Mabon Poem

The time is here for autumn. The air is getting crisper, leaves are changing colors and the equinox is here. Its time to embrace the darkness. Here’s a poem of light and dark, its connection to Mabon….

Mabon has arrived and with it

People feast on grains and vegetables alike

The darkness starts to rise from the Underworld

Light takes a slumber as dark skies reign

Feel the crisp air against your skin

Let the moon be your guide

It’s okay to become a part of the night 

Chants are heard throughout the land

Harvest arrives with plenty of food

For the bellies of creatures 

Hibernation around the corner

Persephone. Hades. Animal spirits.

They have come to reign.

Light burning a flame within

Divine light guides those lost back to  their lovely abodes 

-E.R. Buendia

Advertisements

Why I Write…


Why did I start writing and why do I write?While developing an 8 week lesson plan for a Creative Writing workshop that I’m starting at my work, I realized that there was a question that I haven’t answered on my blog and now is the time to answer it!

           My story starts when I was eight years old. I went to a Spanish immersion school that offered a lot of opportunity for creative expression; my creativity was encouraged from a young age. I am grateful that my parents put me in the schools they did so that I could connect with my inner artist and discover my talent. The first piece I wrote was a poem and it was part of a project that we were supposed to do in class to create a mother’s day card for our mothers. I wrote a poem about the colors that my mom wore, specifically her red lipstick, and my mom kept it after I gave it to her and still has it today!

           I always felt out of place with my peers and writing became an escape for me besides reading, it was therapeutic and it was a way for me to connect with my imagination. Some people had imaginative friends, I had my own imagination and creative pursuits. As I got older and continued to enjoy the creative projects that my teachers would assign us, my mom ended up creating a space in the garage where she would post all the art projects on this wall by where we kept our shoes. I cherish that memory as a muse for me to continue to create works of art whether it’s  writing, painting, photography, doodling, dancing, any form of expression.

           When middle school came and I had this inspiring Spanish language teacher, I continued to write. At this point, I was blogging and I had created different websites that I would use to post short stories, poetry, and, journal. Each morning during the week, we would be asked to free write for the first 10 minutes or so of class. And every Friday, my teacher would pick a winner for best writer of the class. I won on a consistent basis and I used this as motivation to continue writing.

           When I got to high school, I was diagnosed with depression at the age of sixteen years old and I started to see an art therapist for a little while. Once again, writing became a form of healing for me. In high school, I continued to keep a poetry journal and would sometimes write short stories. I had a LiveJournal that I would share my work on or I would just vent on there sometimes. In 11th grade, when my depression was getting worse, I decided to submit my poetry to a national contest and I won one of the prizes. I just needed a teacher to sign a recommendation for me but I never followed through. I no longer believed in my talent and my creative spirit started to fade away.

           In my junior year of high school, I wrote half of a romance novel but after my computer crashed and I lost the draft, I gave up on writing altogether and the next few years were filled with different experiences that are now inspiration for me to write. I have always used writing as a medium for healing and expression. At times when I felt like I did not have a voice, I found that voice through poetry or through the characters of the stories that I was telling. I always felt like I could relate to characters that faced oppression, discrimination, or, some kind of bullying. And as an avid reader, it has just added more fuel to my passion for writing.

           At a creative workshop I attended with Juliette Sobanet, she asked us to think about why we wanted to tell our story, the novels or stories we are working on. I guess the true reason is to inspire others and maybe they will be able to find strength with my characters as they read along. The message I want to convey in the novels I write is for young teenage girls all over, to not give up on yourself and to embrace your weirdness…it’s okay to be unique. It’s okay to be creative and pursue your artistic dreams. Everyone goes through some type of darkness, and although some stay, there are others who fight to reach the light. I write to help, heal, and, to inspire. 

Halloween Zine 

I am excited about a short book project I am finishing up with prose and flash fiction pieces combined with original photography. It’s going to be a short horror anthology for Halloween. Making a zine is not as difficult as I thought it would be and it’ll be a cool way to share my work locally. Purpose is to get my work out and read!

Morgana outline is slow going,  been distracted by yoga teaching and important deadlines for school. Writing is my way to unwind and relax. Its been keeping me balanced.

Here’s my story for today, it’ll be up in the zine….

Swipe, Swipe, Swipe, 

Left and Right, Left and Right

The young woman moved her index finger back and forth

Hoping to get matched with the latest handsome stranger

Little did she know, she was in for danger

As she continued to swipe, 

a heart formed on the screen of her iPhone

A MATCH, finally, she let out a sinister giggle

“Let’s meet up tonight” 

wrote the interested fool

“Meet me at the corner bar on K Street” she replied, excitedly, knowing she’s in for a night of free booze and food, a relief to her penniless bank account


After an hour, the night grew tiresome as the man had forgotten his wallet and she was stuck with the bill


