All Most There...I Can See The End.

I'm exhausted...and I still have a short paper to write for a class. Next week is break for me and as much as I want to sit and do nothing my mind knows there are too many things to accomplish. For example, all of the mundane tasks. On top of all of my tasks is planning my wedding reception with Mom, so that should be fun. Monday is another doctor's visit. Friday is another treatment. Another poem to write for American Poetry--here I go!

Cancer Waltz

You talk a mean talk, hanging out there,
you watch others suffer and you laugh
while you work your dirty, dirty deed.
I must admit, you gave me a scare,
when you'd given me your autograph
though I resisted and tried to pluck your seed.
Hark! I've done it!
Look at you, you little shrew,
Your discolored texture reveals nothing
but the hook you bit.
Wait, you've returned to chew?
Where's my sword? You're not king
       You come as a small mass
       But you're still a pain in the ass
       And I'll win you little bass.

Indian Fire Ants

And the glow of the fire burns the night
as small black creatures emerge;
from the core of the red light,
shaking a young child, her thoughts diverge;
to arrows unseen by the naked eye,
creatures that give no love
yet they choose not to die.
A woman with arms smooth as a dove
presents a blanket unlike any other
to her frightened daughter...a bear one,
as she curls up to her mother
who instructs her to hang it over the sun.
         The bear will eat the foe
         and rescue the little doe.

I fight because I have to fight, and I always win.

I'd thought I didn't have to face another round of chemotherapy, but sometimes wishes don't always come true. My mind faces many things that are hard to understand, yet my heart continues to say, "You can do this. Don't give up. Fight for another day." Then I smile and rise to the challenge. School's around the road, graduation will soon be upon me, and I won't fail. I will accept anything that may dishearten everyone else, but not me. Granted, there will be days where I will not want to be around people--forgive me when those days come. A lot is going on in my mind, which not everyone can or will understand. Some days will be moody. Be kind. That's all I ask.

Language is Everything: Wogan's view on Writing

Language is in everything. It is verbal. It is written in poems, novels both fiction and nonfiction, on Billiton boards and street signs, and even in a unique way, language is unspoken and written. There is a saying that “a picture is worth a thousand words”. Pictures can say a whole lot if one simply takes the time to examine a photographer’s or an artist’s work. As a class we have seen language used in many different ways that forms of any language can go beyond ordinary symbols, grammar, and form.

Language provides expressing feelings, as an art through literature, and communication among people. Language is a concatenation; it has an interconnection with words—transforming people into culture. Writing is one form that involves personal and public records. Journals, though there are individual ones, have a form to them. Journals are just one example of how language is used in a private sector. Governmental documentation, religious rituals, and family history all require some sort of linguistic structure to properly function. Governments in every country uses phonological ways to promote themselves to a particular position in that specific government.

Language whether spoken or written is also a means of communicating between teacher and student, school administer and the teacher, etc. etc. Success in school depends on language as well as everything else in life. In order to succeed, students need to stay in constant communication with their instructors, so they can continue knowing what they are expected to accomplish in a short period of time. Teachers must be in contact with administrators, more so in the lower education part. Administrators have to or should know exactly what is going on in the classroom and offer help to the teacher, if it is necessary. Otherwise, there will be conflict within the school system. Teachers cannot run their classroom without the administrators involving themselves with what they actual criteria is, educate what is like to be in a class full of students and not just stand out giving orders, and talk with the parents about what is being taught to their children.

From the various texts used in my Anthropology class, language controls not just the matrix of life, but it also has a matrix within itself. We are the participants in this game. To further establish how we are as a chess piece in the game of language, Magical Writing in Salasaca explores the importance of writing. The Salasacans understand what writing means to their people. In the beginning of the novel, the idea of a “God’s book” comes into play. Wogan’s editor Edward Fischer added in the series editor preface that although the friend of a friend relates his story of going to “a hell-like place and on to Heaven, where God checked his book…” this should not be dismissed as an “apocryphal story inspired by religious fervor” (xi). Instead, Mr. Fischer points out, this novel should be seen as what Wogan tries to bring up in his points about how writing is a form of “…state control, techniques of surveillance and documentation, and the nexus of power and literacy” (xi).

Wogan begins his tale of the people in Salasaca of visiting the woman who was one of the three sisters who were in charge of the witch-saint San Gonzalo’s books. He goes into personal detail about having to “pore over for twenty minutes” just to search for he and another man, Jorge’s, name in the book after the daughter of the woman brought back nine books filled with names of people requesting San Gonzalo’s services (34). However, the search for their names were futile, until the woman told them to stop, get up, and left the home. She brought back “a much more impressive” book that is “a foot high, heavy and made with sturdy, blue covers and large, lined paper” within it (35). Within the book, discovered by the daughter, both Jorge and Wogan had their names written among others.

 

Wogan, Peter. Magical Writing in Salasaca. Westview Press. 2004. Print.

 

Excerpt from TGS

Some people have called me a “Dark Angel.”

Perhaps those people were right.

 

I woke, remembering a dream from the night before. Pictures of frightened children lingered in my mind as I approached them with a hunger unsated by mundane appetites. I recalled how flesh smelled: sweet. The texture was tender, yet it was bitter to the taste. Blood was messy and dripped down my chin. The demon, the cold-blooded monster mingled with my DNA: a gift from one of my parents brought to daylight by evil people.

Thanks Mom and Dad for the evil of which you succumbed me to. I never thought parents could be that cruel to have given their child to a society of evil scientists. Thanks for giving me the blessing of having nightmares haunt me after my escape. Thanks for not being there when I needed you.

I turned my head to an object in my hand underneath one out of many pillows. I twirled the small dagger with my fingers, pulling the blade out of its sheath without another thought. While examining the Celtic knot design on the blade, I slowly took deep breaths to try to calm my mind. There wasn’t any reason to fear anymore.

The Story Continues...TSC cover

The second book in the Demon-Gods' War series has found a home! It also has a very wicked cover.

A new threat is about to be unleashed... A little choice can tip the balance between loyalty and betrayal.

The half-demon, half-goddess Raylene Greyson thought a vacation to Germany was fine. Until Trackers come searching for someone, and involves a small child. An old fear returns, forcing our heroine to make a choice. Would she return to Saain? Or continue to run? Then all hell breaks loose when a woman named Rilanja appears. Liberi Olympus wants the hybrid to themselves, but Cain has other plans for the heroine. The Greysons are once again dragged into it despite Raylene’s protest. A life is taken while another discovers that he’s one of Heaven’s Guardians.

In the meantime, Luccas confronts his past and a promise that he’d made. Now he will have to choose to keep it or drop it. However, love has overpowered him. What he doesn’t know, is Cain is preparing. More will be at stake than a simple promise. He will test his newfound emotion against all odds. The only cost . . . Raylene.

Their journey will run into some old and new friends. However, can they be trusted? Life for the two heroes couldn’t get any worse. Until Raylene meets someone who she’d thought vanished from her life a long time ago…her father.

 

 

Even in the worst days you stand.

I've been thinking a lot lately about personal matters. School's begun, another novel is coming although I'm beginning to see how hard it is to write with another person, but it is still one of the best experiences I have. The main thing is we both learn from each other. What our personal strengths and weaknessess are as writers.

Besides that, I'd thought that I would be finished with my battle and everything will be honky dory but alas, things sometimes don't always come as you expect them to. I have another surgery next week. My strength is down, but I will never give into something so stupid as cancer. I'm doing all that I can to defeat this dumb disease and will beat it at whatever cost.