#she is your abuse recovery metaphor. she is how love and opening your heart was ALWAYS and always HAS been the answer

[verflares]

i miss her so bad (botw/totk zelda)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Can I... Can I ask for a Jake and Kauri moment? Just a moment please Ash?

CW: SPICE SPICE SPICE - like PG-13 at most, it’s hardly spice at all. Trauma recovery, aspects of trauma are mentioned (the need to escape, bad relationship habits, etc). Vague allusions to past abusive relationship and resulting PTSD

He stops in the doorway, letting one hand rest along the smooth frame, wood worn to a high shine in a house that was here long before they existed and will probably still be standing after they’re gone. Notches near the bottom tell the story of some past owner’s tiny dog chewing there, and spots of pale paint dappled around the top mark where some previous homeowner forgot to tape it off before they painted this room.

In the back of the closet, he knows, he’ll find a name written. He can read that name, now, although it doesn’t mean anything to him. Some little girl who had slept in here, once, years or decades ago, who knows? But her name is still here, still marks the day she curled up  in the back of her closet and decided to leave something for whoever came after.

“I want to leave.”

His voice is soft, too deep as always for how delicate he looks. He still looks willowy, even now, and he knows that - younger than he is. He has vague memories of being told, once upon a time, that he’d appreciate that one day.

Well, he doesn’t, not yet.

Jake looks up from where he sits on his bed, clicking away at something on his laptop, notebooks full of numbers and lists spread around him, and tilts his head. 

Kauri’s eyes drop to the curve of Jake’s shoulders, the muscles that move beneath bared skin as the other man sits in just a pair of his pajama bottoms working on the precarious house-of-cards finances that keep the new rescues downstairs fed, clothed, sheltered, safe... then he looks back up to meet his gaze.

Blue eyes on blue, Jake’s lighter, more like the sun glancing off deep water, where his own have always been a warmer shade, more like the shallows. 

“Okay,” is all Jake says, evenly, quietly. Kauri can read his tension but can’t read the cause of it, whether he’s angry or upset, or sad, or nothing at all. “If you want to.”

“I might not come back,” Kauri counters, without moving from the door, either to come further in, or to go. He’s trapped in the space between either choice, unable to make it. “If I go.”

“I know that.” Jake’s voice is soft, and calm. He glances back down, and then closes the laptop in one smooth motion, shifting to lay it on the side table next to his bed. “That’s always true, every time you go.”

“What would you do?” It’s a challenge, not a question - tell me you wouldn’t give a shit if I was gone, just like everyone else -  and Jake knows it. Kauri can tell, can see his understanding in the way he takes a deep breath, straightens his spine. “What would you do, Jake, if I never came back?”

Jake licks at his lips, playing for time maybe, then just shakes his head and gives Kauri a sidelong smile, gathering the notebooks and papers together, now. He’s changed, from when they met, just like Kauri has. Although mostly Kauri doesn’t feel like he’s changed at all. 

“What would I do?”

“Right. If I left tonight, and I didn’t come back.”

“I’d call you, to see why.” Jake’s voice is calm, casual, unbothered as he sets the notebooks and paperwork aside, too. He doesn’t get off the bed, doesn’t push closer, doesn’t make himself a threat. Just stays right where he is, leaning back against the headboard and pillows.

“If I didn’t answer the phone?” 

Kauri takes one step inside the room. Then two.

If Jake notices, he doesn’t show it. “I’d try texting.”

“You know texts give me headaches.”

“I’d try it anyway. Then I’d call all your favorite diners and bars and ask if they’d seen you.”

“What if they had seen me?”

“Then I’d know you were okay, and that’d be all I needed.” 

Their voices stay low, calm. Talking to each other the way you hold out a hand to a frightened animal to try and show you’re safe. Kauri shifts slightly to the side as he moves, looking over a couple of things Jake keeps on top of his dresser, trying not to look at the way his chest moves as he breathes, calm and easy. Unbothered.

Kauri can fake being unbothered, too.

“What if they hadn’t?” Kauri slowly lifts a necklace, wondering whose it is. It’s not Jake’s, and he hasn’t had a girlfriend since the college girl that broke up with him. “What if no one saw me, anywhere, nobody knew where I was?”

“Then I’d go look for you. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I’m going to leave, sooner or later. Tonight, maybe.”

“You can go.” Jake shrugs, casual, but when Kauri turns to look at him the bright blue eyes are burning holes through him. “Whenever you want. Door’s open, Kauri. It’s never locked.”

