Hi and welcome to my home on the internet.  Or as I like to say Ii-wy em hotep, which means “Welcome in peace” in Kemetic, the language of ancient Egypt. 

My name is Camilla Lynn, and I live in sunny South Florida.  I’ve been writing poetry, lyrics and short stories for as long as I remember. When I’m not writing, I’m mom to a wonderful 17-year-old who just got his Black Belt in Jiu Jitsu last December!  (Way to go kiddo!)  I’ve been married to my wonderfully supportive husband for 20 years. Not once in all these years has he ever told me “you can’t do it”—quite the opposite.  I also enjoy designing 3d models (mostly Egyptian) for Poser animation software, digitally recreating Egyptian wall paintings, and sewing my own clothes.

I am the creator of the word Fantasmance as found in the Urban Dictionary. Fantasmance is a mashup of Fantasy & Romance. The definition is any story where fantasy & romance are equally important to the plot of a novel. You can follow the #Fantasmance hashtag & the #FantasmanceLove game on Twitter. #FantasmanceLove is hosted every Friday with new weekly prompts for Fantasy Romance writers. No rules, just fun!

My bookshelves are full of research books by Budge, Graham Hancock, Frank, and other controversial theorists as well as a collection of books about Wicca. I enjoy multiple authors across a wide range of genres including: Anne Rice, Clive Cussler, Marissa Meyer, Dean Koontz, J. K. Rowling, and a gazillion others. My favorite TV shows are Game of Thrones, True Blood, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Walking Dead, Ancient Aliens, and Rome.  I also have a collection of over 400 movies but my favs are Troy, 300, Dracula, and ALL the Mummy movies made since the 20s.

I’m obsessed with ancient Egypt, also known as Kemet. Kemet means “the Black Land”, which refers to the black soil left after the Nile’s annual inundation. I’ve been in love with its culture my entire life.  My favorite is the Fourth Dynasty because, well, PYRAMIDS!  The fascination I have with the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx in Giza goes far beyond the norm, so I must have been Egyptian in a past life.

I’ve always wanted to write a novel. The journey began when the concept for my story slapped me upside the head. I had to learn grammar rules all over again and everything else that came with writing a novel. Shoot, I’m still learning, but aren’t we all? My first draft took about a year and half to write. Then life happened. I spent a few years writing poetry and short stories because that’s all I had time for with a special needs child. Once my son started school, I tried to find an artist to turn my manuscript into a graphic novel, but it never worked out.

About 6 months before Pitch Wars 2017, my girlfriend came over with an agenda. She was the catalyst who started me back on my journey. I tell you my head hurts I’ve been smacked so much. Pitch Wars came, I entered, had a request for 3 chapters, but wasn’t picked as a mentee. That was tough, especially because I had just restarted writing. The funk flu hit for a few months. Eventually, I pulled up my big girl britches and got back to work. That’s when something wonderful happened—I found a critique partner (a CP for the acronym lovers).

My CP, Rebecca, is fantastic! *blows kisses* She has the skills I lack and is possibly the most thorough person I know. Rebecca quickly became my “Writer Wife”, my best friend. We clicked immediately and after we exchanged a few chapters, I was hooked on her writing. She not only keeps me on my toes, she kicks my butt when I need it, brainstorms like a banshee, and never lets me forget that I can do it.

I’ve had one published short story called “Lady Galiena-The Watcher of the Road”.  It was a Valentine’s Day challenge sponsored by Deep Magic E-Zine in February 2005. Deep Magic doesn’t normally publish poetry so being chosen took me completely by surprise. You can find “Lady Galiena” and some of my other writing here. 

Thank for stopping by & have fun exploring!

Ankh! Udja! Seneb! (Life, Health, & Prosperity)


My roadmap: The Plot Wall

Some of you may have seen my Plot Wall on Twitter and some of you have already asked questions. I should explain that this is actually a reverse plot since I wrote the manuscript organically. (The first time I didn’t plot in advance.) Recently, I was hung up for a couple of months & just could not figure out what was wrong & why I couldn’t write. Then it struck me that I didn’t plot this story. I had no roadmap. It was time to go old school on this bitchy manuscript.

