Haystack

There is a place on a massive granite ledge, built almost entirely of wood, called Haystack School of Arts and Crafts. From early spring to Indigenous People’s Day weekend, artists congregate there to work on their craft with an amount of focus uncommon in today’s world. The studios, cafeteria, and cabins are without wi-fi, and cell phone signal is dismal. I was lucky enough to win the lottery and attend Haystack’s Open Door program this year, taking a poetry class with the astounding and prolific Annie Finch.

I won’t get too into the details of the weekend--I plan on keeping these blog posts crisply short. What I want to talk about was the focus I experienced. Released from the need to check my phone constantly for messages, released from televisions and news programs, I discovered a part of myself I’d always suspected but never really knew was there.

The weekend was healing in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I was in a class of only women, which was perhaps the greatest blessing within the weekend. Without a dominating or judging male presence, we were able to express, to be ourselves. We cried, we spiraled, we hugged, we shared. It was beautiful.

I felt the waves crashing up against the land at night. I sat on those granite ledges and wrote poems I didn’t know I could write. I watched the clouds play out the sunrise over a jetty of pine trees, a porpoise swim in and out of the cove, the first lobster boats hauling in their first traps of the day. The sound of a boat going out onto the water… that gurgly rumble of the motor, the deep vibrations it sends through the air… there’s nothing else like it.

To everyone telling me I need to get out of Maine to succeed as an artist, and in life: you have no idea how rich this beautiful state truly is.

Sister of Blades, Armored Skirts Crimson.

It is no secret that young girls and women grow up without enough positive female influences. They read stories about men, watch movies and cartoons about men, and listen to music written and sung by men. The only 'idols' girls in Western culture are truly offered are the Disney Princesses, characters rife with unrealistic beauty expectations and heteronormative ideals that alienate and repress young women who would not otherwise adhere to modern gender norms. Today's sexist cultures dictates that young girls have a plethora of male idols to worship, with only a few female figures to look up to.

Often, those female figures are real-life versions of the Disney Princesses. Additionally, they are almost always white-skinned, skinny, and straight.

This is why artists like Veela are so significant regardless of whether they have achieved worldwide fame or a small but loyal following on the internet. Finding songs where women are singing about other women (the lyrical Bechdel Test, if you will) is a struggle most often resolved by luck and chance.

I have been listening to Veela's music with dedication for several years now, after being introduced to her by the song "Let it Be." The visuals of the music she both creates and associates with have inspired dozens of characters and stories for me, some of which have become fully explored pieces of writing. She often collaborates with other artists in the EDM/Dubstep world and beyond, and despite the variety of people she has worked with, her own ethereal quality is introduced to each and every song, making it unmistakably her own.

Deep colors of blue, teal, violet, and red are often conjured by her songs, as well as fantasy landscapes, sometimes up in the clouds, sometimes in magical cave dwellings. Veela's music is like a shot of inspiration for your brain in just three minutes.

Veela's songs are also unique in that she rarely sings about typical romance, a joy for someone like me to listen to. I make no claims about Veela's preferences, but many of her romance songs are in fact gender neutral, allowing the listener to create a story that works for them. Rather than romance, Veela sings about her favorite games, shows, stories, and characters who reveal themselves through the lyrics. Her openness about what she loves shines through her art and allows her fans to find a deep connection with her.

Songs such as "Offering (Original Mix)" by Veela + Captain Panic tell a story of oppressed women, and is easily viewed as a feminist track, though I can't speak for the intent of the writers. This song is one of many that inspired my upcoming series, "Anthology of the Cold Night," about a group of warrior women known as The Wolfena, who are hellbent on ending trafficking and prostitution in their ice age world.

"Broken House" is a raw account of a girl abused by someone who was supposed to be her father, or father figure.

In a lighter realm, "Ribbon Final," a song she made with Cyaneyed, is Veela singing an encouraging anthem of future freedom to another young girl.