“It’s always locked.”

Jake manages a slight, amused smile. “Metaphors, Kauri.” He holds out one hand, a simple offer, and Kauri lets the necklace drop back onto the wooden dresser with a soft thunk. 

“I want to leave,” Kauri repeats, walking towards Jake like he’s being pulled that way, the tension in the room growing with every step. The thread pulls tighter, between them. It could snap. It should snap, any second now.

Kauri waits for it, for the break, the second he will turn and flee. Waits to hear his own feet on the stairs, to feel the front door beneath his fingertips. Instead he feels the weight of the air around them growing, electric crackling as he puts his hand in Jake’s and sees the other man’s larger fingers closing around his own.

“You can,” Jake says, calmly. His grip is warm, dry. Just like the warmth of his eyes. Kauri’s lips press together, eyebrows furrowing. The electricity in the air feels stronger. “Any time you want. I won’t stop you.”

“What if I wanted you to stop me?” 

The question is a whisper, as Kauri climbs onto the bed,  knee on either side of Jake’s hips. They don’t break eye contact, holding the moment, as Jake’s other hand moves to rest, with only the slightest questioning hesitancy, along one of Kauri’s hips.

He lets out  shuddering breath as he way Jake’s palm curves over his hipbone, even through the thick denim of his jeans. 

“If you want me to tell you not to go, you should ask me,” Jake says, voice soft. There’s a strain to it, a hitch in his breath, eyes traveling over Kauri’s face, down the line of his neck, lingering over the way his shirt obscures the scar over his collarbone, lasting evidence of what love has meant to Kauri in life, what it has meant to have someone who won’t let him go.

“I want you to tell me you’ll let me go,” Kauri says softly, laying his hands on Jake’s shoulders, shifting closer to him, leaning down until his forehead rests on Jake’s, looking.

Blue on blue, straight blond hair cut short against wild overgrown black curls, muscles and height next to willowy limbs. 

“I’ll never stop you,” Jake whispers, and Kauri’s fingertips are cold as they slide up the sides of his neck, hands resting on either side of Jake’s jaw. 

“I want you to tell me you want me to stay.”

Jake huffs soundless laughter, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes now, as his own arms slide around Kauri’s waist, to hold him. One large hand pressed to the small of his back, sliding up under his shirt. “You know-”

“Tell me,” Kauri says, and there’s a crack in his voice he doesn’t intend to be there, this time. “Tell me you want me to stay.”

Jake breathes out in a groan this time, eyes closing briefly. Kauri can feel his pulse jump under the press of his fingers to the spot just under Jake’s jaw, the way the bigger man’s heart is beating faster, now.

His own races, and the tension in the air - the crackle of want - is the same as it always is... and entirely unlike it’s ever been before.

That he remembers, anyway.

“Kauri...”

“Tell me, or I’ll go. I’ll walk out right now, and you won’t see me for days or weeks or months or however long I can make myself stay away. Tell me.” Kauri uses his hands to tip Jake’s head back, just a little, and presses a kiss. Jake’s mouth tastes like coffee laced with Irish Cream, his lips are a little chapped and rough against Kauri’s own, and they give to Kauri’s kiss, open for him.

It’s the same as it always is, and not the same at all.

“Promise me you won’t let me go,” He whispers against Jake’s lips.

“I can’t promise that,” Jake answers, but his hand against Kauri’s back presses harder, his arms hold him more tightly. “I’ll never say that to you. I’ll never, ever tell you I won’t let you go.”

It’s Kauri’s turn to laugh, a harsh breath of air, but in the next moment it’s Jake’s mouth that catches his, knocks the air and all his attempts at cynical certainty out of him. 

“Jake-” He pulls back, hear pounding. “Jake, if you, if you can’t promise-”

“I’ll always let you go, if you need to be gone,” Jake says, mouth grazing Kauri’s jaw, and he can’t stop the soft sound in his throat at the shiver of pleasure that runs down his spine. “I can’t promise I won’t, because I will.” Mouth on his neck, finding the place where throat and shoulder meet, nuzzling into the neckline of his shirt as Kauri’s hips move to press them closer together.

There are tears in his eyes, and he’s not sure why. “J-Jake-”

“I’ll always let you go.”

Jake raises his head to look Kauri in the eyes again. 

Blue on blue, always. 

“But the door is still open for when you come back, and I’ll be waiting.”