This is my process for laying out scenes (using the 4 Act story structure) so I can see everything at a glance while I revise. All the cards on the wall are color coded. I tried to coordinate index card colors with Post It colors. It’s as close as I can get it. I color coordinated it to help me see the action/reaction cycle of each scene’s climax. I only did the climaxes because I don’t have enough wall space to micromanage all the action/reaction cycles. Believe me, I could’ve really micromanaged all of it and it could be much bigger than it is. LOL

Before we begin, here are a couple of resources I found helpful. If you struggle with the action/reaction cycle check out: C.S. Lakin’s website https://www.livewritethrive.com My friend signed up for her Emotional Mastery For Fiction Writers Course and found it very useful. I will eventually save enough to take her course too. Scenes need structure and if you struggle with structuring your scenes, might I suggest “How to Structure Scenes” by K.M. Weiland https://www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com/how-to-structure-scenes/

Now that the starting flag is out are you ready to go? I’ll ease out the throttle, give it some gas, and get this motorcycle rumbling down the track. (Thanks for the analogy, Nytrix. I hope you still love me after I get done torturing you.)

On my door, I have things I must remember as I’m plotting. I have cheat sheets I borrowed from a website (sorry can’t remember which one & I forgot to bookmark it) as well as my color codes and my beat sheets from Jami Gold. And of course, can’t do much without my supplies.

Or my important notes.

Action Reaction Cycle
4 Stages of Reaction

Since I had the story already, the first thing I did after I set up my Acts was break the chapters into major scenes and then I wrote a super short synopsis for each scene. I do this stage on white index cards. Eventually, they’ll be covered with a color-coded break down of the climax for each scene. I said it earlier, I could seriously break it down further if I had space, but I’m currently doing that in Scrivener.

Scene Synopses

The color-coding chart on my door is separated into Main Plot, Subplot, & Flags. Yellow stickies with lines are all the changes I want to make as I revise, but you can easily tweak any of this to fit how you work. The index cards & the stickies I tried to keep as coordinated as possible. Both the main plot & the subplot have the same exact coding since my colors are close enough. Flags have their own codes. I didn’t really use them much though so you can probably delete this step.

Color Coding ledger for my wall

If you’re plotting the story before you work on it, then you probably won’t know the action/reaction cycle yet, but since this is a reverse plot, I can find the steps in what’s already written. As I go through my manuscript, I break the scene climax down into its bare bones Action/Reaction cycle.

Once I get all the scene synopses into each act and start my climax breakdowns, you can see already where the thin places are located.

For those plotting an unwritten manuscript, you can use a different coding system for instance: yellow could be what you want to happen; pink could be twists; they could even be for different POVs if you’re writing a multiple point of view story.

Because things can fall off the wall, I also tape them together and write the scene number on the cards in case of catastrophe. When all the Acts are charted, you can see where I need to trim and give it a little umph. For some reason I get hour glass plots instead of a muffin top when I pants.


There are so many different ways to fit the color coding to your writing process. The possibilities are endless. Hope you enjoyed your pit stop in my small corner of the internet. Now open the throttle to your imagination & plot or reverse plot that next manuscript.

Plotting Destruction

I wrote this article because I always see people on Twitter asking for advice about how to plot out their chapters. The method I use won’t work for everyone and you won’t need every section of the worksheet if you use this method, but you’ll find a copy of this simple worksheet at the end of this article that you can download in .doc .docx and .pdf formats. Tweak it to suit your style and what you need for your chapters. Hopefully, my process for plotting will help you in some small way or give you ideas that work best for you.

The scene I’m working on is from Nytrix, my adult superhero prose so forgive me if I don’t give away too much. Without further ado, here is my method for plotting destruction when I have detailed chapters.

I tried pantsing a novel for the first time during the 2017 NaNoWriMo. (My first time doing NaNo too! Can’t wait to do it again.)  Let me tell you, I’m not a pantser & it’s been tough continuing to pants my current WIP. When a story plot festers within me, it’s a linear thing. I come up with a basic idea of the beginning, middle, and end. Then the characters make themselves known, usually in strange ways. I used to use color coded index cards to add plot ideas for chapters, characters, etc, but now I use Scrivener. After NaNo, there have been times when I can’t move past a scene. It just would not flow. Then I realized, “Hey I’m still pantsing this thing”.  You’ve driven off the road and need to adjust course, as Sunny would say. I knew it was time to start plotting chapters individually.

A Twitter writer posted her method for plotting chapters. (If you see this, shout out so I can thank you!) Since plotting is almost a requirement for me, I thought of as many things that might go into any given scene and basing it of what I remembered of her process, I came up with this worksheet. The worksheet has sections for everything I need to include in the chapter from emotions to power words. It becomes a miniature road map to help me visualize the scene better and it helps me know exactly what I want to convey before I start writing. I’m less likely to hit a speed bump at 100 MPH now. LOL.