"Though you are little, you're too bright for us
Entirely luminous
And you are wise with age,
You understand
The circumstance
We fought against
To never cry again"

All in all, it is no rarity to hear women's stories in Veela's songs. Some of her tracks are her own originals, while others were offered to her by other artists, but no matter what her taste and talent presents itself, and her incredible, emotional voice always compliments the musical background.

Some of my other favorite tracks by Veela which can all be found on her Soundcloud are "Walking," "True Colors Master," "Forever Blue," "Poets of the Fall," and "Ghost Assassin."

Here are some other ways to learn more about Veela, and buy or download some of her music.

Veelamusic.com
Veela's YouTube
Her Facebook
Instagram
Twitter
Tumblr

I hope this article has inspired you to listen to Veela's music, and support her work if you find you enjoy it. A true artist is one who connects deeply with people through their chosen medium. This is something that Veela does for me as a music lover and a woman.

"The Lost Prince" -- Excerpt from "The Ascent of Avedis"

The moment the stars appeared before him Kelson knew the dream was not a normal one. The flickering lights in the sky were too bright, alive as if they were jumping about in some crazed ritual. He recognized constellations; Aihnk with his great jaws open, clawing at the heaven’s in triumph of his return home, and cloudy Sael’s Path, southwest of the moons who were half full, just as they were when he’d gone to sleep. 

No one familiar was near. Not Marinus, Inahra, Caridan, nor Gho or Vohrie or the other thirty people that had joined them over the past week. When he stood, he felt unsteady, as if the ground was tipping underneath his feet. 

There was one presence, though. The night was so dark he couldn’t see anyone among the hard shadows of the trees at first, but he could sense them, in the back of his mind, in the hairs of his neck standing on end. 

“You look afraid. You should be.”

Kelson whipped around at the voice to find his own face staring back at him. No, not his own; the same in shape, feature, and color, yet a different person. Avedis. His hair was longer by a forearm’s length, braided away from his face. His clothes were ones Kelson could not possibly have imagined himself in,  rich and finely made, with intricate details his eyes could hardly follow. “Why should I be? This is a dream.”

“It’s not just dream,” Avedis shook his head, stepping closer.

“What do you want?”

“Hear me out, that’s all I ask. It might save your life.”

Kelson didn’t want to hear much of anything Avedis had to say. What kind of person would so readily invade someone else’s mind, hinting at threats and anger? He took a step backwards, feeling for his sword, though the weight on his hip was missing. Avedis only followed, uncrossing his arms.

“Turn around, and go back to Charisia, or wherever it is you came from. It’s where you belong. There is nothing for you in Ilaquoi except pain and death, I will make sure of that.” 

“I’m just trying to find the truth,” Kelson said, his heart pulsing hard in his chest, “I want to know who my family is, if what Monelly told me is true.”

“The two of us speaking here is proof enough that it is. There is nothing for you in the city. Our father is an evil man, you will get no love from him; our mother is a broken woman, sickly and resigned.” He paused, one of his fists unclenching at his side, tensing as if he were waiting for something to happen. “And I already hate you. I have waited to become king for nine years, and if you think I'm going to step aside and let you have it…"

"I don't want to be your enemy.”

"You already are." 

Kelson’s mind reached for words that wouldn't form. Before he could utter a sound, the trees around them and the stars shivered, and disappeared, and so did Avedis, all of it falling into blackness at once.

He woke with a start, feeling feverish and shaky. His mouth watered as if he were about to be sick. A dull ache rose in his head as he propped himself up on one arm, and looked about the dark camp with panic, trying to separate the visions from reality. 

Through the treetops he could just see the moons beginning their descent, drowning in the predawn glare. There were mounds scattered all around him, his traveling companions still in the throes of peaceful sleep. Dark brown trunks rose up, narrow and high, topped by rounded, ovular caps of fluffy green leaves. A few days before, they had picked up mounts in Shillian. One of the hyuruks grunted loudly when it saw Kelson move and the sound startled him. He pushed away his sleeping roll and approached the hobbled animals. Their earless heads were raised, their eyes sharp, tails flicking away the insects that were rising with the sun.

