other day a few fun things have happened reinforcing Hannah's totem and opening me up to, if not a totem, an animal spirit guide who has some valuable lessons to teach me. 

Animal Speak

Here's what happened: Hannah and I were telling Rachel about the Animal Speak book that had been the basis of the initial conversation and the Magical Menagerie deck fell from its shelf to the floor. We all turned to look when it dropped all we could made out was something falling - we didn't know what had caused the plunk. Later that night I discovered that it was the Animal oracle and I went, "Hmmmm," and told Hannah we needed to draw a card that night! Well we completely forgot. We are quit often  enormous dinguses (dingii?). We drew a card each the next night. These puppies had been shuffled too. So shuffled. Hannah had shuffled them the first night when they fell and then I shuffled them again. Well I drew first and got Griffin/Gryphon. Hannah drew second and *boom* she drew fox. We are going to make a small Inari shrine in the house at some point as fox has been a huge animal in Hannah's life (and, through being with Hannah, in my life as well).

So Hannah's draw made ridiculously perfect sense. Mine was a little weirder. I didn't think the Griffin was very fitting. At first. I took an online, for fun, Spirit Animal test and got Eagle. I didn't put much stock in the test, but I kept it in the back of my mind because why not? And then I started to hunker down and really think about what the Griffin meant. I am fond of Griffins and since that day I've been seeing them, or reminders of them, everywhere. In fact, that other day I saw a large pink heraldic griffin splayed across the bottom of an extra large license plate. How random? Or not. I found many pictures of griffins with the heads of Bald Eagles and felt that was a neat tie in to the previous test I'd taken. Also I found numerous sites offering pretty similar information: the Griffin is a cross between the King of Land (lion) and the King of Sky (eagle) and is known to symbolize a spiritual quest. That the Griffin is a guardian and a guide, usually as you journey a new spiritual path, or go through a particularly challenging trial. 

So I've been paying attention. I do feel that I need some guidance right now. There have been a lot of changes in my life, and new challenges. My sibling (whom I've been somewhat estranged with) is sick and dying; I'm less than two months out from getting married; my computer is broken and is going to the manufacturer for repairs; we lost a full time employee at work and are going to lose another on the 28th of this month; the house is in a perpetual state of mess; my car may or may not be road worthy enough to go to Seattle; I don't want to keep living at Valley 206 now that they are becoming a tax credit community and will have A) the authority to get rid of us at any time due to how much money I make and B) full access to my bank account information and C) they will be making us sign a year long lease in the next few months after we've been on month-to-month for almost a full year already. And it's getting darker sooner now. I can already feel my brain and body reacting to the waning summer. I'm bracing for the shit emotional time ahead but it's hard to see how everything is going to turn out at this point. And maybe that's why a Griffin jumped off the shelf for me the other night.

A while back I did a written role-play with a friend wherein our two protagonists, a married gay couple, were dealing with ghost possession as well as ancestral bloodline awakenings. It was pretty cool role-play concept and, who knows, we might revisit in the future. We both want to write novels and short stories and it could be fun to turn some of our RPs into novellas or novels. Anyway, my character in the RP (the one dealing with an awakening of his bloodline) was a Chamrosh (which is essentially what you see in the above pic). A chamrosh is a griffin with a wolf's body instead of a lion's. It is the lesser known Persian winged guardian and I spent a lot of time for that RP delving into what a griffin/chamrosh meant and what function one might serve in a story. So when griffin showed up the other night I felt a fun pang of familiarity.

Speaking of RPs, Hannah and I are finally writing one again. Just for fun and also to whet our writing chops again. I've already shared some of the beginning story that spurred her to say 'hey, let's write this out together!' It's been kind of fun to delve into these characters. Neither of them comes from what I would call a horribly tragic past or abusive situation. Both have had shitty moments as well as comfort. It's been fun throwing challenges their way, but mostly they are just a cutesy-nervous couple full of unnecessary, self-depreciating worries and woes. Kind of like most people.

In other news, I recently discovered Leo Moracchioli on Youtube. I will be purchasing a few of these fantastic covers. So far my favorites are Adele's Hello and Frozen's Let it Go. I leave you with a song for now. This started as such a focused blog post (started it a few days ago) and then more and more and more just kept happening. so here we are. Please enjoy Leo's cover.