Anyway, I was struggling with my big finale scene & for me it came down to being a question of setting. The “where” wasn’t right which caused me to struggle getting words on paper. Keep in mind, I’m using real places in my current WIP. Once I settled on where my finale would take place, I began filling out the sections of my worksheet. Considering how large my setting ended up being, I decided to map out the entire finale, step by step. The first thing I did was draw maps of the setting and let me tell you it’s a big place, I needed a map! There were three maps in total: first floor, second floor with towers, and the grounds. When I finished drawing the maps, I printed them on regular paper and tapped the sections together. The table is 4 foot by 2 foot.

Drawn and ready maps.
Maps laid out on 4 foot by 2 foot table. (Watch out for Godzilla- He likes to bump the map & knock everyone over.)

My next step was to decide on the players on the field. Since I have two different kinds of maps, interior and exterior, I have different types of color coded, labeled Legos for each character. The first set of Lego “people” are going on the maps labeled “First Floor” and “Second Floor”. The protagonist is the blue and white Lego labeled S written on all sides with a sharpie. The antagonist labeled L is the red and white. Yellow Legos are the antagonist’s non-descript goons. I kept them limited to a number and there are 10 ‘goons’ the protagonist has to defeat before she gets to the main antagonist. The two blue with yellow bottom Legos (labeled G & R for character names) are the antagonist’s right hand ‘men’—I say ‘men’ because my main characters are all women. The red, white, and blue Lego labeled FL is the person our heroine must rescue.

One the map labeled “Land Map”, I used white Legos for the protagonists supporting cast, two-piece Legos for cars as well as boat because my setting is on the bay, and the eight-piece Legos for larger vehicles like the tactical units.

Here are all the players on the battleground.

First Floor Map with Legos
Second floor map with Lego players
Full Map with Legos

Now it’s time to play! I move the Lego people around to plot out the actions step-by-step. I note actions with green stickie notes cut into smaller pieces and placed on the map under the numbered Lego people in the place where they start out at the beginning of the scene.

First Floor Map Legos and Stickies
Second Floor with Legos and Stickies
Full map with Legos and Stickies

I’m limited to stickie note colors and I have 3 big maps, two interiors & one exterior. Back to the stickie notes. Green is for the information that represents a step in the action. Pink tells me where the antagonist has taken down an opponent and in one case, the person to rescue. At this point, it can get confusing to distinguish with the stickie colors who the main antagonist is so to distinguish the smaller battles from the final battle between antagonist and protagonist, I used blue stickies instead of green.

It sounds like a lot of work and maybe it is, but it makes plotting so much fun! Look at the action-packed final scene with all the actions laid out in order.

First Floor Final Map
Second Floor Final Map
Land Final Map
Full Set of Final Maps

From here, I put all the ‘fight’ actions into my worksheet where they belong in the setting description itself. It is superhero fiction after all so I like to choreograph all the fight scenes.

Choreographed Fight Moves

I may have gone a tad overboard with mapping and the worksheet, which ended up being 19 pages long when I was finished, but doing all this work prior to writing has effectively plotted out the entire scene. All that’s left is for me to put my characters into the fray, add their emotions, dialogue, and sensory effects.

As promised, here are the worksheets:




Thank you for reading. Now go out, plot your own destruction and have fun.

Cleopatra’s Flower

If memory serves me right, I saw this legend, myth whatever you chose to call it on History Channel. The show revolved around Alexandria, Cleopatra, & the fall of Egypt. Most people know #Cleopatra was/is one of the most infamous female pharaohs in history. Cleopatra was not only beautiful, she was an intelligent woman with an excellent education, she spoke multiple languages, and was a ferocious negotiator. This woman led armies! Maybe that’s why Marc Antony fell in love with her.

An interesting fact about Cleopatra, she was a toxicologist. Surprise! She studied poison flowers and herbs. Cleopatra tested her poisons on slaves and fallen enemy soldiers. Marc Antony was well aware of Cleopatra’s hobbies. Even though he loved her, he didn’t trust her. Testers would taste his food and drink before every meal.

One night, Cleopatra and Marc were having dinner with friends and a lively discussion ensued. Cleopatra was pained Antony didn’t trust her and told him if she wanted him dead, he would be dead. Antony laughed. Dinner was placed in front of him and the tester, who must have been terrified, did his job. He nibbled the food and sipped from Antony’s chalice. When the tester didn’t die, Antony began eating. A few minutes later, Cleopatra tosses a flower into his cup. Antony lifts his drink, Cleopatra knocks the chalice from his hand, and tells him she could have killed him at any time she desired. No one knows what toxic flower she used, it’s lost to history. But this beautiful, dangerous woman will forever be remembered.