“Shh, its all right,” he cooed, rubbing the sleek, muscled hide, combing through the thick mane hanging from the animal’s neck. He glanced nervously around the camp, but everything seemed in order.

Even as the dream began to fade from his mind, Kelson felt a darkness pressing in on him, a sense of dread and foreboding more powerful than when he had left Charisia. Was the nightmare just a product of his fears? Had pictures of Avedis’ face created such a potent image of his in his mind for him to see something like that? He pressed his lips to sleek, comforting fur, and felt as though he never wanted to sleep again.

Music for the Moody Writer

Music is necessary for the creative process of many writers and artists. While some creators prefer dead silence, others require a symphony of lyrics, imagery, and sounds to help them generate ideas, transport themselves to a fictitious world, and develop ideas for characters and plots. I always think of my writing music as the background score for my novel. In a way, music gives the writer's brain just enough distraction to focus.

For me, music when writing is a necessity. Aside from sporadic incidents, I always need music that goes with the story I'm working on, and I find wearing headphones also increases my ability to focus. During the actual writing process, I like instrumental music or music with vague or limited lyrics. Alternately, if I'm on a long drive or a six hour weaving shift, I want music with deep and complex stories to help me brainstorm new plots and characters.

I am here today to share some of my favorite writing music in hopes that others will find inspiration for their own stories. 

AFI aka A Fire Inside

Before I write another word about AFI, I must put a disclaimer: this band has been playing on stage longer than I've even been alive, therefore I am no authority on their music nor on goth music/culture in a general sense.

That said, I consider AFI to be one of my favorite bands, if not my favorite. I have been listening to them for about 9 years now, and their songs have seen me through all of the up and downs during such a long period of time. I had a writing block where I didn't create any stories, unless assigned by school, for a solid 3 years. I credit AFI as one of the main inspirations that ended that writing block, for it is the combination of their three albums Crash Love, Decemberunderground, and Sing The Sorrow which gave me the idea for my first novel, and subsequently, the trilogy it developed into. 

If you like dark music with obscure ideas and intense visuals, AFI is the band for you. Each song has enough fodder within it, lyrically and instrumentally, for a short story. If you're more on the sci-fi, technological spectrum, you might want to check out singer Davey Havok and guitar player Jade Puget's side project, Blaqk Audio. 

Anberlin

Unfortunately, Anberlin disbanded in 2015 on mutual terms, but they have an expansive discography that I have spent years exploring. Over the past six or so years, I have acquired their albums two at a time, listened to them until I soaked up every bit of inspiration that I needed from them, and then moved on to the next two. I've found it's practically impossible to get sick of Anberlin albums, especially "Vital" and "Dark is the Way, Light is a Place." When they start to feel worn, I put them away fro a couple months, and then listen to them like new.

Their sound is a very agreeable rock music vibe, and there is a certain timelessness to Anberlin's music that I love. When I'm listening to their later albums, I get a post apocalypse WWIII vibe that always puts new characters in my head. 

God is an Astronaut/Explosions in the Sky

GIAA and EITS are artists that have been mixed randomly into almost all my writing playlists of the past few years. Although generally these bands have no lyrics, the music they create is powerful enough to bring forth stunning visuals in imaginative brains. If I am having a hard time with a battle scene, or I'm trying to brainstorm an epic ending, these bands will help me break through my block.

Veela

I'm not even sure how to find words to describe how much I love Veela. Both her voice and music are otherworldly, ethereal, magical, fantastical. Almost all of her music is free to download from her soundcloud, and her own songs are intermixed with cover songs and collaborations she does with a plethora of EDM/Dubstep artists.