The tears burn hotter, and he drops his head to hide them, rolling his hips forward, wanting in equal measures to push Jake away from him and pull him close, under his skin, keep the warmth and sureness in those words, that voice, his eyes, forever. 

“I don’t want to go,” Kauri whispers, voice trembling. “I don’t w-want to leave, Jake.”

Warm arms around him hold just tight enough to reassure, never tight enough to make him feel trapped there. Jake’s pulse runs fast under his fingers, his own heart beats rabbit-quick against Jake’s skin where they are pressed together. 

“Then don’t go,” Jake murmurs, kissing his jaw, his cheek. The rough skin of his lips feels amazing in ways no one else ever has. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“What if it g-gets... what if it’s hard?”

“Everything is hard,” Jake says, half-laughing, but the sound is too low, too husky with want, to quite land. “That’s life, Kauri. Let’s just have the difficult bits happen together. What do you want, Kauri? Right now, right this second?”

“I want to stay,” Kauri whispers. Jake kisses him again, and Kauri melts into the warm coffee-taste of his mouth, the press of his tongue. “I w-want to stay.”

“Then stay.”

Kauri closes his eyes, tipping his head back to encourage Jake to kiss his throat again, smiling faintly as he immediately takes the hint. “And I want-... I-”

“Yeah?” Hot breath against his neck, hands on his back, pressure meeting his hips. It’s easy, it’s the same as it always is, and not the same in any way. It’s never going to be like it’s been before, not with Jake.

The thought is scary and amazing, in equal measures. He’s frightened and elated, wants anything and everything about this moment to end right now and to never end. He would do anything to want to leave. 

He doesn’t want to leave at all.

The idea of trust is terrifying, and it’s been so long since he wanted something like this more than he was scared of it.

He wants Jake to hold onto him like his. He wants to run. He wants to hear words that have always meant pain and fear twisted back to what they were originally intended to for.

He wants Jake to take him, and he wants to never be taken.

He wants... He wants-

“I want you to stop fucking around and take my pants off.”

Jake smiles against him, Kauri can feel the way his mouth moves with the expression. “Got it. Kauri, I-”

“Then I want you to make me breakfast, because I won’t be gone when you wake up.”

Jake’s bright, happy laughter in return in loud enough that they decide someone should probably go close the door.

----

Tagging Kauri’s crew:  @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it,, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @spiffythespook, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @cubeswhump

[madshelley]

gimmie a quick rundown of which scenes break your heart the most, i'm not sad enough and need the pain.

I love you and this is both the best and worstthing anyone has never asked me, because apparently, I have no clue what a “quick”rundown means.  I also tried very hard tonot make this entirely about Armand and… I failed about midway through. Butin my defense, can you ever be sad enough? No, you can’t.

SO HERE’S THE TOP JUST-A-BIT-TOO-MANY LIST OFHEARTBREAKING VAMPIRE MOMENTS™:

- Louiskilling the Marquis, and both his and Lestat’s reactions to it. Louis draggingLestat to his abusive father’s bed and forcing him to speak forgiveness,despite the fact that Lestat is having an obvious meltdown (“He threw up hishands and let out a terrible roar of desperation.  ‘Damn him! Kill him!’ he said.”/“Lestatdanced like the maddened Rumpelstilskin about to put his foot through thefloor”/ “Never had I seen him so weak and at the same time enraged”), thatLouis, in his lack of information, mistakes for impatience and indifference.Damn dysfunctional vampires with a thing for miscommunication.  If only there was a scene with the two of themdiscussing this in a later book, it would probably make the list too. But,alas.

Rest of the list under cut because of excessively long post that no one’s going to read:

 - Louisdumping Lestat’s ‘body’ in the bog.

“This is Lestat. This is all oftransformation and mystery, dead, gone into eternal darkness. I  felt a pull suddenly, as if some force wereurging me to go down with him, to descend into the dark water and never comeback”.

          For no other reason, but that I feelthis is the prime example of Louis’ tendency to be unable to take control ofhis life and stand up for himself and what he wants, ending up being a passive observerof the most tragic events of his life, lamenting them only when it’s too late.Oh, Louis.

-Armandlying to himself about his relationship with Marius.

“A love so strong hecouldn’t allow me to grow old and die. A love that waited patiently until I wasstrong enough to be born to darkness.”

-I don’t normally care about Madeleine, but thisquote shatters my heart on a daily basis, considering the context in which IwtVwas written.

“And cruelly, surely, I said to her, ‘Did you love this child?’