Why fairies dream.

A pinprick of a girl, I consider myself normal for a forest fairy. My wings are relative to those of butterflies and my frame, although small, is proportional. Inching across the dappled carpet, the smoothly edged blades tickle the soft spot between my toes. Despite myself I laugh which causes all my fairy dew to condense in one spot on the ground. My chores consist of spraying the morning dew and gathering the milk weeds that my family drinks for breakfast. The thistles always puncture my tenuous fingers, but hard calluses formed a few years ago so it doesn’t hurt anymore. Since the dew won’t return until the morrow, I scurry about my other task. Tucking the stems into my pouch, I continue toward the hollow.

Laden branches hang low from the ancient willow I call home. Its majesty reaches far above the forest floor as it stretches toward the sun. Peeking through the bushes, I listen in amazement at my siblings. Finished with their chores, they lounge on the lowest branch near the front hole. They are comparing what they call dreams. Some of their ‘dreams’ are nightmarish visions while others sing of the wonderful feeling they elicit. However, I am clue-less as to what they are. You see, I have never had a dream. Mother says they are common among fairy folk. She says maturity brings them on, but I am almost three hundred and still deprived of the experience. Mother assures me they will come, in time. When I rest on my flowery bed and my furry companion blankets me, I tell myself this will be the night. Imagine my disappointment the next morning. Daily changes affect everyone but me. At least, that’s how it feels anyway.

I decided that today, I would weigh my mother with questions until the answers I seek are fulfilled. Her silver touched hair and sheer wings wave hello in the breeze. Atop her mushroom throne, she shines like a flat lake in mid afternoon. The smile she wears lights the horizon at dusk and has for a millennia. Maybe one day I too will be honored with that task. “Mother,” I said, waiting politely for acknowledgment; her head bobbled, “may I ask you a question?”

“Of coarse, Dewina, have a seat.  There is always room for you my child.” Her hand bounces off the mushroom top like a child on a trampoline. It makes a comical boing.

Thrusting my shoulder blades together, my wings shoot straight back. When I release the pressure, they fall down and my feet leave the forest floor. Getting used to flying took me a half a century. Although it’s natural for fairies, guiding one’s self takes skill and lots of practice. The swishing sound they make oftentimes trick humans into thinking it’s the wind. It helps me escape the huge hands of those who can see us. Though they are few, they are dangerous, and if ever captured we would surely vanish from existence. A few thrusts and a half one later, my behind sinks into the white hassock. My long legs dangle over the edge and I wiggle my way to a comfortable position.

Mother drifts close, and her soft touch does little to to alleviate my dreaming desires. “Mother, why do fairies dream?”

With a tilt of her head, she raises a brow of curiosity. “Why do you ask, Dewina?”

“Well,” I bit my nail, “I hear my brothers and sister talk about them all the time. They seem so wondrous and I have grown.  Is there something wrong with me?”

Her bluebird voice chirped a giggle. “No, dear, you are fine.”

“Then why can I not dream. What is a dream, anyway?”

“I am sure you will dream one day and then you will know the answer. Give it time.”

“But I’m three hundred. I’m left out of all the conversations. I’m just bored with the waiting. My siblings are always laughing at me behind my back and they named me, ‘dream killer’. Why am I so different?”

“You are special.” Disappointed, her pond like eyes glanced at the branch where my siblings sat. “I assure you, I will handle the name calling as well. Be unmindful of their jealousy as it too will pass.”

“But what is a dream?” I refuse to stop asking because at this rate, I may never have one.”

“Dear, there is no way to explain it so that you will understand.”  The air whooshed through my lips. Knowing how much it bothered me, she snuggled me tight.  “One day, you will know.  Would you care to help me with breakfast? I am making your favorite, rose stew.”

Yes, Mother.” She took my hand and we flew into our hole.

A few days passed since our conversation and they still called me ‘dream killer’, even though Mother reprimanded them all. Until I have a dream, nothing will change.  I give up hoping for it, I’m doomed to a dreamless life. Staring up at the knots on the ceiling, I trace the circles with my eyes. It’s a swirling trance of boredom that I face every time I rest my head on the fluffy dandelion cushion I use for a pillow. “Ah, what I wouldn’t give for just one dream.” Air pushes from my lungs and as sleep encumbers, I close my eyes.