My favorite thing about Veela is that she sings about a variety of subjects aside from romance. Her love for video games, comics, and the sci-fi/fantasy genre comes through clearly in her lyrics. I have created many characters from her imagery that have become hugely important in some of my current series. 

BLVCK CEILING/Sidewalks & Skeletons/White Ring/Summer of Haze

So there is this music 'genre' out there known as Witch House/Darkwave/Vaporwave, to which some would claim these bands belong. I've had an amusing relationship with Witch House since I discovered it in a playlist on my favorite music site, 8tracks.com. I thought it was very complex until I read some articles on the short-lived music genre. There are some people who think WH is some kind of abomination on music, that it shouldn't be taken seriously, and it's true that for the most part many of the bands who are/were part of it have fizzled out quickly.

However, if you're looking for an ominous, creepy, gothic atmosphere to write your urban fantasy, dark fantasy, or horror story, Witch House/Darkwave might be just what you need. I think the four artists I've mentioned above are excellent examples of the genre if there are any, and their songs are what allowed me to create the post-apocalypse ice-age setting of my "Wolfena" series. 

_______

When music is used for inspiration, writing, and prompting, it can be one of a writer's greatest tools. So put together a playlist, slap on your headphones, and open up that word document; let the sounds splash color onto that blank white screen and remove your fear of getting started. 

Aside from the artists I have blurbed about already, here are some other bands with strong atmospheric qualities and loaded lyrics that might help you find that story idea you've been searching for.

Endless Hallway - U2-esque rock and roll

Salamanda - techno/experimental artist music 

Two Steps From Hell - instrumental imitations of movie soundtracks--almost overly epic sometimes

Secret Empire - heavy but not too heavy flowing rock and roll with interesting lyrics

Metric - fantastic light-rock band with feminist vibes and a wonderful singer

Austra - sort of like a more obscure Florence and the Machine

There for Tomorrow - easy listening rock with beautiful vocals and thought provoking lyrics

Tokio Hotel - popular German rock/pop band with a dark, atmospheric sound

Get Scared - a creepy rock band with strong lyrics about depression and mental illness

Daft Punk - everybody knows who Daft Punk is 

Fever Ray - trancey Portishead style music with obscure, psychedelic lyrics 

Halsey - a strong female singer with story-like lyrics 

Massive Attack - a mellow techno/rock band with repetitive, ethereal sounds

International Women (Warriors) Day

All women are warriors, whether they know it or not.

We see more blood in our lifetimes. We are under attack from the moment we wake in the morning, until we go to sleep at night. We walk into battle every day no matter what uniform we are wearing.

And the women who step out of femininity and speak out for their fellow females, they are the cavalry. The women who leave men behind and focus on their love for other women, they are the black ops. The ones who write about oppression and feminism, they're the journalists, the warriors of words.

Yesterday, I read this inspiring article that affirms an important point I have been advocating for the past two years. Women are capable of doing anything that a man can do, and then some.

Arguments in favor of patriarchy almost always return to the same exact point--that males are physically stronger and therefore superior to females. While it might be true in a biological sense, what exactly does it mean to be 'stronger?' What political, social, or economic gain does it give a man to be able to benchpress 430lbs vs 225lbs? How does being physically stronger help this world achieve more peace, more humanity, help fight environmental degradation, which in itself is a reflection of the way women are exploited and ravaged all over the world? What does it matter that men are physically stronger when we use guns and bombs to go to war?

This argument has always frustrated me deeply, because the concept of physical strength is relative. There are female body builders who can lift just as much as any male body builder. And again, just what is so significant about being able to lift? Have women been historically tagged as 'the weaker sex' because they are truly physically weaker, or because they have been groomed for passivity and discouraged from physical activity?

The truth is in the latter of that statement. Men don't want women to be strong, because they don't want women to be able to defend themselves.