I will never forget her face then, the violence in her, the absolute hatred.‘Yes.’ She all but hissed the words at me. ‘How dare you!’ She reached for thelocket even as I clutched it. It was guilt that was consuming her, not love. Itwas guilt- that shop of dolls Claudia had described to me, shelves and shelvesof the effigy of that dead child”.

-Armandleaving Louis, unable to bear the loveless, cold partnership anymore, indespair and suicidal. Especially this part of the farewell speech:

“AndI believed I would gather you to me and hold you. And time would open to us,and we would be the teachers of one another. All the things that gave youhappiness would give me happiness; and I would be the protector of your pain.My power would be your power. My strength the same. But you’re dead inside tome, you’re cold and beyond my reach! It is as if I’m not here, beside you. And,not being here with you, I have the dreadful feeling that I don’t exist atall”.

Armand,the break-up line master. Jesus Christ.

-“Hebent down, pressing his head against my chest and holding my hand so tight thathe caused me pain. The room was filled with the flashing red light of thesiren, and then it was going away.

‘Louis,I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it,’ he growled through his tears. ‘Help me,Louis, stay with me’.”

- Theway IwtV ends in general, with no silver lining or sliver of hope. Lestat andArmand are dying, of old age and despair, Louis is continuing his existencelike a bloodless empty shell, seeing no possibility of recovery or light at theend of the tunnel, and there is no comforting cosmic reason anything is everhappening at all.  Life is pain and youdon’t even die. No wonder IwtV is such a downer to the non-initiated.

- LittleLestat being beaten bloody by his father and brothers.

-“Andwhen we decided to go to Paris, I thought we would starve in Paris, that wewould go down and down and down. It was what I wanted rather that what theywanted, that I, the favored son, should rise for them. I thought we would godown! We were supposed to go down”.

- Armandbegging Lestat and Gabrielle to take him with them and them refusing. I’m notgoing to go into details, I feel this is an obvious one.

Exceptfor these gems:

“Maybeas the years pass, desire will come again to me. I will know appetite again,even passion. Maybe when we meet in another age, these things will not beabstract and fleeting. I’ll speak with a vigour that matches yours, instead ofmerely reflecting it”.

and

“Armandwas a small boy in the doorway, holding the backs of his own arms”.

Theconsistent implication throughout the series that Armand gets cold when he’supset does things to my heart.

- Armand’sadmonition to Lestat that fledglings are bound to despise their makers, simplybecause it’s not true, or at least it doesn’t seem to be in most cases. IsArmand projecting because he’s practically almost incapable of verbalcommunication at this point in his life which makes a hindered mind gift seemlike an unsurpassable obstacle in his mind? Or is he projecting because, onsome level, he knows his relationship with Marius was abusive and probablydoomed? (Spoiler alert: probably both.)

- Mariuscalling Armand his mistake.

-Lestat hearing Armand crying after he pushedhim off the roof:

“Maybe I imagined it, his lastinvitation, and the anguish after. The weeping. I do know that as the monthspassed he was out there again. I heard him from time to time just walking thoseold Garden District streets. And I wanted to call to him, to tell him that itwas a lie I’d spoken to him, that I did love him. I did.”.

- “Uglyfights, terrible fights, finally, Armand broken down, glassy-eyed with silentrage, then crying softly but uncontrollably as if some lost emotion had beenrediscovered which threatened to tear him apart”.

-“Evenin moments of the greatest jeopardy, I knew we would meet before I would befree to die.”

Tell me again how Armand’s suicideattempt in Memnoch was out of character.

-Lestatbelieving that Daniel would have left Night Island with him if he had askedhim. So much theoretical pain.

- It’sa pity that Daniel leaving Armand isn’t technically  ~a scene, because that would make the top ofthe list.

- Everyscene in which Lestat is “haunted” by Claudia in TotBT. It’s not hard to seehow he made the connection between her and the Raglan episode, even with himnever straight-up admitting it to himself. Remember when Lestat still feltcrippling guilt for his worst actions, even subconsciously? Good times.

- David’sturning. But this is not the time to complain about this, it’s canon heartbreakappreciation time!

- Armand’ssuicide attempt in Memnoch the Devil. I’ve already elaborated on this way toomuch, but let’s take a moment to appreciate Lestat screaming Armand’s nameafter him. Take a moment. Thank you.

- Louisobjecting to Lestat being chained to the floor, but being completely dismissed.

