Monday, December 07, 2009

Immanence of Myth anthology: personal essays

The first submission deadline I set for the Immanence of Myth anthology is coming up in a couple days. (December 10th.) I've already received some good submissions, and some that I think will be good after some editorial. However, I've received very few pieces that actually deal with your experiences of myth in life. I could see these working written as fiction, or as personal essays. So I'll hint at what I'm looking for with these, and extend the deadline.

Material for the third and final part of this book (tent. ent.: personal mythologies) are best kept short and somewhat anecdotal, exploring how the ideas in your life have affected the events of your life. Tone counts for a lot here, moreso than an academic essay. Shoot for 750-2500 words.

Beyond that it is hard to detail the contents of what will "work" for this kind of essay, as all our experiences differ. I'll know it when I see it, and you'll probably feel it as you're writing it.

Have them to me by March 1st, 2010. jamescurcio at gmail dot com

If you have material for one of the other parts of this anthology, but haven't been able to get it ready in time, you can also use this opportunity to get it in.

1 comment:

  1. Four, My Secret Muse


    We try to tell you
    explain so clearly
    you must need so badly
    to be blind
    What twisted so
    maliciously your mind?
    Is it your God -- Created
    that greedy leaders may
    more easily prevail?
    Is it guilt and shame seeded
    by consistent training insisting that you fail?
    Enemies of chaos, steeped in fear
    "Anything I will to you; just save me!"
    Lost to balance, lost to whole
    possibilities, splintering reality,
    losing consciousness, losing
    the ability
    to be free
    or sane
    Fighting off complexity with
    angry names, a screen of stones
    thrown in bloody sacrifice
    Eternal life is yours, we scream
    While you destroy your birthright
    in service to
    a conjured dream
    of denial


    We who endure that searing penalty
    for being born other than imperial
    for being torn into what we
    are told is real
    without power to protect
    ourselves from venal human scum
    brothers of the order
    spreading hatred
    like any venereal disease
    We no longer need to meet you
    cowering on our knees
    Ordained in derisive delight
    enlightened, relieved of our plight
    It's yours now to decide: flight or
    frightened obeisance.
    Karma's a hot potent bitch
    unschooled in mercy
    (education cuts don't guarantee
    ignorance of what is taught
    on these mean streets)
    Witches reclaiming noble heritage,
    reframing herstories
    can no more be beaten
    by usurped power.


    Listen, little one, we will prevail
    Though born and forced to serve in
    our master's jail
    watching every moment for our chance
    we will break free
    to adventure, romance
    dancing away the chill of
    foreign hills
    etched in leaves and grass;
    hiding in enchanted castles,
    lost and lonely midst the masses,
    masked to fit expected forms,
    but it's just for a bit while we learn
    new norms, learn to become what
    we were from the start
    Each a creature alive to the beat
    of our own-reasoned heart


    Such ugliness in this beautiful world.
    I blame us.
    (No, not Americans, you anti-blame-America first crowd)
    Homo saps --
    amazingly creatively obscene.
    Mundanely capable of barbaric acts
    I don't want to imagine are we
    It is hard for me to know how to feel.
    Thinking peace, sweetness and light,
    to attract what I desire
    feels phony.
    Anger feels nonproductive --
    a tightening in my heart shrieking:
    "Let it be done with!"
    Seeking for another world to find
    a fantasy respite, tightly aligned to
    a bright inner sphere, binding to what
    I hold dear, holding on for dear life,
    would certainly simplify my dilemma.
    I wish I could remember when all was
    certain, life assured by Jehovah, or one of
    His supplicants. That was before the
    Awakening, when everything
    woke up different, less defined.
    Somewhere in my convoluted mind I know
    is the answer.
    Penultimate questions line up
    for Communion. Holy guests
    fly in mage's mass.
    Lightning strikes
    presaging cognition.
    Key's in the ignition.
    Let's go for a ride to some other side.
    If we ever get back, nothing will be
    the same. Unleashed from the pain,
    designated renegade. Learning to fly,
    escape from the herd hate stone,
    can't be as hard as learning to stand

    7/11/09 libramoon



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