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How Dark Is Too Dark?

When I first sat down to draft the concept that would develop into my current project, my goal was to illustrate some of the baser emotions I saw within myself. In doing so, I created a character that, at best, was uncaring and completely sociopathic. It wasn't long before I realized the character was so repugnant, that no matter how well I wrote the story, readers would never accept her as anything other than an antagonist.So... I was left with the task of reconstruction. Over the next several months, I rewrote and reworked the character, modifying various aspect of her physical and psychological make up, until I had someone with whom a reader could at least stand in the same room without having to suppressing the urge to flee. Of course, the question must be asked, why would I create such a character from the onset? Truth be told, I needed an outlet and drew upon, what amounted to, a manifestation of my own heart from that time.The exercise taught me something rather important. While writing for one's self can be therapeutic, such an endeavor does little to make one's work acceptable to a wider readership. As such, my question of "how dark is too dark?" could be answered with, when there's no light at the end of the tunnel. The Helen who resulted from my efforts, while neither a damsel in distress nor an traditional heroine, remains my favorite character; as much because of her failings as for her strengths.Be well,William
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Okay so, here's the short I wrote about the final major character in the Ironics story - Amille. It's longer than the others but oddly, it is the least developed. In total there are five viewpoint characters - Ronnie (here and in the initial Irony blog post), Garren ("human" from post 2), Noe (the Ironic smuggler/lover in post 2), Amille and the baby, who is still nameless here. One of them is the "villian" of the collage of stories. I have decided to work them into a full length novel instead of leaving them as shorts. I will post Noe's stand alone short story soon but after that I will spend most of my efforts into working the now 43 shorts (I wrote about 4 in the last few days) into a novel. Thanks for the encouragement... It'll be a colossal task...hmm...Amille Gets A BabyAmille held the baby at arm’s length and gently shook it up and down. The soft-skinned child awoke with a start and a scream. When it looked at Amille, it quieted down abruptly, its shallow breathing caught. Amille offered a grin to the fragile thing and waited for its breathing to even out before she went about her inspection. It appeared to be healthy and strong. The few cuts and bruises it had were to be expected. From its haircut and little shoes, Amille deduced it was a little girl. Although her eyes were bright and intelligent, she was not yet able to walk or talk. She smiled at Amille.Amille looked into the next room, Ronnie and Pearson were still huddled over the map they had unrolled hours before. Neither seemed to have been the least bit curious about the infant. Her cohorts were planning their revolution and such an insignificant thing as a soft skinned baby could be ignored or worse.Amille searched the stocks for something to feed the child and settled for an overripe banana. She peeled and mashed the fruit into a shallow bowl and sat it and the baby on the high table. The child gingerly dipped its small fat hands into the mess and fed itself. Amille knew nothing about children, though she had once had her own, a lifetime ago. She hadn't been a mother then, in fact she been the worst sort of mother, a mother who couldn't mother. Amille was trained as a government reader. Her job was technical, and her imperatives were always collective driven. She had no time for her own life.The soft-skinned baby reminded her of the baby she had to give away, the baby with Sean's face. Her only memory other than its face, were of little fingers that were strong, yet fragile as they held onto her hand the one time she held it. She always thought of her baby as ‘it’. She hadn't taken the time to wonder if it was a boy or girl. She’d only carried it because she'd been away on a mission and not near enough to the Fieldhouse to get it extracted. There hadn't been a need to care or the time to care. Sean was long dead, the commander had already decided on the invasion of the human landing and nothing was to be done without her expertise. Back then everything seemed more vital than her own life. Surely she had done the right thing.The baby giggled at some unseen thing, and Amille smiled the sound of laughter in this place, a place of seriousness, of war, of plotting , of schemes. Laughter without malice here was strange and new and if she could admit it to herself, good. She supposed she would have to change it now, that it had eaten. She looked around for some scrap of cloth that would do. Finding nothing clean enough or big enough in the stock room, she left the child alone on the counter and went out to the barracks. She stripped one of the empty cots of its sheets, and cut it into pieces she thought would work. She made six diapers and a blanket for the little human baby that had a come as an unexpected bonus with the stolen goods.Once back in the stock room, Amille did her best to do a job she'd never done. Her hands moved ably. She fashioned the diaper with the same skill as she had many bandages before. The baby made no complaints, so she assumed it would work. For a moment, she held the warm, soft child to her chest. The baby giggled again, making Amille laugh. Surprised at her reaction, and wanting to explain it to herself, Amille reached out to the child with her mind.Amille had never read a child before, and she assumed that she would get nothing but bright squiggly lines that passed for thoughts in old and dying soft-skins and crazed Ironics. Instead, the child was thinking of a place. There was a large window that looked over a lake. Just beyond the window, right near the surface of the lake, people gathered. Two people stood out from the small group. A man and a woman whose faces were indistinct in the memory, but whose personas glowed. She had no names for them, but the image suggested that they were the babe’s parents. The laughter began there with that thought. Her parents made her happy. But there was also sadness. The child reached out to touch Amille’s cheek. With knowing eyes, the baby acknowledged that something had passed between them, smiled again and offered what could only be thought of as a thank you. Amille abruptly sat the child down . She felt as if she were falling down a hole. The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach threatened to flip