General Update - A Weird Tuesday and Other Things

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.
Robert Frost

I hope everyone had a blessed and wonderful Lughnasadh. For me, the Harvest day of August 1 brought some rather interesting things into my life. I was sick in the morning and stayed home to try to sleep off my discomfort. I had wanted to go to work around 1pm so that I didn't have to use a full sick day but I called in a little later and let work know that I couldn't make it in. I now only have two sick days left but we're already in August so I'm not too worried. Also I'm going to be off for most of October so if I can't hack it with two sick days then there's something seriously wrong. 

It turns out that being sick on Tuesday was a necessity because that meant I was home to comfort Hannah upon her return from a very rough doctor's appointment. She really needed me that day and I'm glad I was there for her. She's been dealing with so much, and a lot of it she's trying to tackle by herself with little help from anyone. While that's very admirable she is still healing from surgery and I want her to feel like she can ask me for help. And ask any of our friends. She still has such a hard time doing that though.

The other reason I'm glad I was home on Tuesday was because my mother and father needed to come over and share good news and bad news. The good news was fun but the bad news was pretty dark and life changing. I'm not going to talk about that too much for now. I want to know more about what's going on before I try to come to terms with things. I just know that there will be some very hard times coming and I'm not sure how to feel about it. 

Even the day after this news I was pretty out of it at work. Today I'm doing better. Tonight I'm going to a Stargazing event at the Spokane Valley Library. Should be neat. And on Friday I'm going to ride the Hillyard bus up to meet Hannah at our friend's house for a tea and coffee date. Maybe I'll bring the Nutpods creamer to try. 

On the vegetarian front Hannah and I are doing well however we're getting trapped, or feeling trapped, in what we eat. We need to research more recipes and be more adventurous. I recently saw a cool way to cook eggplant that I want to try (I can't believe I'm eating eggplant and actually enjoying it) and also I want us to invest in more salad toppings like fruit, nuts, and seeds. I'm still eating cheese and I've decided that for now I'm not going to stress about going dairy free until we are past the wedding and the honeymoon. I would like to limit animal products to just about nil but that will take some time and adjusting.

Recently, Hannah and I spent some time with the twins in Moscow. They are going to take care of bachelorette party planning and also they are going to be my smudgers! I'm really excited about this. But thinking about parties and about the wedding makes me realize how much there still needs to be done. I am worried about money (always, always, always... story of my life is a worry over money) but I'm not as worried as I thought I would be. Hopefully that's a good sign. 

Storytime! So gay... so very, very gay...

From the start of our relationship, storytelling has always been an important element of bonding for Hannah and me. At night we often read out loud to each other or I will make up a bedtime story for her to listen to until she falls asleep. More often than not I'm the one who gets put to sleep but that's beside the point.

Sometimes my bedtime stories are innocent and about animals and mythical beasts. Sometimes they are epic Dungeons and Dragons type adventures. Most of the time though, regardless of setting, they are romantic (a.k.a. smutty) in nature. And because I'm a big old pervert I usually make the 'mating couples' same sex, related, or involved in some heavy BDSM. Because that's just how I roll. 

Last night's story was cutesy. Before bed Hannah and I had just finished watching Junjo Romantica Season 3 and were feeling particularly fond of jealous semes, embarrassed ukes, and light-hearted angst. So the setting for my story was of course college life and my protagonist and love interest were the nerdy virgin and the rebellious older boy. I do enjoy a good archetypal pairing of The Fool with The Devil. 

I'm going to chronicle it here for fun. This is going to be quick writing (don't expect amazing prose) and will involve male/male romance. I figure if you've followed this blog for very long the latter will not surprise you in the least. With that said, here's some word vomit:

Donovan Sharpe was the kind of boy who didn't go to bars. So how he ended up at Balboa the night before fall semester started was a bit of a mystery. Maybe he just wanted to feel normal for once, like he wasn't a complete antisocial loser who preferred books to people, or maybe he thought this qualified as an act of defiance against "the man." His brother was always telling him that he needed a little defiance in his life. But Donovan was more about compliance than defiance. Perhaps he was at the bar trying to comply with the expectations of every other college kid he'd ever met. Drink. Fuck. Party. Have fun. Well, he supposed he could at least drink. But not too much. There was class in the morning after all.

So he went out to the bar best known for regrettable hookups, mob-like brawls, and a stunning consistency for health code violations, looking for trouble. Maybe trouble. Mostly looking to eat something and have a beer. He ordered the Rocky Burger and Bud-Lite. 

Weirdly enough, on this night, right before classes at Hamilton Bay Community College were about to start up again, the bar was practically deserted. He guessed the fighting, fucking, fun crowd must have stayed home in preparation for classes tomorrow. That suited him just fine. On the few other times he'd been out to the bar -- dragged by those who pitied him enough to be seen with him in public -- the atmosphere had been chaos. This was better. He preferred the quiet.