- Theentire The Vampire Armand. I can’t let myself elaborate too much on this, as I’lljust be reciting the entire book. I can just open it to a random page and itwill probably be a Top Heartbreaking Vampire Moment:

 Armand’sobvious exhaustion at the beginning of the book, that no one seems to respect. Himscolding himself and admitting to David he feels he’s going mad. A child silentlywishing for death so hard, that Marius heard it amongst the mental voices ofthe entire city. Armand’s entire “relationship” with Marius. Armand having a breakdownat seeing religious imagery, not yet being sure why he has that reaction. Meetinghis parents, especially the broken Ivan. The “Bridge of Sighs” metaphor, Jesus.The ashes of the Palazzo boys. The whole Riccardo horror. Armand trying toconceal his scarred face from Benji and Sybelle, putting all his energy intothe illusion. The shattering feeling of betrayal about the turning of Armand’s “children”by Marius, and Armand’s conviction that it was meant as punishment. Louis beingunable to conceal his relief and joy to see Armand alive. Armand’s bitter, hurtdismissal of his relationship with Daniel as doomed from the start. Armandadmitting that Sybelle and Benji had to coax him out of depressive episodes attimes. Man, did Anne go ham on the pain in this one. Why, mom?

- Specialmention to that one time Marius beat Armand out of “frustration” at him fortaking too long to emotionally get over his visit to Kiev, probably his mostblatantly abusive moment in the book.

“‘You’ve had enough time to grieve and to weep,’ hesaid, ‘and to reevaluate all you’ve been given. Now it’s back to work. Go tothe desk and prepare to write. Or I’ll whip you some more.’”

“He smacked me across the face. I was dizzy.”

Nice going, Marius.

- Secondspecial mention to this little passage, because no one ever talks about it andit makes my heart bleed:

“ I looked off, wanting the quiet, dreamingof bowers suddenly, not in words but in images, the way my old mind would doit, wanting to lie down in garden beds among growing flowers, wanting to pressmy face to earth and sing softly to myself”.

- Thirdspecial mention to this, but only out of context:

“For all the wrongs done you, andthe loneliness you’ve suffered, and the horrors that the world put upon youwhen you were too young and too untried to know how to fight them and then toovanquished to wage a battle with a full heart”.  

- SeeingDaniel in Blood and Gold after all those years. The shock of the degree inwhich his mental stability deteriorated, not objecting to being kept by Mariuslike a child. The terrifying possibilities of how he might have ended up therein the first place. The even more terrifying possibility that it might havebeen the news of Armand’s “death” that pushed him over the edge. How Armandmust have felt about this ‘relationship’.

- I am definitely not done, and yet I’m going to stop ‘cause even I had enough.

Tl;dr: Sad Vampires.

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Heather Derr-Smith

is a poet with four books, Each End of the World (Main Street Rag Press, 2005), The Bride Minaret (University of Akron Press, 2008), Tongue Screw (Spark Wheel Press, 2016), and Thrust winner of the Lexi Rudnitsky/Editor’s Choice Award (Persea Books, 2017). Her work has appeared in Fence, Crazy Horse and Missouri Review. She is managing director of Cuvaj Se, a nonprofit supporting writers in conflict zones and post-conflict zones and divides her time mostly between Iowa and Sarajevo, Bosnia.

The Interview

1. When and why did you start writing poetry?

I often say my inspiration to write poetry came from the movie Wings of Desire by Wim Wenders. I remember that film as instigating me to make a declaration of knowing how I wanted to live my life and what I wanted to “do.” It was an epiphany. I wanted to be one of the angels, listening and observing, but also I wanted to be like the angel who chose to become human to experience the world, fall in love even with all its pain. I realized I loved the world. I realized there was a world outside of myself to love. This was a coming of age moment for me, at about sixteen.

But also I was inspired all along by language, a fascination with words, a desire to create a self that had been fractured by trauma in childhood and into adulthood. I have early memories of writing every word I knew all over the church bulletin. There was scripture and gospel songs with weird images and the preaching. I hated my religious upbringing for its authoritarianism and it’s deep immorailty as it paved the way for what we see now in Trump. But the language of the scripture and the hymns I loved very much.

