As you probably already know, March is Women's Month. Yeah, we get a whole month dedicated to us. To be honest, I'm not totally sure how I feel about it.
Those who know me are probably aware that I don't call myself a feminist. I'm all for empowering women... and men. All women and all men, as much as possible. But I do have this lingering fascination with "wicked" women. Why? I guess I have never seen myself as the "good" girl. I used to have a tank top with the face of The Evil Queen from Disney's Snow White and "I'm no princess" captioned beneath her. Do I think I'm a 'bad" girl? No. And I don't think these women are just "bad" girls either. They have ambitions. Dreams. Motivations. But they're jaded. They've experienced reality, seen society at its worst. Some of them became the "worst". Wicked. Ravenous. That's the alluring part - the hunger. Think about it. Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was hungry for dominance and order. Zenia from The Robber Bride is a total "man-eater" who takes and makes opportunities to further herself along. And Lady MacBeth? She's obviously the brains to her husband's brawn and has no problem with using him as a pawn to achieve her goals. She's also much more fascinating than her husband. Oh, and we cannot forget my personal favorite, Bertha. (Yes, from the book I most hate, Jane Eyre.) What Jean Rhys did to humanize her in Wide Sargasso Sea actually made me love the Bronte version of Bertha even more. She has been used and neglected, and she's done taking her husband's shit. Yes, it has driven her pretty crazy, but I don't think we're supposed to simply pity her. She ain't that weak, but a man dared try to weaken her, to take away her hunger. That's why my characters aren't "good girls". They're ravenous women in their own ways. They have problems, and they find ways to go about dealing with them. Sometimes, they're a bit crazy. Sometimes, you might be able to sympathize (or even empathize) with them, but believe me, they don't want your pity... unless it serves their purpose. And the men I write? They're hungry, too. Just don't get the impression that I write my characters based on gender politics. Or politics at all. I've written from different perspectives, and I think that's what we writers do best: We head-hop. I'm not an 80-something black woman, but I can write from her perspective and have her be believable and vibrant. (Mark my words, Miss Ezzy is one hell of a ravenous woman!) So, readers, I hope you enjoy the rest of Women's Month. But I want you to think long and hard about the role of women - and men - in literature and how that reflects real life. Literature is a fantastic mirror by which we can examine ourselves and the world around us. Look into and see what kinds of ravenous women are staring back at you.
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The Sequence Forms (In Other Words, I Figure Out the Book Order for The Underknown Series)3/11/2019 You know how you're doing something totally different, then an idea strikes you like a bolt of lightning? Well, that happened to me today. I had an a-ha! moment after getting home from the gym and running errands. My day was fairly average, some might even say mundane. But it came to me... The book order for The Underknown Series. Granted, I have known for a while that House of Urchins will be the first installment. I'm approximately halfway through the first draft. That was all I had any clarity on until today. Now, I think I've got the first four books down. I don't know if I'll add more. Maybe. They're all centered around paranormal phenomena and set in Michigan (my home state), so who knows? I always seem to find inspiration in the Great Lakes state. We have so many ghost stories, after all. Anyway, here is the series line-up so far: Book 1: House of Urchins Book 2: Artifacts Book 3: Whispers of the Whippoorwill Book 4: Sickening Sweet And just to show you that I actually have made some progress on House of Urchins, here is an excerpt from the most recently-(and ravenously-)written chapter: A thick black substance surrounded Sola. It was strangely tepid and smoothly caressing her skin. Little electric shocks popped here-and-there along the cervical area of her spine, reaching up into her dome. Crackle-pop! Crackle-pop! It was as though her head was a bowl of Rice Krispies having milk poured over them.
Dee-lish, a bizarrely youthful and cheerful voice echoed around her. Or was it inside her mind? Sola could not tell the difference. She tried to crack her lips apart and ask who had said that, but they were plastered shut – sewn shut. Focusing her eyes down past her nose, Sola could make out the top stitches of thin black thread that bound her lips together. She wanted to scream but knew that she couldn’t. Even the tears that welled up inside her eyes would not cascade their way down her cheeks. Sola was mute. I know it’s scary, the voice continued. I haven’t forgotten how it felt. If she could not speak aloud, Sola thought that perhaps she could do so with her mind instead. Who are you? Sola inquired, trying to erase the terror from her consciousness. Nimeni on Raila. Sola wondered what language the girl had just spoken in. My name is Raila. |
Jen
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