Feeling agitated, due to the plan not working, she got up to leave


The man glared at her with an apathetic gaze filled with mischievous desire


Thinking that she was in for a midnight rendezvous,


the woman let the mystery man follow her home

As the streets grew darker and the clicking of the woman’s heels got heavier


the man followed closely, breathing deeply onto her neck


In the shadow of the street light, the woman spied the outline of a knife


Raised high in the air, above the outline of her own head


A shriek formed inside of the woman’s mouth, “ahhhhhhhhhh”


As the blade came down into her right shoulder


Searing pain rain through her body, trying to run,


The man followed her, striking once more,


And, the woman kept running, approaching her door


As her bloody hand reached to open the door, she caught her reflection


And blew herself a kiss, as she fainted onto a puddle of rainwater face first 

-E.R. BUENDIA

The light fades…

So for this piece I decided to delve into some world building for a trilogy scifi idea I have, which takes place in another planet beyond the sun’s reach…the land is dying because its desperate for light…here’s a narrative on my protagonist’s childhood memory:

The sunsets were dazzling as the sun prepared to go into its slumber. Hues of mustard and tangerine blended together into a beautiful spread across the sky surrounding the kingdom of Gaela. The young girl cupped her hand pretending to lift the colors of the sunset out of celestial sphere that reflected off the lakes. A smile formed upon her face, as she closed her eyes and felt the last rays of sunlight seeping through her skin. Light was a luxury in Gaela and any moment that the people could get with the sun was sacred. The sun was a god to the people and the moon was as well, any source of light.

    Eighteen hours per day the land was filled with terror and darkness. Creatures beyond the fray awaited the moments the moonlight dissipated into the abyss of the universe so they could prey on the weak. The kingdom lived in a state between waking and sleeping, in a constant fear of the night. They were forced to become one with the night as the sun’s rotation grew further away from their planet. Circadian rhythms were out of sync, causing a mental disorientation amongst everyone and this young girl managed to maintain balance through all of the chaos. There was something special about her. She had the ability to manipulate the four of the five elements: water, air, earth, and, fire.

    With this power, she had to hold onto the secret because if anyone were to know what she was capable of, she could be drained from her energy. She knew the cost of her special ability could lead to her demise so she never spoke of it. She tried her best not to let her powers show in each activity she had with other children her age. She knew it was wrong yet the curiosity gnawed at her insides of how much further she could take it. How powerful could she become?

~ ER Buendia

~

The Night, a poem

She becomes the night

As she levitates to the tops of the trees

Divine winds cocoon her flesh


Rocking her through the evergreen


As she continues to float


She becomes a part of the night


Passing the stars


Whispering to the moon


Sweet chants of Hecate, triple goddess


Bewitched by the howls of wolves


She is home

-ER BUENDIA

Day 2-Story A Day in September

Prompt of the Day: The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order…

The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order is that a person can never skip from Monday to Friday. The stillness of Wednesday drags by minute by minute as dreadful as waiting for the desert heat to pass in the middle of July. Beads of sweat form on those restless individuals who have to endure the sun’s beating merciless power. As the clock continues to tick closer to the five o’clock hour, business folks stare at those final seconds at 4:59pm with the eagerness to leave their suits behind and change into their gym gear, or, take it all off and tune into Netflix. Although taking life each day at a time can be blissful and fulfilling, it can also be a real drag.

E.R. BUENDIA

StAD September 

Hey guys,

I will be using the Story A Day Challenge this month to help me connect with my characters and also to bring you some cool flash fiction. Currently developing a horror anthology zine which I hope to release Halloween week.

Here is my first prompt piece inspired by one of my book ideas (the modern day Arthurian one): 

  1. When I was born…”


When I was born, a reincarnate of a goddess from centuries past bore into me. Her soul lit up the room and my mother was astonished, believe it to be an angel. The light blinded a couple of the nurses in the room because it was powerful luminescence which created a sun-like blast. At first, people were unsure of what I was. They believed that I was a spawn of the devil or some type of evil, but other holy rollers believed me to be an angel. But the dreams I had told me otherwise.


The images of my birth haunted me as I grew up feeling unsure of how to identify myself. I had been adopted into a family that did not know whether to fear me or adore me. As I grew, I began to grow curious of the incident that happened that day I was born and began to read about past lives, angels, evil, and, any other occult topics. I would spend hours trying to decipher what I was. Growing up, I was perplexed by my ability to touch wounded animals and heal them. The animal would shake off their injury and wander off into nature, without any sign of discomfort. My adopted mother caught me healing a wounded bird one day and asked a priest to come and observe me, believing me to be a child of God.


The thing is, that I was not a child of God and I was not related to the devil. I was just me and part of being me, was that I was reincarnated. I did not know this until the dreams began. Dreams of a lush green pasture, a great kingdom, and hooded tall men which looked as though they were wizards from Lord of the Rings. In reality, these men were druids, a race of magical beings who had been lost in the waves of time.  In the dreams, people called me Morgan, Morgaine, or Morgana. I did not know what it meant until I stumbled upon mythology which addressed a Morgaine la Faye as a Triple Goddess. I, then, figured out that the power I held inside of me was related to her. Was it possible that I am a reincarnation of a powerful goddess? Me? I am barely passing my high school Algebra class…how could I be the powerful triple goddess?