itself over and surge up through her throat. Amille left the baby and hurried into the other room to see what others are doing.Pearson's face was contorted in deep concentration. His thumb and forefinger were splayed over the map calculating the distance between where they were and some point that Amille did not know. Ronnie was waiting patiently for his calculation. Although they were frequent partners, Amille did not suppose that they loved each other. At least not the way she had loved Sean, and she wondered if either of them missed or knew that they were missing, what that could be like. She’d been with their unit for over a month, and Amille had never talked to either one of them about anything but the revolution. She missed the camaraderie of her sisters. That band of readers she had known for three lives with whom she had always been at home. But they were all dispersed to faraway places, all of them except for her. She thought their names, the new ones and the old ones. She was lost in those thoughts, when Pearson looked up and noticed her standing there."What did you do with that thing?""She's in the stock room." Amille felt hot at the question. She did not know why he wanted to know, could not imagine him trying to see or touch the baby. Did not know why his inquiry about the baby in the stock room made her she feel this way, but knew that in the short moments between its discovery and her reading of it, that she had changed."You going to give it a name too?" Ronnie's sharp tongue cut her.Before Amille could react, the two of them went back to their telepathic wandering about the map. Neither of them seemed to care, she imagined that they just wanted her to throw it out. Take it to the heap with all the waste and return to help them decipher the map. Amille stood waiting. Many moments passed and neither them looked up. Even without listening she could tell they were exchanging thoughts about the map and strategies. Neither of them thought of the human baby in the stock room anymore and they had refocused their attentions to getting to the human landing and what they would do once they got there."What should I do with the child?"Pearson looked up first and Ronnie followed his gaze to her face. The coldest of both of their eyes may have deterred her on any other day."It is of no use to us. Get rid of it." Ronnie again."It's living. It's not trash I can't just throw it out.""Set it free." Pearson shrugged."Put it out in the woods, is that what you want me to do?" Amille heard the edge of her own voice, and was shocked. Since banding with Ronnie and Pearson she had not yet had a disagreement with the two revolutionaries. Their government had fallen or if you believed the news, had changed so drastically as to not be the same. Amille thought of her banding with the revolutionary group as the continuation of the work she'd done as a reader during all of her lives. Many of her comrades had joined the revolution, most thought of their joining in the same way."We can't keep the thing here." Ronnie gave her an appraising look. Bitterness followed her eyes up and down the length of Amille's body. Amille set her jar and refused to shiver."I won't leave it to die.""Then what will you do?" Pearson turned his full tension to Amille, even shifting his body to face her. Like his mirror, Ronnie did the same thing, and Amille faced them with seeing their surprise at her expression.She had not known that she felt this way. Even when she was making the diapers and feeding the baby, she had not known that she felt anything until she read the baby's mind. And even then those thoughts were indistinct, but standing here before them. She thought, 'I want to keep it'. She did not say that, would not say that, could not say that."Let me take it into the encampment. I'll be back before morning." Amille had not allowed herself to plead ,ask or beg for anything in so long that the ache in her voice was foreign to her own ears. The other two Ironics reached out to her and she forced them out of her head. The strength of her shield was a testament to her many years of service because behind it her mind was in turmoil. Instead of her normal linear thinking, her thoughts rambled through her head with no clear direction, and all she could think about was taking the baby away from these cold, cold people. She bit at the corners of her mouth not to say the things that she was thinking. Long ago a commander had told her she was too emotional for the job in front of her peers. She spent two lives trying to shake off that stigma. No one trained harder. No one spent more time at the Catacombs of the Elders in meditation. No one could boast such sharp mental reflexes. She had proved herself to herself and the commander and then kept right on proving that she could live the life of service with no care for her own desires.Three lives later, she thought she'd gotten it right. And then she met Sean, and for the two lives they spent together she had a wonderful time unlearning all that training. She had relearned the other side of Irony. They had been warm and passionate and too much and never enough. She had learned to like being touched and opened her body and mind to him.And against all the odds, all the myths and the details that said they would not die, Sean did. His soul withering to nothing as the body he inhabited was incinerated in fire. It was the months after his death, when she realized she was pregnant. She had been grieving in a way that was unheard of, alone. Amille stilled herself against the memories of her isolation. She’d emerged more emotionless, more focused, more committed to the service."We want to leave out tonight." Pearson's eyes bored through her. If he'd been a Reader, she was certain he would have already been inside of her head trying to pick her apart. Amille would not tell him. Pearson was on a mission. There was only one thing to be done. And that was to get into the human landing and stop the settlement.Amille heard the thud before the baby cried. The crash before the earsplitting scream. She ran into the kitchen to find the baby lying on the floor. A small trickle of blood was dripping from one ear. She picked it up and it stared at her. It's big round eyes shown wet with tears, but suddenly they stopped when it recognized her face and the baby venture to a smile in spite of its injury.Amille's heartbeat steady clip, and in a panic. She shoved the makeshift diapers, the rest of the near-spoiled fruit, and every other thing she could think of from the stock room that might be useful into her gear pack. She held the baby closer and was out the door and on her way before the others had even noticed that she’d left the room.©VD DeVau
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Out of This World