As a writer and reader with a feminist mind, media that I can bear to consume is a constant struggle, and I know this is true for many women, lesbian and bisexual, who crave stories about the true physical and emotional strength that exist within and between women. This is why I feel that The 100, despite being written by a man, Jason Rothenberg, is such a massively important television show.

The women characters in this show (which often predominate the male characters--amazing!) are just as likely to get beaten up, scraped up, dirtied, and fight back as the men in the show. They are shown with so much dirt and blood covering their face that you can barely recognize them, which is practically unheard of in modern television. Have you ever noticed how female characters tend to keep their clean face and perfect makeup whether they are running through underground caves or waking up in a mucky, dirty cell? The women of The 100 yell out, speak out, rage out, fight, claw, and bite their way to survival and success.

This is what I want my own characters to do, and these are the female characters I want to read about. This is how I want to see women in stories--battling and scraping by for their life as a metaphor for the battle we do every day just to achieve a little autonomy separate from men.

To every woman out there, happy International Women's Day. I stand with you, as we stand together.

Women need not be afraid to fight, because they are already warriors, whether they know it or not.

(Octavia, one of the main characters of the CW's "The 100.")

"The Wolfena" Novella Excerpt

“Jimian. Jimian. Jim, wake up.”

“Hmm? Janessa?”

“N-no. Who’s Janessa? Jimian, it’s me Lariette. I hear something. Wake up.”

She snapped into consciousness immediately, forgetting the images still circling through her minds eye, and the strange feeling surrounding her throat. She found one of her necklaces had fallen back over her shoulder, and was pressing into her neck. They were both silent as she listened, and sure enough, a strange sound was hissing from the dark space that had been a dead end last time they’d checked. 

Silently, the two of them stood, and Jimian drew both her sword and knife. The strange hissing sound was rhythmic and raspy. As it grew closer, it was accompanied by soft plodding footsteps—not animal; human, though the breathing sounded anything but human.

One of Carriero’s men stepped into the glow of the mushrooms. Jimian felt dainty fingers grip onto her arm, squeezing tight enough to cause a hint of pain in her muscle. 

“Jimian. Jimian what is wrong with him.”

Jimian didn’t know. The man stopped walking. His arms hung limp at his sides. He had no spear, no gun, no bow, no knife. At first, she thought he was all spattered in blood, until she realized that his eyes were black as an overcast night sky, like the way Vilk’s had flashed when Dusti possessed him, only permanent. She concluded that the liquid smeared all about his nose and mouth was not blood, but that residue created by powerful magic. His breathing sounded wrong, hollow, yet full of fluid. And he only stood there, watching.

“I don’t know. I honestly, do not know.”

“We should run.”

“No. Just hold on.” Jimian took a step forward. Was there the slightest chance someone had put together a possession spell in order to find them? “Hey. That you, Nax? Or Baltio? Aesdana?”

No response, just more hissing breath. And then he took a step forward. And another. Jimian felt as if cool water were dripping down her back, and she met Lariette’s eyes for half a heartbeat. “Now we run.”

They took off in the opposite direction, the puddles exploding and fungi squashing underneath their feet. Lariette’s breathing came in terrified gasps, and the man let out a horrible cry, something between the screech of a dying animal and a predator snarling to defend its kill. They ran harder, but when Jimian turned to see how close he was, his footsteps grew impossibly fast, and he toppled upon her with another awful scream. Her sword went flying from her hand when her wrist collided with a sharp rock, and the wind was knocked from her upon impact. 

“Jimian!” 

She lashed upwards with her knife while trying to fight off the onslaught of fingernails which had turned to claws. A hand wrangled itself in her hair, and all it took was one hit against the rocks to make the adrenaline in her veins surge, and pure survival instinct kick in. Jimian roared almost as terribly as the sick man, and warm blood rained down upon her as his knife caught the skin of his neck and tore him open. Though her wrist was throbbing, she snatched up a loose rock and wailed him so hard in the ear that she heard the crunch of skull. 