When he finished his burger he brought the plate to the bar and took a seat there. The bar tender asked if he was ready for another Bud-Lite but he shook his head. 

Someone entered the bar. The air in the room changed. Barometric pressure or maybe cologne.

Donovan turned to see who had just come in and for a split second everything seemed to move in slow motion, like some bad guy intro from an 80's flick. There was a man there, walking - more like strutting - into the bar. He wore black leather pants and a black leather jacket. His shirt looked like this:

Donovan didn't know what Eisbrecher was but he figured it was music that could only give him a headache. However, it wasn't the man's shirt that really struck him; it was the man's eyes. The man had entered wearing a motorcycle helmet, but he'd just taken it off. Donovan found himself staring at at pitch black tousled hair, matted to the forehead, framing along the cheeks. All tufts pointing toward ice-blue eyes. And the man stared right back. He raised and eyebrow and looked around the bar then approached.

"This place always like this?"

Donovan swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "You mean, is it always this blessedly empty? I wish. It's usually a madhouse."

"Well, that's a relief," the man said and chuckled. "No offense, but I hate dead bars." He took the seat right next to Donovan. "I'll have a Guinness, please."

Donovan looked away then. This many was totally not his type. Which, he supposed implied that he had a type. Which was utter nonsense because the only chemistry he'd ever had between himself and another person was during science lab last year when the beaker exploded all over his partner. Donovan was a rock. He was island. He was all the lyrics to that song.

"So what you do for fun around here?" the man asked.

Donovan looked up. "What?"

"I just moved to town. So I don't really know the scene yet. What do you suggest for kicks?"

"Oh, I'm not the one ask about kicks. Or scenes. Or fun. Or anything you'd probably enjoy." He shook his head and lifted Bud-Lite to his lips.

"Wow." The man grinned. "Okay, forget about me for a second. What do you like?  What's a fun night for Mr. Lite-Beer?"

"You'll laugh."

"No, I won't." The man said.

Donovan narrowed his eyes. "I like reading."

"Really?" The man said and nodded with consideration. "Where do you like to read?"

"In bed."

"In bed. I see." The man was quiet a minute. His lips curled into a sly grin. "Naked?"

"What?! No!"

"That's too bad." He took a gulp of Guinness. "So what do you like to read?"

Donovan stared into the man's blue eyes for a moment and then looked at his beer. It was almost empty.

"Books. I don't know. Stuff. Look, I just came here for a burger. I don't even know you..."

"Name's Peter." The man hailed over the bartender. "Another round of whatever piss beer he's drinking please. It's on me."

And five beers later Donovan had told him pretty much every book he had in his personal library. They'd talked about music and poetry and science. Nothing too heady, just fun facts and popular ideas. They talked about Peter's shirt and the man even played an Eisbrecher tune on his phone and held it up to Donovan's ear. He was right, it was music that would give him a headache. And yet he didn't pull away, he leaned into the phone and picked out the a few German words he knew. All in all it wasn't too bad. And the music smelled like musk. Or maybe it was the man's wrist, dabbed with some earthy cologne, that smelled so good.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I was going to write out a lot more of the story thus far but this is all I'm in the mood to spit out. Also Hannah and I have decided to RP these goofballs a little bit. A lot has changed since I wrote this blurb last Friday (yeah, I know I'm a late poster!): Donovan's name has been changed to Declan and his major is now English and Writing. Peter is much the same, though we've learned now that he's much more insecure than he lets on. Yay for storytime! 

Meatless in Seattle

Well not really in Seattle yet. That's the plan for the Honeymoon. But first let's talk about the meatless part. For health reasons as well as ethical reasons Hannah and I have decided to adopt a meatless lifestyle. I am pushing toward full vegan in the future but that's for myself. As of right now we do still eat some cheese and butter. But that's really it. We no longer use eggs or milk. Also we're avoiding things like rennet and lard and other sneaky animal products that people like to put in seemingly innocuous things. It's going to be an adventure for us, that's for sure. 

We've been eating differently for two going on three weeks and while I haven't felt the miraculous surge of energy that our friend (who is going veggie as well) has felt, I do feel better. I am happier when I eat and I don't crave for the sweets. That alone is an amazing improvement. I am a giant sweet tooth and used to demand dessert after every dinner or I just didn't feel right. In fact I would opt for dessert over dinner if I could. I do still enjoy a sweet dish (such as vegan pancakes with fruit topping, or an apple cinnamon oatmeal breakfast cup) but I'm not longing for candy and pastries. That being said there are a few vegan treats I definitely want to try when I get the chance, but there's no intense rush.