(In Memory of John Coltrane)Shadowed nightspotsister beaded and hoopedbeards, afrosdashikisOn platformthe connoisseur of altoand his entourageconjure aural sorceryInvitation:to sojourn in darknessresonance and colorInside Indigo huedrhythms of Blackness unboundTo journey with immortalityin Coltrane's modeGlide on azure notes -wings fashioned of hornpianodrumIn this spacelifeis comprehensibleraptuouseternalSoul embraces DivinityFirst Published in Revelry 2006Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers 2009 all rights reserved
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Immortal 2nd edition/chapter 1 pt. 2

A mahogany shaded woman emerged from the grove of trees tohis right. She had a wide nose, full lips and was dressed in a thighlength garment made entirely of overlapping feathers. Her kinky hairwas braided atop her head. Gold ornaments hung from her ears, neckand arms.She had the voluptuous body of a young girl. But her largedark eyes held knowledge no girl could ever possess, and she had all16the earmarks of a preternatural creature – though friend or enemy,Joie couldn’t tell.He decided not to stay and find out.In one fluid motion the warrior rose and leaped on to hishorse.“Joseph wait!” She stepped forward and spread her hands,palms outward, as a gesture of goodwill.Despite the danger, he was curious. And she was lovely.“That’s close enough!”Joseph is not my name. Who is he? Your dead mate? Orperhaps a favored slave?”“I have a message for you…for who you will become leaguesfrom this day.”Her voice was soft and melodic – like a song.Intrigued, Joie leaned towards her, a smile playing about hislips. “Speak beautiful fortuneteller, if that’s what you are.”“You are needed in Topaz.”“Topaz? I have never heard of it.” Suddenly he couldn’t lookaway from her strange eyes… or urge his horse to a gallop. She isbewitching me! With dawning terror, Joie realized he might neverleave the forest.“The city does not exist here, in your time. But your future selfknows it well, and it is to him that I speak. You must journey to findyour heart’s desire, Joseph to find the one you long for.”Now the enchantress‘s brows drew together in anger. Hervoice doubled in volume echoing through the woods. “I’ve visited youbefore! Why have you ignored my commands? When you awake,remember my words and hark unto them! Go to Topaz, we will speakagain at that time.”She turned and disappeared into the forest.Centuries before the Time of Legend, Sorre’s Copper citizens hadbeen warriors and hunters. Now its inhabitants grew vegetables, andherded sheep and goats; for Sorre was the chief supplier of crops andanimal proteins for the New World.Joseph had lived here his entire life. His parents had taught himto grow corn, beans and peas. He’d leaned to listen to the wind to predictthe weather, to put his ear to the soil to hear its heartbeat.And he learned that all creatures have a soul, no less worthy ofrespect than his own. These were the gifts Mata, his mother, and Lowe,his father, had given him.17His grandfather had shared these values too and other gifts aswell – tales of long dead warriors and bloody battles; of evil magiciansand shape shifters; and of a war between good and evil that never reallyended.Joseph stood on his porch for a moment, enjoying the illuminae’sfirst light. Then jumped down, and crossed the street to his grandfather’scabin.As he mounted the steps, an elderly man opened the door andstepped out, his lined face breaking into a smile when he saw Joseph.Ripple had an aquiline nose and coffee colored skin. Thick blackhair laced with gray was spread over his shoulders, and he wore a flannelshirt, jeans and boots.“Good morning, Joe.”“Good morning, Grandfather.”The old man sat in one of the two wooden chairs, and took apipe from the table beside him. “I knew you’d come to see me thismorning.”Joseph sat down next to him. “How?”“Because it’s almost time for you to make your journey.”The young man slapped his thigh. “Damn, you’re amazing! Howdo you always know what I’m thinking?”Ripple chuckled. “An elder’s intuition. She came to see youagain?”“Last night.”“So what are you waiting for? Go to Topaz, find your destiny.”Elbows resting on his knees, Joseph rubbed his hands together.“Just like that huh?”“Why not?”“You don’t think its crazy for me to move halfway across theNew World, because of a dream?”“I think you’d be crazy not to. I’d have left the first night shevisited me. Besides you were never meant to be a farmer. You hate it.”The Copper youth laughed. “Yeah, I do hate farming. But whatabout you, with all your stories of blood and magic. How can you settlefor,” he waved his hand, “this?”“I’m an old man. I enjoy the illuminae setting in the evenings, thefresh air; the peace and quiet. That is enough for me,” Ripple winked,“that, and the frisky widow next door.”For a while they sat in silence.At length Joseph said: “I’ve got some credits saved. I guess Icould take my paintings – see if I can find a buyer. You’ll hold my land in18trust until I return?”Ripple puffed serenely on his pipe. “Sure, I’ll take care of it butyou won’t come back…not as a farmer.”Karla boarded the trolley and took a side seat. Leaning her headagainst a crooked arm, she gazed absently out at the city. Citizens ridingbicycles, and a few on horse back passed the trolley. Auto taxies idled infront of wooden houses, and black garbed enforcers were making theirmorning patrols.Topaz, like all New World cities, was a hodgepodge of the veryold and the very new.Four hundred years ago, before the Time of Legend, war andcrime had almost destroyed the planet.The Book of Records told stories of citizens hiding under theirbeds, as taser fire shattered their windows – stories of gang wars, ofentire city blocks destroyed by explosions – of a world dying of thetoxins that filled its water and air.But in the year of our One 3075, war, crime and pollution didn’texist.Contamination of the environment was illegal. Recycling wasmandated by planet law.Copyright 2009 Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved
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Just came back from Philly, from attending the only Black comic book convention in the US. It was awesome! Lions.12 did really good. I brought 40 comics with me and came back with five. It was smaller than most the cons I've been to, but I could feel the love. I got to see a awesome brother in the lord and ccas member there. Mark I had a good time brother. And I also got to meet Reggie Byers creator of Kidz of the King. Isay the greatest highlight if the trip was getting to minister to a boy who though the bible was something funny, until he read my comicbook.P.S: gOT TO TRY MY FIRST pHILLY CHEESE STAKE FROM pHILLY AND IT WAS AWESOME. BEST THING EVER. I AM LITERALLY STILL THINKING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW.
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Unamused with My Muse

So, I've committed myself to writing fiction everyday just like I write do my research work everyday. And in spite of all the advice I've read and been given about daily writing and how rewarding writing everyday used to be for me --- I am uninspired. Well, that's not exactly right. I'll explain.I have lots of ideas. Don't we all? Three of which I have been picking over for the last few years. I have posted some of the Ironics stories here but there are two other stories - one a dark future story and the other a more contemporary horror story - that also beg to be written.The Ironics stories are all shorts that need big time revision. The characters are defined but the universe of the Ironics is scattered. I wrote the stories without thinking about continuity. While the world has similar features across the stories, the time lines are out of sync. In many ways it all needs to be rewritten if it will become a story at all. Possibly a more difficult task than beginning again.The dark future story has a well defined setting, a crisis and a conclusion but very few pages written. The characters need work. Every time I start working on the characters I get bogged down.The horror story has an outline, a few chapters but stalls in the storytelling. There is something missing.I think I want it to become an epic (perhaps more of a dark fantasy than a contemporary horror) and not a jaunt (if anyone gets what I mean by that) and the enormity of the project keeps me from working.I shouldn't complain about having too many ideas. Right?In the limited time I have to spend writing, my silly little muse whom I have dubbed the Laughing Man (I don't know when I started calling my inspiration this, but something about the monniker fits so well) is creating mountains of confusion signaled by lack of focus and deceptive false starts.I can't seem to decide which story I want to finish (see my first blog), which story is the right one to write now. My frustration is mounting and the Laughing Man is laughing. Everyday when I sit down to work on one, I get ideas for another. And when I pick that one up, the third story calls me. And when I get to the third story, I write a few lines and then find myself exhausted. So, I quit for the day and hope tomorrow will work better.I am committed to finishing some one of these this year. I owe it to myself. I cannot write all three at once. I have to choose which pony to ride.I'd love to know how you decide which story gets your attention. I thought of flipping a coin. But alas, there are only two sides...~~VD
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This is plain and simply awesome...

Here is my brother Emezie's latest animation. It is by far my favorite to date. It is titled Rock Opera and I have no idea what inspired him to create this particular twisted, imaginative, animated tale. It’s deep.

The story, the art, the music are all his own and they are all absolutely awesome- and I'd say that even if he weren’t my brother. . I highly suggest you watch it back to back (part 1 and then immediatly part 2) in the HD mode. It's about 18 mintues long all together.

Enjoy...

Part 1


PART 2
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The length of belief.