Soft flesh meets my head as I push against the bulbous covering that hinders me. Why I am having such difficulties getting out of this place. A force pushes me hard. The light at the end of the tunnel shines like the morning star. I shiver as an unfamiliar air hits my exposed skin. The cold is cut short by a warm fuzzy thing being wrapped around me. I scream out for my mother to turn down the lights but all that escapes my lips are gurgled cries. Looking down at my hands, I notice that they have changed. No longer slender and feminine, they gained a chunky appearance. Where am I? Everything is blurry and I can’t make out anything other than shapes and shades of gray. Delicate fingers slip a weird thing around my waist. “Wah,” I tried to say Mother. “Wah.” What happened to my voice? Why does speech elude me? My legs flail as this new experience grips me with terror.

Age 4

“Mommy, don’t you see the fairies?” I asked. Her blue orbs twinkled as it reflected the grass. Tiny lights flutter around the willow tree, yet she obviously doesn’t see them. A wide smile revealed her joy as she watches me chasing the invisible creatures that live in our backyard. Sitting atop her mushroom throne, the fairy queen giggles at me. Soft wings flutter, sending a coolness into the world.  She tells me this is my dream and I am no longer a ‘dream killer’.  What she means, I don’t know but I love our conversations. The breeze ruffles my hair; my mom walks over to scruff my head playfully. My legs wobbled from the force. It took a while for me to master the skills of this surreal world that I have been born into.

Our family spends every weekend together. We play, visit my grandparents, go to movies, and all sorts of stuff that fairies don’t. My favorite thing to do is imagine that I’m a fairy flying around the gigantic willow.  Zigging and zagging around the trunk, my feet barely touch the ground. Somehow though, I vaguely remember what it was like. With each passing year, the memory fades but for now, I’m content. This life isn’t so bad and it’s quite an interesting place.  When I skin my knee, I find comfort in my mommy’s arms. She combs my hair, buys me toys, and fine clothing which she says is a necessary evil of our society. I prefer running around naked though; there is nothing to be ashamed of and since I am a child, I can get away with it. Mommy says I will begin my first day at school. I await it with nervous anticipation.

Age 10
“This is the last time we will talk, child,” the fairy queen informed me.


“Well, dear, your sight will change. You have grown wonderfully and I am very proud of you. Remember though, I will see you again and I am always with you, even if you can not see me.”

“I don’t want to loose sight of you. We have so much fun and I can not imagine life without you to play with.”

“I am sorry, child. This is the way dreams work.”

As she tells me good-bye, she waves. That was the last time I saw her or any of them for that matter. Their absence in my willow tree saddens me, but soon I will forget them all together. The little lights no longer grace the bows of its thick branches or the field of flowers beneath. Days pass quickly without their laughter.

Age 18
I move away to college today. Sitting on the back porch, I absorb my surroundings knowing I would not lay eyes on it for some time. The gentle rocking motion of my mother’s chair does little to calm me. It’s a very big day for me. An adult world expects me to behave in a proper manner; I hope I am ready.

A wrinkled hand rests with reluctance on my shoulder. She ages quickly as we all do and I wonder how many more years we have left. “Mom, I will miss you so much. I wanted to attend the local college but this is an opportunity I can’t pass up.  I really want to make this world a better place.”

“You will make a terrific doctor, Diane. Have faith in yourself.  The only advice I can give you is to always shoot for the stars and never loose sight of what’s important.”

Bending over, she shelters me to retain that spark of childhood happiness that she will miss. Gray streaks her long brown hair. Gravity pushes down on her fragile frame. Time takes its toll on all who pass. No one can escape the ravishes of time. We all grow old and eventually die. However, I pray she has many years left. Mom has been my driving force. She never allows me to fail in what ever I do and I will make her proud.

Age 38
My mother was buried beside my father yesterday . Thankfully, it was a peaceful death. I thought she would follow him to the grave but I didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly. They both lived to see three grandchildren born and one graduate high school with honors. I went on to be a pediatrician. This back porch is lonesome without Mom. The floors screech, the roof is falling down, but I don’t have the heart to sell it. My youngest daughter is running around the yard just like I did when I was young.  Here she comes now. “Mommy, mommy, look at the fairies!” She points to the old willow. “See how much fun they are having? Can we stay?”

“Yes, dear, we can. How would you like to live here?” I nodded though I don’t see any fairies.