He fell, rolling to the side, but still snarling and flailing. Jimian drove her blade into his chest once, twice, and then sliced off one of his hands. Her shoulder ached anew, and she ignored it as she cut his neck once again, and still, he kept fighting. He caught sight of Lariette with his dead eyes, seeming to notice her for the first time, and he lunged.

It was just the opportunity Jimian needed. She retrieved her sword in a motion so fast it was hardly human, and a sickening, wet thud filled the cave when the man’s head was severed and dropped to the floor. In an instant, his body collapsed, blood running from the stump like a spring river. 

____________

All writing found at Ajdodgecreations is © AJ Dodge/Ariel Durkee 2016

Lesbian Warriors and Priestesses.

A few years ago, a writer came to my school to talk to us about her work. At this point in time I had finished the second draft of my first novel, which features two brothers who are at war, Kelson and Avedis, as the main characters.

This author, whose name I shamefully cannot recall, seemed to be a radical-leaning feminist, though she did not name herself as such. I was lucky enough to have a studio session with her, but it was one that left me feeling confused and a little patronized. There wasn't time for her to actually read any of my writing, so I could only give her a quick synopsis of what the book is about. After the conversation with her, I remember feeling rebellious but also a bit disillusioned. 

She asked me why my main characters weren't female. I couldn't give a good answer. Back then, I was so far in the closet I couldn't even coax myself out, and I had this sort of fascination with male characters. I thought they were deeper by nature, more interesting in the contrast that the men I knew in daily life often hid their emotions. Women were too soft, delicate, accessories to characters rather than characters themselves. I liked to write male characters who laid themselves bare on the page, and thought I was getting at something with that.

As it turns out, a character's 'maleness' isn't something that should be glorified, in my opinion. 

The second point that this writer brought up to me was that slavery is little-addressed in modern fiction, despite the fact that slavery is still a global issue which is practically invisible to us living in the "first world." She asked why I didn't address slavery in my writing, and in my head, all I could think was 'oh I'm not interested in that.' Again, I couldn't give a good answer.

Shame on me, twice.

Years later, this conversation lingers in my mind, and I feel a sort of guilty haze about it. The next year, I discovered radical feminism for myself, and came out of the closet. I don't define myself as a radical feminist, but I am radical leaning in that I don't believe our modern systems of patriarchy and capitalism should be rectified, but rather destroyed. New systems need to be built from the ground up, and this is the idea that inspired my most recent series, "Anthology of the Cold Night." 

This series, as it stands, features 5 short stories and a novella which I am still writing. This series has almost exclusively female characters, and addresses the issue of slavery and trafficking, especially that of sex-trafficking. I am aware that authors should not be preachers, and that is not what I am aiming for in this story of lesbian warriors and priestesses. Although both women and men are victims of sex-trafficking, it is statistical fact that women suffer more for their sex/gender than men do. Any strides taken to give women more freedom will inherently benefit men, too. That is what I want to show in my stories. Almost every woman I know has been raped or sexually assaulted/aggravated by a man in their life. That is something that NEEDS to be addressed in current media. 

A lot of writers are afraid to brand themselves as feminist or gay writers. I strive to brand myself as a lesbian feminist writer, because I know how desperate I feel when I pick up a book that seems to have a strong female lead in it, and the heartbreak that comes over me when she loses every sense of autonomy and sleeps with and then bows down to the men in the story. (I would like to iterate here that gay, and trans men and women are not included in this generalization). 

So while I don't want to rewrite my first novel, I have drafted it not only include more female characters, but to expand on the ones who were there already. My future endeavors go forth with feminism and slavery at the forefront of my mind, and I encourage any female/lgbt+ defined writers to embrace these ideas. 

As always, I am open for discussion and thoughts about this. Stay tuned for a small excerpt of the Wolfena novella, and thank you to anyone who has read this.