This is my first blog. And I plan to keep it brief. Ever since I heard this question, I've wondered what peoples answer would be regarding it. 'Can I walk a righteous path holding a beer?' Paradoxical in nature. But don't let that get in the way of how intriguing a question it is. I'd love to know peoples answer on the matter.
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I suspect I'll be using this blog more as a links/info dump than for commentary. Progress reports on writing/comic projects can be found at my dreamwidth account.Link of the day: http://www.poarchcreekindians.org/xhtml/index.htm
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Characters in our story are White, Black, Asian. Hispanic, Mayan...so far.A main enabler is a Aphra, an industrial spy co-opted for the 2012 political campaign--black, beautiful, sexually aggressive and decidedly "uppity".You can read some of Aphra's episodes in chronilogical sequence (not their order of posting) FIRSTSECONDTHIRDNote that the blog has a "tag cloud" and a list of "Scenarios" so people can track Isla episodes, as well as any favorite characters or other keywords.
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AMALGAMACT IIPart two: The 1st AlliancesThe EMPIRE STRIKES!`The Tauntaun pulled up short as it reached the crest of this particular snowy hill. Luke reached down and patted the great beast’s neck in comfort.“What’s the matter girl?” he asked. “It’s just our new friends.”But the animal showed no sign of decreased agitation as it considered the goliath that stood a mere fifty meters away. A goliath so big that despite standing in a gully and over a quarter of it buried in snow still looked down on them.It metal was battle worn. Scorn and pitted but it still shown white where blast, and reentry burns had been cleaned off. At least three dwellings high if Luke guessed right, about as tall as the Millennium Falcon was long and then some. It stood on two legs that Luke had himself seen firing out engine thrust as it landed right in this very spot. Two mechanized arms held what he had first thought to be some kind of missile earlier but now knew that it was the primary weapon of the giant gladiator. It carried the gray oblong tube in the port arms position, ready to use it if need be.It’s head was similar to many droid head units he was familiar with although he knew that at the heart of what appeared to be a giant droid, was a very normal looking human. It was called a Veritech, the primary fighting unit of what the Rebel Alliance hoped would be their new allies.“All is clear in this sector. Although I can barely make out anything beyond the far ridge.” came a voice over Luke’s communicator. In accordance with the initial agreement the two sides, or three now as it were, would all provide security for these talks, jointly.“I’m going to check out a meteor that came down just over that ridge, then I’ll head in. The Tauntaun can’t take too much more of this cold.”Max Sterling watched as the rebel soldier directed the animal it road on over the far ridge. As far as he was concerned these “Rebels” were an amazing fighting force. Their ability to adapt to and adopt different methods, tools, and now cultures was something he thought The RDF could use. While his people had adapted to the Robotechnology fairly well, they would never have considered let alone been able to use a place such as this frozen world for a base of operations. They certainly would not attempt to domesticate alien beasts of burden let alone transport them to different worlds for their own use. But he figured that when up against an enemy such as this Empire, you had to take advantage of every possibility.The world was an ice world. The small rebel base, due to resource management and also for stealth, was made almost entirely of ice, snow and permafrost. That made keeping the materials and personnel warm particularly problematic.The members of the rebel Alliance wore their standard issue cold environment gear. They were used to having to deal with the harshest and most extreme environments. Staying ahead of the Empire required them to go way past the red safety line in many ways. The plans for this particular base had been in the works for a while, so when this planet had been found, they had stumbled onto a good opportunity. So they were having a much easier time dealing with the conditions of this world than their new friends.The Federation people were a little put out, but their cold weather gear was holding up well. They were not used to these harsh environments, worlds barely meeting the requirements to be considered “M-class”. They were not used to negotiating in unfamiliar territory, or from a tactically weak position. Their hosts were obviously dealing with the changes to the known universe a hell of a lot better than they themselves were. Although from what they were learning, the “Rebels” situation had not really gotten any worse. They were already running, hiding, and fighting a gorilla war against a vastly superior force. The Starfleet people had lost almost all contact with Federation space and had no idea how to get back or how to make contact. Something the newcomers could relate to.The Colonials had already lost their homes, 12 colony worlds that had been attacked and destroyed by a race of artificially intelligent beings known as the Cylons. Those whom had survived the attacks had banded together in a rag tag fleet of ships and fled in hopes of finding a rumored 13th colony on a world that was translated by the Federation computers as Earth. Already on the run and having already lost their homes the Colonials situation was actually looking better. They had found new allies, ones whom could possibly be their long lost brothers, descendants of that 13th colony. This prospect seemed to help keep the Colonial people warm for their gear was poorly suited to this environment.Only the group of people from Super Dimensional Fortress or SDF-1 for short, seemed to be openly optimistic. Their strange ship, that appeared to be three separate ships cobbled together, was the largest ship to make the rendezvous. It could be seen with the naked eye as it hung in low orbit. The small delegation they had sent comprised of a tall bright eyed chocolate skinned woman who had But the cold confines of the small hidden ice base did nothing to cool down the very heated discussion going on in the room the rebels had designated for their command operations. Representatives from more than half a dozen different groups plus a few smaller ones, meet around a conference table. It was standing room only for many of the personnel jammed into the Ops center. The meeting was clearly affecting the on technicians’ ability to monitor their systems. That did not inhibit the arguments going back and forth across the conference table.“Clearly we all have our own priorities and pressing concerns. But we all agree that our separate and individual agendas must be put on hold for the sake of this alliance?” Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise was a diplomat at heart. In his long tenure as Starship Captain he had sat in on and arbitrated many a negotiation or treaty between his Federation and many worlds. He was a mild looking man, a little past middle age, balding and slight of frame, a wild deviation from the sheer power of the vessel he commanded. Having seen the ship Enterprise in action, many of the Rebels were expecting its commander to be a more impressive, imposing, darker figure, not this small man. But slight as he was this Captain Jean-Luc Picard had a presence that did match his vessel. When he spoke there was not one person or being in the room who did not give him their full attention. His words rang clear and true across the conference table and there were nods of ascent, but another voice cut just as clear and just as strong.“The Alliance was here long before your people arrived Captain Picard,” She was Princess Leia Organa, leading figure in the Rebel Alliance. Like Picard she was small in stature but still commanded respect. But hers was gained not from her presence, which was not as impressive as Picard’s, but from her rightfully earned reputation. It was a reputation earned by taking on some of the most dangerous missions against the Empire, earned by fighting in some of the bloodiest battles and earned by facing their most terrifying enemy and living to tell the tale.“…but it won’t be here for too much longer if you don’t remove your ships from this system.”“The Enterprise’s long range sensors…” Picard began.“…Will not detect the Empires Star Destroyers until they are already on top of us.” She cut him off.“My science Officer has assured me that the Enterprise can be hidden in this systems Star’s magnetic field. Our analysis of your technology tells us that your long range detection capability is limited. You have led us to believe that Imperial technology is of the same class.”Leia Organa looked to the pale humanoid standing behind Captain Picard. The briefing she had been given on their new allies was rife with speculation. One of the strangest reports had been of this being; the android that looked like a man. Making androids appear humanoid to the point where they might be able to pass for a living sentient being was outlawed in the Republic a millennia ago. It was considered an abomination. She was not sure how she felt about the notion herself and she was also unsure what to think of a people who would do such a thing.“The Enterprise is ready to move into a concealed position at this very moment.” Picard continued. “As soon as we have coordinated with the ships that are unable to enter this planets atmosphere.”Standing behind his Commanding Officer and best friend, Col. Saul Tigh listened to the exchange between their new allies by holding the strange “Starfleet” device awkwardly by his ear. Unfamiliar ground he was thinking, but then that’s where they had been living, fighting, dying, ever since the Cylons nearly obliterated the human race. Or so they had thought. Here now were humans from if it was to be believed; other Universes.“We haven’t agreed to that.” Tighs head snapped up as his Commanders voice cut through the air. “We’ve looked at the coordinates you’ve proposed. That position is too close to the star. Our Ship won’t last long there.” Tigh was not sure his Commanding officer should have told them that. It was giving away too much Frakkin information about their defenses.“Yes Captain we know. However…” Their Commanding Officer answered. He may not have been a Cylon but from his bearing Tigh would bet a hundred cubits he was no military officer.“…However it is possible for my ship to extend its shields around your ship as well.”“How would we maintain proximity?” Adama was asking a the question but Tigh knew what he was really getting at.“We would simply link our computer systems…” the man name Picard began. Tigh answered for his commanding officer with a sharp: “FRAK THAT!”Luke was about to turn about. The snow fell so heavily on this world that the meteorite strike might have been covered up by the time he found the impact site. There was nothing to see here.But the Force nagged at him, filled him with an edgy awareness of something… impending. What could it be?So he took another the Tauntaun for another lap. Just one… and then he would head home back to base, warm power cell and some almost warm rations.Still the Force pulled at him despite the cold. If he allowed it to… if he let it…Luke found himself staring at an usually shaped mound of snow. It was something…Quickly he slid off his mount and trod through the snow towards the mound when it collapsed. The snow fell away to reveal a downed ship of some kind. The Force began to fill him with warning. Something was… impending. Behind him the Tauntaun began to bay fearfully. Luke almost turned back.“Woor…” but that came from the wreck! Was it possible that this ship was the meteorite that he had seen?He marched closer and could see the fumbling form of a man in the cockpit of the ship. Without too much trouble he ascended the wreck and pulled on the canopy hatch. This was no space worthy vehicle. It had come from somewhere else on this desolate ice world. He pulled on the canopy…and pulled…until finally it came open and in a rumble both he and the pilot fell into the snow.But the rumbling was not from the canopy popping open. Luke looked about as the very ground beneath them shook and quaked. He Tauntaun took off in fear.“Hey!” Luke called after it. “Wait!”“Wooorr…” the pilot, a dusty and disheveled man wrapped in the rags that would never keep him warm on this world was lolling about disoriented. As the ground began to roll even more Luke finally could make out what he was saying:“Wooor… Woor… WORMSIGN!”
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Dark fiction ning