“Can we really?” A luminous happiness dances in her eyes at my reply. The old tire swing sways back and forth in the whipping wind that seems to have come from nowhere. I miss this old house and I’m glad my husband is willing to move. It’s a small town but it is filled with good-hearted people.  The people inside the house are calling me; I don’t want to get up yet. Lily is having so much fun chasing whatever it is she sees. Ah, to see through the eyes of a child again. Life gets treacherous as we grow old and closer to death. I don’t fear it per say, but no one looks forward to dying, not even the bravest of souls.

Age 85

Lily, Sherry, and Michael are all here with me. The pain subsides as the morphine dribbles into my collapsing veins. I can hear the doctor saying it won’t be long now. I lived to see my own grandchildren born and grow into teenagers. There is nothing more in life I could have asked for other than what I have been given. Leaving this life is what I must do. A younger version of my mother stands beyond the confines of an earthly shell. Her hand reaches out to me, it calls me to join my ancestors. The darkness is serene as is the light at the end of the tunnel.  An old world remains in the wake of death. I force my eyes open one last time to look upon their faces. They have the same sad eyes I had when my mother passed. Lily’s blond hair falls in wisps around her oval features. Sherry still looks like a cherry cordial with that flaming red hair. Michael grows more like his father every day. I know I will see them again. My eyes give in to gravity.

There are voices in the background. “Mom, we love you.” Seeing him lifts my spirit above. Below me, the shell I once inhabited loses its last breath. A tugging force drags me through the tunnel once more.


Falling out of bed, a pain shot through me like a lightning bolt as my wings hit the floor first. When I roll over, the fur around my squirrel friend’s eyes puffs with curiosity. His cold nose nudges me into an awakened state. My feet find flight as I rush to my mother’s throne. Was that a dream? It seemed so real. I could feel everything. Surprisingly, the human death was not what I thought it would be. The pain was there but the ardor of love surrounded me which did not make it so scary.

Butterfly wings move me faster. “Mother, I had a dream! I had a dream!” Her gaze raised to greet me with a tenderness I have not experienced since childhood. Now it became as clear as a freshwater spring.  Flopping down beside her, I grabbed her tight in my grasp. I’m so happy to hold her that I don’t want to let go, ever.

“So, child, you have dreamed. Was it all you anticipated?” The soft words kiss my heart with content.

“Oh, Mother it was astounding. I dreamed of a extraordinary realm where I lived and grew.  There were so many exciting things to see.”

“Do you understand what it means to dream? It appears that you still harbor a question.”

My mother was always this perceptive. I didn’t want to ask, but I had to hear it. “I still do not understand why we have to dream. What is the reasoning behind it? Why does the creator make us dream? Why do fairies dream?”

Frothy laughter tickled my spirit. Her brows softened, her gelatin orbs reflected the stars, her cheeks inflated, and she said, “It is right before you child.” A lock of hair fell in her face as she tossled her head.

“I was a real human?” I didn’t quite view it that way before, but instant realization almost slapped me off the mushroom.

“Yes, dear.  Fairies dream so humans can live.”


Written in 2002


I’m not your typical.


I’m not your typical girl next door. I’m not what you think at all.
I am merely a wife, a mother, a lover, and a friend.
I am a child trapped in the body of a woman
Who struggles to stand apart from the norm.
Though words spill from my hands like rain from a cloud.
Darkness looms ready in the soul beneath my flesh.
After years of abuse, neglectful words and sorrow.
It’s a surprise I didn’t end this life a long time ago.
Yet here I sit with my fingers at the ready,
To share with the world all that I wish to offer it.
Fantasies of a psychotic mixed with the love of a poet,
Songs from a writer who’s only instrument is her voice,
Stories from another life that fill pages of a fictional world.
And through thick and thin somehow I still survive
To write these words that help free my mind.
And what my heart can not bear, I bury away inside,
until it festers demonically into the words on a page.
These things keep me separated from a world of normalcy.
They make me the person that stands before you today.
So once again, just let me remind you as I stand to leave.
I’m not your typical girl next door. I’m not what you think at all.

Myths & Theories used in my novel-in-progress.

The mythology surrounding Ra & Apep varies, but basically it boils down to one central story. Ra, the sun god, traveled on his solar barque where he traversed the 12 gates of the Duat (underworld). The 12 gates represented the 12 hours of night. The great serpent, Apep, lived in the 10th region of the Duat or the 10th hour of night. There he would encircle Ra’s solar barque and a great battle ensued. Ra and his attending Neteru (gods) always won and the next morning Ra would rise victorious. So naturally, solar eclipses terrified ancient Egyptians because it was believed that Apep had broken free of his prison. They would have been

Atum and Apep

in temples praying that the God of Chaos, Apep, would not swallow the Sun God, Ra, forever. In “Ankh of Time”, this daytime battle during a solar eclipse is the culmination of years of my passion and love for ancient Egypt.