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

Our home had no books, no literature. My parents came from poverty, were the first generation to rise out of poverty, but were not college-educated.  My mother drove the right-wing religious climate in the home, and she and my stepfather drove the right-wing political in concert. I’d say the psalms were he first poems I heard. But I do remember an antique book my mother had called “A Child’s Garden of Verses” and I believe a poem I loved about having to go to bed early in summer when it’s still light out and the birds are singing and you want to play. But my first introduction to poetry in the sense we think of it had to have been the Smiths, with “Keats and Yeats are on your side–but Wilde is on mine.” which led me to ask who are Keats and Yeats? There was literature in school which I did love. The usual books we were required to read in middle school and into high school. I loved those. But I really loved the literature I found through the music I loved–The Stranger by Camus, from the Cure as another example. I found so much through references in the music of the time (the 80’s) but also I wrote poems based on song lyrics, impressionistic, associative, and to me these fragments which were based on song lyrics were my poems.

3. How aware are and were you of the dominating presence of older poets traditional and contemporary?

I had no older poets until I finally got to the University of Virginia. I ran away from home, was homeless for a while, got an apartment, waited tables, found my way to one year of Liberty University (the only way I could imagine going to college) then transferred after a year to the University of Virginia. Charles Wright, Rit Dove, and Greg Orr were teachers then. I had no idea who they were. You had to apply to get into their undergraduate workshops. I did and got in and started writing poetry. I knew nothing. I did not know the graduate students. I wasn’t very well educated because I had endured so much trauma in high school in and out of the home, that I really wasn’t learning much formally. I only knew my teachers, who I loved; my peers, who I also loved; and I got to know poets in books: Philip Levine, John Berryman, Sylvia Plath, Li-Young Lee. I applied to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and had no idea what it was all about. I just knew if you were a poet you were supposed to go to Iowa, so I applied and went.

There I loved my teachers, Mark Doty and Marvin Bell especially, Jorie Graham. The ones I didn’t love I still learned from. I did not know any other poets outside of class. I didn’t got to AWP. There was no social media.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I have notebooks I keep in a stack on a table in my bedroom. Each notebook is labeled  with projects I’m working on. One is “Arabic” for learning arabic, “Bosnian” for writing poems  in Bosnian, “french” for writing poems in french. Then titles of book projects “Heathen” for gender identity stuff. “Violence” for exploring ideas about violence in writing–boxing, war–resistance etc. I have a “commonplace book” which is fragments and notes from my reading. I do not write every single day, but I am mindful of always engaged in the process of writing. I trust my mind and heart to be absorbing, listening, taking in, attentive to the world. I take notes when I want to remember something specific, and I do my notebooks regularly enough–maybe just 15 minutes a day for a few days or a couple days out of the week, and over time I have a compilation of ideas, themes, lines, words, images, etc.  There’s always something connected to writing that I do every day because it’s all connected to writing–watching a film, reading the news, corresponding with friends or loves, looking at art, listening to music, loving my animal friends, al of it goes into my work. I just strive for balance like breathing–taking in and breathing out, active creation and restful re-creation.

5. What motivates you to write?

It seems to be something I have to do and was born to do. It feels inherent to me and myself. It feels like a whole way of being.

6. What is your work ethic?

I work hard. I love to work. I’m satisfied in my labor. At first I would have been driven to work in my home life with chores and a high level of parentification–a drive to meet the emotional and psychological needs of the adults around me, which meant trying hard to please and trying hard not to get in trouble. Then I revolted against the abuse at home and said “Fuck this!” and left. But with my friends who had also experienced a lot of trauma, were runaways, homeless etc. we created our own families and had to work. We were so young, 15, 16, 17 and up. And it wasn’t perfect and we retraumatized one another in many ways, but it was honestly better for my spirit and my mind and heart than homelife had been.

So I found a way to be proud of my own labor and that has stuck with me. Now I’m 48 and I am a big big believer in NOT doing things. I believe in canceling, saying no, not leaving the house, and not being “productive.”  I believe in naps, sitting quietly, and snuggling the dogs. I still like being productive and working hard but I do not like striving at all. Striving to “make it” that feeling that this could “lead to something” bigger, better. Nope nope nope.

I spent some time in an Amish-mennonite community and I liked the idea of work as sacramental, mopping floors, working in the garden, caring for children and animals and others as a way of connecting and loving, not trying so much to amass wealth or be “productive” in the capitalist sense. That has stuck with me.

7. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

Sylvia Plath’s rage and violence are still something in my poems that I’m interested in exploring. Berryman’s weird syntax which also connects to Shakespeare and the Bible. Charles Wright’s similes and metaphors and stringing together images with a colloquial bit of diction, with a quote from a philosopher. Larry Levis’ “I” who is deeply empathetic and wanders ut from his own self into the wider world.Mark Doty’s ethics and authenticity of emotion. These are all things still with me.