NEW DARK FICTION GUILD STARTSAuthors James Cheetham and G.A.Buchholz recently launched The Dark Fiction Guild (http://darkfictionguild.com), an international, members-only community for authors, editors, publishers and other creators of high quality Dark Fiction, a broad genre that includes expressions such as poetry, drama, music and media (in print, music, movies, TV and the Internet), and encompasses such sub-genres as horror, dark fantasy, suspense, occult, supernatural, gothic and neo-gothic works. You don't have to be a published author or have had your work professionally produced to qualify for membership, even though they have many professionals in their ranks.In just a couple of weeks, they've had nearly 100 people sign up for membership, many of whom are well-established authors, musicians, artists and other purveyors of the "dark arts." They're planning to launch a public Website for the Guild within a few months, but you can see the current homepage (http://darkfictionguild.com) without having to register. Registration for 2009 is free.If you'd like more information, contact G.A.Buchholz at DarkFictionGuildgmailcom.
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"Winner of Science Fiction Book of the Year 2009, San Francisco Book Festival"New Novel Traverses the Globe in Mind-Expanding, Action AdventureAdin Kachisi’s New Novel Weaves Drama, History, Myth, Cultural Expedition, RadicalismNEW YORK – At the core of Adin Kachisi’s riveting new novel, Rise of the Anakim: Tablets of Destiny (published by AuthorHouse), are one man’s travels across four continents in a desperate attempt to save the planet from apocalyptic extinction by both the acts of man and the vengeful hands of nature.In a post-9/11 world, Rise of the Anakim: Tablets of Destiny opens with a devastating mistake made by one man, Richard Mingler, a member of the ancient secret society of the Order of Kingu who chooses to unlock an inter-dimensional portal on the very grounds of the World Trade Center that had once kept Zamariel, a monstrous angelic being from entering this world. Zamariel has been brought for one reason only: to find a set of lost ancient keys.It is the year 2009, and the planet is experiencing global catastrophes ranging from earthquakes, volcanoes, floods and a social unrest that threatens to topple any illusion of order. It is in this atmosphere that Ethan Moore, a college professor in Harlem, travels with one of his favorite students, Rick, to Georgia in order to visit Rick’s Native American uncle. Upon meeting Rick’s uncle, he is also introduced to other Creek Native American elders who reveal the ancient prophecies of a purification of humanity as they enter a new age. Feeling a fated connection with his visit, the elders take Ethan to a secret cave where they unveil ancient stone tablets with prophetic inscriptions on them, commissioning Ethan to find the three missing crystal keys hidden around the globe in order to save the planet from destruction.Led by instinct alone, Ethan’s mission takes him first to Ireland and then Ethiopia, Zimbabwe and finally Korea in a mesmerizing quest which forces him to confront enormous challenges and inexplicable mysteries that test his faith, his beliefs, his academic knowledge and his very idea of reality. While traveling through these foreign lands, he must elude dark, criminal assassins working for the Order of Kingu and other ancient cults determined to bring about the apocalyptic extinction of humanity.Having been transformed in his consciousness and successful in his quest, Ethan returns home and joins the ceremony to unlock the planet’s regenerating energy potential with the crystal keys. At the dawn of new life for the planet, Ethan must face one final battle with Zamariel. Will Ethan be able to save the human race from destruction? Will humanity appreciate the gift they have been given or will a new, more corrupted system emerge?Rise of the Anakim: Tablets of Destiny is a mind-awakening experience and action-packed adventure that chronicles the journey and the struggle of humanity to survive in spite of supernatural adversity. Created to provoke, inspire and educate its readers as it explores the past, present and future possibilities for humanity, Rise of the Anakim: Tablets of Destiny is full of information about ancient history, folklore, contemporary issues, metaphysics and different cultures worldwide.Adin Kachisi is the author of three previous books: Depths of Melancholy, Tears of Ether and Beyond the Talented Tenth. His latest novel, Rise of the Anakim: Tablets of Destiny is a product of several years of research and literary creativity.To Order visit : www.authorhouse.com also available through amazon.com or your bookstoreOr call 888-728-8467Adin KachisiTel: (212) 810-7889Email: kachisia@yahoo.comwww.adinkachisi.com
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IMMORTAL 2nd edition/Chapter 1 pt.1