I took this myth & twisted it with controversial theories about Egypt, Atlantis, & twins. In Atlantis mythology, there were 10 kings, all were sets of twins, so twins also play an important role in my story. This fresh blending of myth and theory are the basis of my fictional novel.

Almost everyone has heard of the Greek myth of Atlantis as told by Plato in Timaeus & Critias.  In Atlantis mythology, the god Poseidon fell in love with

Athanasius Kircher’s Map of Atlantis (c.1669). North is at bottom.

a mortal woman named Cleito. Poseidon carved out a mountain on the isle of Atlantis and built a palace where he and Cleito lived together.  To protect his family, Poseidon enclosed their home with three circular moats of increasing widths which separated the land into three rings. Cleito gave birth to five sets of twins with Poseidon.  When Poseidon and Cleito left, the island was divided among the ten twins with the eldest son Atlas designated as the ruler of all the kingdoms of Atlantis and the surrounding sea which we know as the Atlantic Ocean. For eons, Atlantis was a utopian society, but greed of men & their lack of homage to Poseidon angered the god. Poseidon destroyed Atlantis in a single day and night.

Controversial theorists speculate that the Hall of Records is hidden beneath the Sphinx of Giza. They believe the God of Knowledge, Tehuti (Thoth), was from Atlantis. It is said that he saved the world’s knowledge from the sinking continent & built the Hall of Records to protect it until such a time that humanity was ready to receive this knowledge.

My love for ancient Egypt is unfathomable. Every day I would say a little prayer to Tehuti in hopes he would inspire the words I put to paper that day. I had no clue when my girlfriend came over to visit, that her inspiration & nagging (I love you for it too) would bring me back to what I love, writing.

A solar eclipse is also a great time to do banishment spells. I will doing a smudging ritual inside & outside my home during the eclipse. I wouldn’t recommend any other rituals today.

Excerpt from Chapter 2

Majeed was right; they had to hurry. Barricades alone wouldn’t keep curious guards with keys from following them. A new shorter passage around the corner allowed them to walk abreast and the spicy attitude of woody frankincense overpowered her. Jutting alabaster lintels marked the locations of false-doors in both walls. As if drawn to one door like metal to a magnet, she stopped. An eerie sense of déjà vu briefly displaced her when she touched its raised painted hieroglyphics.

Have I been here before?

The door lacked hieroglyphics on the lintel and doorjamb. Covered bridges connected the two tracts of land forming rings around a circular nucleus island. A massive canal connected the outer ring of water to the raging ocean, and she traced it up and around the irrigation ditches that channeled water from the lofty northern mountains to the sea. Pyramidal-type temples conglomerated around a central citadel. Individual paths bedecked with flowers diverged from the palace and intertwined into a single causeway. She inspected the Lilliputian people and buildings on the exterior circle with her magnifying glass.

“Holy crap, Sis. It’s Atlantis.” She elbowed Elise in the ribs. “This place is definitely a hoax.”