8. Whom of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

I admire so many. I think it would be impossible to name them, they just keep coming. Twitter has been a boon and a curse. I’ve managed to curate my twitter in such a way that I am surrounded by a really wonderful, diverse, generous, community of writers at all stages in their callings. I learn from all of them every day.  I hate to name names because then I will leave someone out. There are at least hundreds, if not thousands. It’s a little overwhelming. But certain books have been particularly groundbreaking for me in the last couple years. I would say Ilya Kaminsky’s Deaf Republic is one, Gabrielle Calvocoressi’s Rocket fantastic is another and Justin Phillip Reed’s Indecency. Those three have just blown open so many doors I want to hang out a while in those rooms.

9. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

I keep working on my non-profit, Cuvaj se/Take Care. I’ve chosen to spend a great deal of my time and energy the last few decades facilitating poetry workshops in conflict zones and post-conflict zones and communities affected by trauma and violence. I started back in 1994 while I was learning about poetry and the war in Bosnia was culminating in genocide. I went over to volunteer in a refugee camp and I made a lifelong commitment to that country through more than twenty years of ongoing recovery. All of my earnings from poetry go into this work and all of the work has been self funded, and expanded to other countries, including Syria, and most recently Ukraine. I started the non-profit so that I could apply for grants to help build capacity and do more. We do poetry workshops that emphasize lgbtq rights, human rights, interethnic cooperation, migrant rights, critical thinking etc. and we also fund writers with grants to support their work, fundraise for emergency/critical financial support, and translation. Donations to Cuvaj se from individual donors always goes directly to writers or students in need to support their work. Running a non-profit is new to me, and I’m learning as I go and I’m taking it slow. https://cuvajse.org/

My fifth manuscript is to be published in 2021, but I can’t say anything more about that yet! There’s a lot in it about gender, seuality, violence, and God, my familiar themes (or demons? I like that use of a familiar) I remain obsessed with. But I am happy for the amount of time I have to really dig in hard with revisions and to make it the strongest book I can write. I don’t move on to the next book until I get the present one published–so every bit of my energy and strength will go into it.

I’m also having so much fun making poetry videos. I was hugely inspired by Agnes Varda and have been making these little clips of poems, readings, with sometimes goofy video. I love it and I want to take a film class and learn how to make more and better ones. I don’t care if they are amateurish or seem unpolished. I learned from Agnes varda just to do what you love and give your heart to it and learn as you go. I think this is the link to subscribe: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UChhjf1Vp_5o6siKsuhv_G0A?view_as=subscriber My poetry website is here: https://heatherderrsmith.com/

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Heather Derr-Smith Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[wildheartcoach]

What "Wild" Can Teach You

I recently read Cheryl Strayed's book "Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail." Having read Strayed's other book, "Tiny Beautiful Things," I knew about her humanity, her generous heart, and her wisdom.

The Cheryl we meet in "Wild," is a much different Cheryl, however. She's fumbling and lost and often makes "wrong" choices. She does NOT have her shit together.

Who has not, in some way, gone through a difficult experience and come out of it with a stronger sense of who you are, and an appreciation for your own resilience or endurance?

I consider this a story not just about Cheryl, but about the human experience. It's one of the hero's journeys; what we learn, how we grow, and what we experience when we go through a transition period. It's about putting the past behind you in order to step into a new life. 

It starts out with Cheryl, age 26, ending what appears to have been a loving marriage. She is at a crisis point in her life and realizes she needs to figure herself out. She subsequently embarks on a solo three-month hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. As a result, she finds herself and begins to believe in herself again. Getting off the old path of self-destruction, she chooses a new path of almost constant physical pain and challenges. But with the pain comes growth. Who she is at the end of the hike is not the same woman who started it.

There are several metaphors embedded in this story that I think can be applied as life lessons, especially for someone who is going through a career transition period:

Put your past behind you: Cheryl's past included drug abuse, promiscuous sex, and the emotional pain of losing her mother to cancer. It seems to me that Cheryl wants to process the past so that she can move on. Changing careers can be like this. If you have been in a difficult situation because you thought you didn't have a choice -- whether it was feeling abused by a person in authority, not being appreciated, taken advantage of, experiencing a toxic work culture, or maybe it was just that you hated the job so much -- there may be some trauma for you to work through. Some history that you would rather not repeat or experience again in the next phase of your career. Taking some time to reflect, pulling yourself, if you can, out of the situation so that you can begin to leave those demons behind you, allows you to move forward with a clean slate, and see a new possibility. Give yourself the space, time or peace of mind to figure out your values, interests, strengths, and who you really are or are meant to be.