1/ SPECTAR

SHE was in the basement again. It was pitch black, the only
illumination a glowing, quarter moon etched into the floor. A burst of
light split the darkness, and she moaned low in her throat.
Please, I don’t want to see anymore…I don’t want to look.
Yet her feet moved of their own volition, inching toward the
mark…and the twisted bundle now lying in its center. A man was curled
upon the stone. He wasn’t breathing, and his limbs were tiny and
withered. But she knew he wasn’t dead.
He wasn’t human.
The daemon opened his eyes. I’ve been sleeping. But for how
long?
He could feel his arms and legs, but the sensations were muted as
if they’d traveled from a great distance.
Then he remembered. He’d been imprisoned – snatched from his
body by the magic that had trapped him here. Even now sleep, like a
delicious drug, threatened to overtake him. But he fought it away.
How many centuries would pass while he slept?
A doorway appeared in his mind and just beyond it, a tattered
clump of flesh and bone…

Karla’s eyes flew open – the scream caught in her throat. It’s just
a nightmare. I’m Ok. I’m here now, at home.
The Indigo woman turned her head to look at the bedroom
console. Six-thirty glowed on the screen. She scooted out of bed, picked
up a remote from the nightstand and turned off the alarm.
Karla walked across the wooden floor of her living area into a
kitchenette. A press of her fingers on the first sphere of a triangular pod
started coffee brewing.
She filled a cup with chicory, walked back into the living area and
pushed the second button on her remote, activating a blue panel beside
the window. Jazz music filled the apartment. Like her bedroom console
the unit kept time, transmitted holographic images and played tapes.
Using the third button, she opened the curtains. Curled upon her
futon, the Indigo woman watched as the illuminae changed Topaz’s
violet sky into a mellow shade of peach. She thought of the dreams.
For as far back as Karla could remember, she’d had them.
Otherworldly, exquisite and always with an unsettling clarity so
different from the normal phantasms she read about. When I eat, I wake
11
up full – and stay that way until lunchtime. If somebody hits me, it
hurts like hell…

And her dream lover left her limp with satisfaction, even after she
awoke, sure he was still beside her.
At night Karla wrote them down, pouring all of her fears and
desires into the notebooks. She spent hours in the library, reading stories
of reincarnation and demonic possession, searching for answers. She’d
found them too – dozens of them. But none could satisfy the yearning
that burned inside her.
Every time she closed her eyes to sleep they beckoned, calling to
her. Mornings, she awoke like a swimmer who’d been underwater for too
long, grasping for the fabric of reality – moaning with pleasure or
trembling with exhilaration.
One night they’re going to swallow me whole. I’ll never wake
up or maybe I’ll just fall through to whatever’s on the other side…and
this new one, something’s different about it. I know the others but this
one – this one scares me so bad I’m afraid to sleep.

“What time is it?”
The top left knob of her console blinked. “The time is 7:00
am,” a pert, female voice replied.
Seven o’clock! I’d better hustle! Karla gulped down her coffee,
and hurried back into the bedroom to dress.

Tehotep watched the tall, slender woman thumb through her
closet. He wasn’t invisible, only dim. As long as he stayed in the shadows,
she couldn’t see him. But noise couldn’t be cloaked by magic.
The Indigo woman tossed a red knit, shirt and jeans on the bed,
slipped off her pajamas and walked into the bathroom. As she stepped
into the shower, the nozzle automatically clicked on, spraying her body
with water. He followed, standing just beyond the doorway …
Karla finished bathing, and Tehotep quickly moved back into the
shadows – all the while devouring her with his eyes. Her skin, dewy with
moisture, looked like melting chocolate her nipples, blackberries.
She toweled off her full breasts and long legs and he licked his
lips imagining the things he would do with her – to her – the endless
perversions he’d force her to submit to. Things she’d come to enjoy,
when she tried to please him.
The young woman walked into the bedroom. He watched her
pull up her panties, hook her bra, slip her arms into the straps. Image
after image flooded his mind. Tehotep felt himself harden; a soft groan
escaped his lips…
12
Karla froze then stared into the corner facing her bed. It’s only a
bunch of dirty clothes, you’re hearing things!

In that instant he appeared: an Indigo man with full lips, slanting
onyx eyes and a shaven head. Voluminous garments hung from his
muscular frame. Their eyes locked, and she gasped in recognition. The
dark man smiled, nodded his head…
And vanished.
Karla gazed at the pile of laundry – all that remained of him –
and wondered if she’d lost her mind. With trembling hands she finished
dressing her thoughts scurrying about like rats in a maze. It’s him! I
didn’t imagine it! He was here, but that’s impossible –!

There was a knock at the door and she jumped. Get it together
girl, that’s the twins.