Life as a…

Stone walls enclose my sanctuary.  Sprawled on polished splendor, the floor cools my belly.  Light pours down from slits in the walls as the sun’s brilliance pierces the dark like a yellow diamond.  People scurry about, traveling through life’s daily routine.  A man stoops down to stroke my black hair and massage my perky little ears. His hand warms my finicky soul bringing a smile to my lips.  I respond to his touch with an arching back and soft sounds escape my throat.  Pleased am I that someone has paid particular attention to my silent plea for love.  Reward him, shall I, for his unwarranted affections.  I stretch my numbing arms and legs, then roll over onto my back playfully so that my tummy can welcome the warmth of his touch.
“Little friend,” he says, ” I must hurry this day for my master requires much of me.  I promise, I will return to give you more.  Now I must go, so do please excuse me.”  The man’s voice trails off as he stands to leave.  I turn over again in silent contemplation recalling the man’s kindness.
My nose twitches.  Soft aromas waft on a gentle breeze.  I hop to my feet so that I may follow the tempting smells.  My appetite is seduced and a ravenous hunger bubbles to the surface.  I am led by my senses to a wondrous place called the kitchen.  This is where the enticing odors emanate from to tease me.
Once inside, I happen upon a creamy white liquid and rush to drink its nectar.  My thirst is temporarily quelled but the craving for food remains persistent.  I grab the attention of a young woman who hands me a morsel of supple meat.  Thanking her before I scamper away with my meal, I must find a place to hide so that I can enjoy this feast in solitude.
I locate a small alcove and put my back against the wall.  Vigilance assures that no other will taste the sweet meat given to me.  Playfully I pick away chunks from the creature’s bone.  No sorrow do I feel for it while munching on its perfectly roasted meat.  Juices tantalize my over sensitive taste buds and I reel from pure ecstasy as my stomach is filled to the point of bursting.  Licking my appendages only enhances the ever bloating feeling.
Time to rest so the sumptuous meal can settles its heat through my veins.  I lay on the floor once more. Slumber looms in the recesses of my mind before slowly consuming my body and engulfing me within its comfortable darkness.  Now I sleep.
Interrupted, I wake to recognize the kind man lifting me from my hiding spot.  I roll my eyes with pleasure when he lovingly caresses my head.  Happiness fills my soul knowing that he has returned like he had promised earlier.  He snuggles me to his chest with a smile on his face and kind words upon his lips.
“My task is done for today.  I have returned to whisk you away.  Take you home with me I will, but promise me that mouse you’ll kill.”
This is a day in my life…

Lady Galiana- The Watcher of the Road

She plucked a white gown from her dresser and hoped the gods would bless her.  After a promise to wed, her beloved Hans had said, “Meet me in the wooded glen by the path where our new life will begin.  We shall leave this crumbling village behind and seek all the happiness we can find.”  Tendrils of auburn bounced down with grace as she let them fall to frame her face.  Her heart skipped at the thought of her father’s wrath, for he disapproved of this marriage made in crass.  Wrapping a flowered shawl about her shoulders, Galiena slipped out the window and headed toward the woods all aglow.   A full moon lit the fragrant spring night, shining with the luminosity of fairy wings in flight.  How she would miss frolicking with the fairy folk who befriended her but never spoke.  Galiena avoided the main roads, dreading her father’s discovery.  Her father was a man to fear, with a hatred for what she held dear.  His was an evil so profound he crushed all her dreams into the ground.  What she made with love and kindness, he destroyed in rage’s blindness.  He knew of the couple’s intention and kept Hans from his destination.  Under a rising moon, her blue eyes gleamed like a hyacinth’s bloom as the fairy princess guided her friend to meet her groom.  Once they arrived at the path leading from town, Galiena leaned against a tree in her wedding gown.  “Oh, Leona, I hath waited for this day since I was a girl.  In Hans’ loving arms I shall soon curl.”  Leona’s voice deafened mortals so words were not verbalized, but the young maiden saw reassurance in the fairy’s eyes. Her lover’s foot-falls were never heard, only the sound of a hooting bird.  A sullen song played on rustling leaves in a suspiring breeze.  The warmth of flowering love was replaced by the cold of a lover scorned; her tears were a waterfall of sorrow whose death was but a dew drop in the morn.  With each passing moment, her heart fractured like falling pottery from a lofty perch.  Inside her grew a curse as seeds of bereavement gave birth.  Creatures of the mist gathered with Galiena to cry, who lay on the unforgiving ground nearby.  When her deprived heart could bear no more pain, she called to the one whose trust she could gain. “Harbinger of Death, I beg of thee, take this life that was given to me.  My lover hath shattered my soul and left me in this world so cold.  I cannot bear to continue on for I am abandoned and all alone.  This is the task I ask of thee.   Please find compassion for me.”  Death saw the truth within her eyes, as well as her father’s thicket of lies.  As she stared into the breaking morning’s sky, he took pity and lowered his scythe.  Her body twitched with the release of her final breath, and with it went forth thanks to the Harbinger of Death.  The fairy princess was saddened by Galiena’s chosen demise; purplish-green flowers were the tears she cried.  When fairy tears kissed the ground, little green sprouts grew all ‘round.  Reverently, Leona watched the buds grow and bloom; pale tiny flowers became Galiena’s hair by noon.  Death’s regret gripped the day, keeping leery travelers at bay.  Fair Lady Galiena was gone as the evening light dawned.  By day’s end, purplish-green flowers were all that remained; they haunt the roadside like the bereft maiden whose lover never came.


 I wrote this for a Valentine’s Day challenge sponsored by Deep Magic E-Zine. I never thought it would be chosen from hundreds of entries & featured in the February 2005 issue.