Leave behind what you don't need: Cheryl's biggest mistake at the beginning of her journey is packing too many things in her backpack. In fact, the bag is so heavy that she can barely stand up with it on. When she finally does manage it, the straps dig so deeply into her skin that they leave welts on her body. Starting over in a career, or in any area of your life, is easier when you're not weighed down by unnecessary baggage. It might be more mental clutter than anything else, but the important thing is to identify what you no longer need, and leave it behind. What is holding you back?

Order bigger shoes: In order to do what you've never done before, you have to be who you've never been. You have to take on a larger commitment to your dream. Cheryl's boots are too small when she starts out on the hike. Because of the wear and tear on her feet, she leaves them on the mountain and purchases a new pair when she has the chance. The metaphor of changing into a bigger pair of shoes applies very accurately to stepping into a new way of being. The bigger the shoes, the more you can grow. Who you were before is not going to be who you will become by taking on this challenge.  

Take what you do need: Not only should you leave behind the things that weigh you down, but you benefit also from taking what you do need. Pack resilience, a belief in yourself, a willingness to grow, healthy connections with others, and plenty of support. 

Expect bumps in the road: Hiking the trail is not easy for Cheryl. She is willing to suffer whatever she has to suffer through to make it to the end of the trail. There is the extreme heat, the snow that blocks part of the trail, the loneliness, the fear of being attacked or molested by animals or untrustworthy men. She contends with boots that were too small and then no boots at all, for a portion of the hike. She underestimates how much cash to bring. But she endures and does not give up. When you are in career transition, there are going to be some rough patches. The important part is to keep your eye on the path ahead of you, not behind you. If you continue to move forward despite obstacles and challenges, you will eventually end up in the place you want to be.

Endurance makes you stronger: Cheryl's endurance is enormous. She gets through the ordeal mostly by her own determination and persistence. Like the character in "The Alchemist," Cheryl is on a pilgrimage, a purifying kind of journey. They say that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I would add that it is important for that thing to be a healthy kind of challenge. For Cheryl this journey was about recovery from addiction and a self-destructive lifestyle. For those in career transition and looking to finally have a career you love, you already endured the worst of it. You put in your time, you discovered what didn't make you happy; now it's time to take what you learned from having endured that miserable time and put those lessons to use. If there were aspects of your life you were not able to manage or if you feel you failed, that is a good lesson to learn, too. It helps you to know what you are capable of doing and what you are not meant to do. You owe it to yourself to not give up on yourself, or your vision.

Willingness to receive help: Cheryl make this trek all on her own, and while hiking, she rarely teams up with anyone else on the trail. She hates to ask for help, which earns her the nickname: The Queen of the PCT. While it is admirable for Cheryl to stand on her own two feet and see her way through, there are times when we should be willing to put our burden down and let someone else carry it for us a little while. If only so that we can regain our strength. This isn't about giving up or showing weakness. It is about knowing when to relax and provide self-care. If all we do is run ourselves ragged, then we won't be of any use to ourselves or others who depend on us. While Cheryl loves to believe she doesn’t need or want anyone but herself, she discovers the opposite. She does eventually accept help from some of the other hikers she meets which may have saved her life.

Don't worry about unexpected detours: Because of the areas of the trail that are snowed in, Cheryl decides to ride the bus to skip over a portion of the trail between Mt. Whitney to Sierra City. While her intention had been to hike almost the entire 2,663 miles of the PCT, she realizes that sometimes you have to accept unexpected detours. This applies to job seekers and those in career transition as well. You may receive some unexpected advice or opportunities or hit a wall and need to find a way around it. That's ok. It's part of life. The best thing to do is to not beat yourself up about it. 

Cheryl's heart is open to the possibility that there is more to life than simply making a living or finding one’s next meal. She knows she was meant for something more. She comes out of her hike with the ability to help others who are going through trauma or feeling lost. It changes not only her life, but also the lives of those touched by her.

This is a story about transformation through endurance. It is about the letting go of doubts. It is about having an unbreakable spirit. It is about saying a fond goodbye to events and people in one’s past that are gone or who no longer serve. It is about straying, finding your way back to yourself and giving yourself permission to do so.