She walked into the living room, picked up her remote and
pointed it at the entrance. It slid open and the eight-year-old twins,
Carlos Jr. and Ashley, small and brown like their mother, ran
inside.
Ashley’s shoulder length braids were tied off with ribbons.
“Good morning Karla,” they sang in unison, hugging her.
“Good morning love bugs. What do you want for breakfast?”
“Waffles,” said Ashley.
Carlos Jr. flapped his hand at his sister. “You always want
waffles.
Make mine French toast.”
When Karla and the twins’ mother had first become friends,
Tatiana and Carlos were both working nights, and she’d offered
to make breakfast for their children during the week. That was two years
ago.
Now Tatiana worked as a beautician, although her mate still
worked evening shifts at the metal emporium. But fixing meals for the
twins had become a habit Karla didn’t want to break. She was crazy
about them, and Topaz’s food prices were next to nothing.
“Coming right up.” The dark woman took milk and breakfast
pellets from her cold box, and slid the nuggets into a diamond shaped
oven. In twenty seconds, they expanded with heat.
“Done,” the oven announced. The children sat at the table, just
outside the kitchenette.
Karla served them, walked into the living area and took a cipher
from the box on the coffee table. She lit it and puffed nervously; with the
other hand combing her fingers through her short,
13
wavy hair.
“Smoking is stinky,” Ashley pronounced her mouth full of
waffles.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” How did he get in my
apartment? Piss on that! How did he get
out?
“Mommy’s mad at Daddy ‘cause he ain’t been home in two
days!” Carlos Jr. announced, snapping her back to the present.
“Hasn’t, not ain’t and your mother probably wants to tell me
about it herself,” Karla scolded gently.
“Yeah,” piped Ashley, “don’t tell family business.” There was a
knock at the door, she opened it and Tatiana strolled in: an Indigo
woman with her hair coiled into tiny braids.
“Hey girl.” Tatiana greeted her.
“Hey yourself, want some coffee?”
“Definitely,” the petite woman flopped on the couch, “Kids
hurry up; the transport unit will be here in minute.”
After the twins left for school, the women sat on Karla’s futon
drinking coffee.
“Carlos hasn’t been home in two days.”
“Your son already told me.” Karla eyed her friend with concern.
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said the next time he pulled this shit, you were gonna put
him out.”
Tatiana stared into her cup. “When he comes back, I’ll talk to
him –really talk to him,” she mumbled. “He‘s got to get it together, or
find someplace else to stay.”
“Yeah, you said that last time too.”
“Karla he’s a good man and he loves me, he’s just got issues! His
daddy used to beat him up. Carlos gets depressed when he thinks about
it so he smokes rush. He doesn’t do it every day – ”
The dark woman gritted her teeth. “Ti, I don’t wanna hear that
shit! He’s a junkie – if he was serious about dealing with his addiction,
he’d check into a clinic!”
Tatiana’s small, oval face narrowed with anger. “I’m not one of
your residents so don’t preach to me, Ok? It’s my life and my man!”
“I’m not trying to preach,” Karla said softly. She touched her
friend’s hand. “It’s just that you deserve better – better than him. You
need a man that’s gonna be there for you all the time. Not somebody
who keeps giving you love, and taking it back.”
14
“Look, I know what you’re saying, up here,” Tatiana tapped the
side of her head with her fingertip, “but relationships aren’t simple,
they’re tangled like vines. You don’t make up your mind to leave
someone you love just like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
“You ever been in love?”
“Uh-huh, I have.”
“Really, with who? I mean, I’ve never seen you with anybody for
more than a few months.”
“With – ” a brown face appeared in her mind’s eye. Loved.
Cherished. But Karla had never met him – not while she was awake. She
looked sheepish. “It’s been a while.”
The Indigo woman furrowed her brow. “So long ago you don’t
remember his name? Then you weren’t in love.”
Karla avoided Tatiana’s searching eyes. “I don’t wanna talk about
him,” she fumbled for the words to stop her friend’s questions, “it’s too
painful.”
“Oh, it’s like that huh? I understand…Karla, he took my ID
card.”
“Damn! How’re you going to make through the week?”
The petite woman shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.” She set
her cup on the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You need some credits?”
“Probably…I’ll let you know. You better get going.”
Karla activated the door lock then watched Tatiana slowly climb
the steps to her flat. How could Carlos do this to her again?

The elderly woman held the curtain back from her window. She
was short with large eyes, a wide nose and full lips a shade lighter than
her ebony skin. Her thick salt and pepper hair was twisted into two
braids atop her head. Her calico spotted cat, Nutmeg, rubbed against her
legs, meowing plaintively, but she ignored him.
Opal watched the tall, Indigo woman descend the stairs and cross
the street. Once Karla was out of sight, she opened the door, walked
down the hallway to the back exit and followed the brick path into her
garden.
There was a pecan and cherry tree, a profusion of roses, lilacs and
daises, and the bees were having their breakfast. The garden square was
hemmed in by apartment buildings and faced a tool shed.
She continued down the end of the path to the shed. This time
Nutmeg didn’t follow and he’d ceased to beg for attention. Instead, he
15
sat solemnly on his haunches and watched her pick up a can of oil, and a
rag from beside the doorway.
Opal oiled the door hinges and wiped away the excess. She
squirted more oil on the cloth and rubbed it into the door.
Anyone observing this ritual would see an elderly woman
polishing a tool shed. If they looked more closely, they’d notice her
whispering to herself and think she was senile. And that was just fine
with her.
The old woman stepped back: admiring her handiwork. She
strolled up the little path, and took a seat in one of the cushioned lawn
chairs beneath her trees. Nutmeg stopped harassing the bees, bounded
over and wound himself around her legs.
Opal reached down and stroked his back. The illuminae was
beautiful today. Perhaps she’d linger a bit and enjoy it.

Dressed in breeches and sandals, Joie rode through the forest
of his ancestors. The illuminae filtered through the trees, sketching
filigrees in the mulch below.
The warrior was tall, with reddish brown skin, almond eyes
and high cheekbones. Jet black hair hung loosely about his shoulders.
Silver and turquoise rings dangled from his ears and wrists.
Joie was half asleep, his muscular thighs loosely gripping the
mare’s flanks, for she knew the way to their favorite stream better than
he did.
They reached the brook and he dismounted, kneeled and
splashed water upon his face and neck, finally cupping a pool in his
hands to drink.
“Joseph…” He glanced around, instantly wary. The forest was
teaming with supernatural life – and not all of it friendly.
Among the most dangerous were Wood Sprites – forest
succubae that took the form of human women to capture men. Their
victims slowly starved to death, losing all grasp of time as they
languished in their captor’s embrace.
A mahogany shaded woman emerged from the grove of trees to his right...

Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers-Thompson 2007, 2009 all rights reserved
available at barnes & noble, pubit
www.amazon.com, kindle

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From the Lost Diary of TreeFrog7

Just wanted to let you know that my short story, From the Lost Diary of TreeFrog7, has just been published by Clarkesworld Magazine. Read it online here.