In other news, Hannah and I are not only cutting meat from our diet, we are beginning Yoga classes. I really enjoyed the first one that we went to a little over a week ago. It was damn challenging and the next morning my hips felt like I'd been fucked by a steam roller. We are going to dip into Yoga the same way we are dipping into vegetarianism: gently and slowly. These are long term changes we are making and don't want to do jump ahead of ourselves and get overwhelmed. But I am very excited about both of these changes. We are beginning to resemble the quintessential stereotype of 'American white girl:' pumpkin spice is our creed, we're vegetarians, we like home brewed and craft beers, we do yoga, and we're into earth bound spirituality. On the surface we're new-age yoga yuppies. And I'm kind of okay with that. 

Sensitive Schmucks: or how I learned to stop worrying and just be offensive

I recently saw an article about Sensitivity Readers and what they mean for the publishing ecosystem. According to Writing in the Margins, "A sensitivity reader reads through a manuscript for issues of representation and for instances of bias on the page. The goal of a sensitivity reader isn’t to edit a manuscript clarity and logic, although that may be an additional service offered. A sensitivity reader reviews a manuscript for internalized bias and negatively charged language." Essentially they are word aggression police. They will help your characters be less offensive to a broad readership. They will also help uncover stereotypes and marginalizations that may exist in your narrative. They are here to help us poor writers who just don't know any better. 

Fuck them.

I know we live in an eggshell world comprised of social justice zealots and trigger warnings but isn't writing supposed to be an escape from that world? My characters use harmful slurs, my characters think in stereotypes. They're flawed and ugly. Bitter and broken. My bad guys rape and murder and whisper things that make me extremely uncomfortable to write. Even my YA writing is squick-worthy. 

But wouldn't I reach a larger crowd if I kept the overall voice of the narrative just a little less offensive? 

Do I care? If my book has any merit, it'll reach the people who need to read it. So what if someone's offended. In fact, wouldn't it be worse if no one was offended? I write about theocracies that degrade and humiliate women. Please be offended! This is horrible. I write about people who molest and harm children. I write characters who are assassins who value money above human life. I write people who struggle to be decent and fail, fail, fail. So they're going to think, say, and feel horrible things. So go on. Feel something. Be angry. Be angry at the story, at the writing, at the writer, at the barbed-wire world all around us hidden under everyone's niceties and social gloss. Be angry because somewhere in the world there's a woman who has to wear an anti-rape tube inside her vagina for when, not if, she gets violated. Be angry because the best we could do for presidential candidates was Tweedle-dee or Tweedle-dum. 

I'm not saying don't wince at the N word. I'm not saying go out and be rude. I'm not saying use "faggot" when you want to call something "stupid." I hate that. It's very offensive to me. Which is why I continue to use it in my writing. It's why some of my characters marginalize women. It's why some of my characters think foreigners are evil. It's why some of my foreigners really are. 

If we tame our narrative to the standards of social justice, then we're cheating ourselves. And, worse than that, we're cheating our characters. In the example from the article a character thought to himself that it would be easier for girls to come out as lesbian than for boys to come out as gay because everyone seems to like lesbians. This apparently was very offensive. Sure, in the real world, it is offensive because it's bullshit that one should be more accepted than the other. But in the book, why should the author have to change her fucking character's personal thoughts just to downplay an incorrect social assumption?

Perhaps a character says something offensive that you the writer hadn't intended to be offensive. Well, unless it's a legitimate typo on the author's part, I'd say your character just told you something about himself, and you should listen and expand on that. The straight choir director calls the Altos the "Flaming Lips" as a joke. You as the writer are innocently trying to reference the musical group, but your reader understands some form of latent homophobia. Play. That. Shit. Up. Your straight little choir director just became a lot more flawed, a lot more interesting, and a much better character. Not a better person, mind you, but definitely a better character.  

During my MFA, Sterling Watson shared one of his many mantras, "Make it worse. Make it hot." If you've got a racist character, then let him be racist. Make it as horrible for your character as it is for your reader. Make your reader feel something. The sensitivity reader would have us objectively portraying difficulties between characters without allowing the inner voice to dip into the crude sludge that shapes the human condition. I would use the sensitivity reader for one thing: seek thee out all of my offensive bullshit so that I may pour gasoline on it and watch people lose their fucking minds. 

"I am not afraid that the book will be controversial, I'm afraid it will not be controversial." ~ Flannery O'Conner