This story is closely linked to the world of Zahrah the Windseeker...in an odd way. It's about a woman in pursuit of something strange.

There will also be an audio version of it available soon, the link will be on the homepage.




¨°º¤ø„¸ ¸„ø¤º°¨¸„ø¤º°¨
¨°º¤ø„¸ Nnedi Okorafor ¸„ø¤º°¨
¸„ø¤º°¨
nnedi.com ..°º¤ø„¸
¸„ø¤º°¨¸„ø¤º°¨¨°º¤ø„¸¨°º¤

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Special issue: Race and Ethnicity in Fandom (Summer 2011)Transformative Works and Cultureshttp://journal.transformativeworks.org/http://community.livejournal.com/fight_derailing/4761.htmleditor AT transformativeworks.orgSPECIAL ISSUE EDITORSSarah Gatson (Gatson AT tamu.edu), Sociology, Texas A&M University,http://sociweb.tamu.edu/faculty.php?faculty_id=12Gatson@tamu.eduRobin Reid (Robin_Reid AT tamu-commerce.edu), Literature andLanguages, Texas A&M University-Commerce,http://www.tamu-commerce.edu/litlang/reid.asp?menuName=people&pageName=facultyRobin_Reid@tamu-commerce.eduPlease feel free to forward to other listservs, individuals, and to postonline!DESCRIPTION_Transformative Works and Cultures_ (TWC), an online-only,peer-reviewed journal focusing on media and fan studies, broadlyconceived, invites contributions for a special issue on race andethnicity to be published in summer 2011.Academic scholarship on fan cultures and fan productions over the pastfew decades has focused primarily on gender as the sole category ofanalysis. There has been little published scholarship on fan culturesand productions that incorporates critical race theory or draws on therich array of methodologies that have been developed during the pastcentury in both activist and academic communities in order toincorporate analysis of the social constructions of race andethnicities in fandoms.In contrast, fan activism and fan scholarship (at cons, workshops, andon the Internet) has produced a growing body of work (personalnarratives, essays, carnivals, and in recent months, a press) focusingon not only analyzing but also confronting hierarchies of race andethnicity and their relationship to gender, sexuality, class, anddisability. Submissions by academics, acafans, fan scholars, and fansare encouraged. In all categories, people of color are especiallyencouraged to submit.Topics might include but are not limited to:*Online activism and the circulation of critical race theory and womenof color feminisms in fan communities, in particular the relationshipbetween fan online discourse and other online activist communities.*Critical analysis of the instantiation and critique of racialhierarchies in fan communities and the surrounding culturalproductions.*Racist and antiracist issues in commercial transformative works(comics, film, mashups, remixes, machinima, etc.), especiallyrecuperative race readings (e.g., Randall's _The Wind Done Gone,_Rhys's _Wide Sargasso Sea_).*Race concerns in source texts (characters of color and their fannishreception, fandoms for work by authors of color, writing fannishoriginal characters, etc.) and fannish responses (such as the CarlBrandon Society, Verb Noire, and other panfannish and professionalprojects).*Intersection of race and ethnicity with gender, sexuality, class, andability in fannish contexts in fan works and fan communities(pre-Internet, Internet, conventions, vids, fan fiction, artwork,etc.).SUBMISSIONSSubmit final papers directly to TWC by October 1, 2010. Please visitTWC's Web site (http://journal.transformativeworks.org/) for completesubmission guidelines. Please contact the guest editors with questionsor inquiries.ARTICLE TYPESTheory: Apply a conceptual focus or theoretical frame. Peer review.5,000-8,000 words.Praxis: Apply a specific theory to a formation or artifact; explicatefan practice; perform a detailed reading of a specific text; relatetransformative phenomena to social, literary, technological, and/orhistorical frameworks. Peer review. 4,000-7,000 words.Symposium: Provide insight into developments or debates surroundingfandom, transformative media, or cultures. Editorial review.1,500-2,500 words.
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The Story of Eve/the early years pt. 4

At the other end of the purity spectrum stood "Austin Stoneman:" abolitionist and all around bad guy. What's more he has a Black mistress: "Lydia Brown!" Stoneman's character was actually patterned to resemble Thaddeus Stevens, a true to life antislavery congressional leader and is he's thus depicted as: the leader who would force the South to grant blacks equal rights.Lydia as both his housekeeper and mistress is described as the "the weakness that is to blight a nation" (Leab, 1975 P.27).Too Black to pass for White, yet too White to live among her own kind, Lydia is the classic tragic mulatto and a powerful symbol. She is the femme fatale: the archetypal bitch who leaves death and destruction in her wake.Notice, readers if you will, her "male" characteristics: she is power hungry, aggressive and refuses to humble herself before White males. Throughout Birth of a Nationshe anguishes over her predicament as a Black woman in a hostile white world (Bogle, 1973; p.14).And Lydia is (drum roll if you please) sexual. No greater sin hath any woman. In fact, she is Birth of Nation's only passionate woman. Thus the myth of passion and sexuality as evil, as Original Sin, and of woman as its bearer was recreated on the Silver Screen....[Austin] determined to bring the South to its knees after itsdefeat is momentarily trapped by her Lydia's animalistic vibes...[She] "is his one weakness and the cause of his downfall (Bowser, p. 44)Juxtaposed between two polarities of Black and White stood Mammy: the asexual, Aunt Tomasina fiercely devoted to preserving the status quo. Griffith ever the demonic genius added another element to the Mammy configuration: Sapphire, a creature one part Mammy, one part Amazon; the Black woman who is an shrew in her relationship with Black men, the mythic ball buster and castrator of the Black male.Sapphire would become a full blown myth during the 1930s (Amos and Andy) to be reborn as the Black Matriarch of the 1960s.Whatever else Griffith was, he was a trend setter, and the molds he cast dominated the Silver Screen fordecades to come. For example in his portrayal of Mammy as dark skinned, he set the stage for the typecasting of darker Black women as unattractive well into the Civil Rights era.A dark black actress was considered for no role butthat of a mammy or aunt jemima. On the other hand, thepart-black woman -- the light skinned Negress -- wasgiven a chance at lead parts and graced with a modicumof sex appeal...In fact it was said in 1958 and 1970 thatthe reason why such actresses as Eartha Kitt in AnnaLucasta and Lola Falana in The Liberation of L.B. Jonesfailed to emerge as important screen love goddess wasthat they were too dark (Bogle, 1973; p.15).Copyright Valjeanne Jeffers 1997, 2009 all rights reserved
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