Gone Fishin'

Well, not really fishin'. Mom is taking me out to the famous spa. She loves this place, and we've always wanted to go together but either I've been too far away, or had plans, or something of that nature. So, now that I'm getting ready to move again, Mom has pounced, and I'm glad she did. When I move far away, we don't really get to see much of each other. The trip is a perfect chance to cut loose and have fun before the big move.

So, I'm gonna plug my friends' sites really quick instead because they're awesome.

11 Word Movie Reviews
Derek is a good friend out on the west coast, he also knows a thing or two about movies. Brevity is the soul of wit, and when it comes to film, man, does this guy have it all! So, if you are looking for brevity, soul, and wit, check out the 11 Word Movie Reviews.

Attempts at Ressurecting a Muse
Blogger and friend Trish finds and creates art in everything. You will find everything here! Photography, geckos, cupcakes, baby birds, handstitched projects, recipes, Ford Explorers looking for a home, and you'll see just how blue hydrangea petals can get on Attempts at Ressurecting a Muse.

Burn, Baby, Burn!
He loves to cook and has no hope for our future. Okay, that's a bit melodramatic, but when you use the books, movies, and music around you to explore the possibility of a dystopian future, it's nice to have a little comfort food to fall back on. Mike breaks down some of his favorite dystopian works and serves up some awesome nosh to go with in his blog Burn, Baby, Burn!.

Crunk Acoustic
She's my best friend, my sister from another mister, my soul, my heart, and my hetero-lifemate. When she isn't changing your life with her food, she is jamming with her new band The Piecycles, and navigating her way around guitar chords and soulful singing. Creative, hilarious, and moving, she will get your toe-tapping at the Crunk Acoustic.

Elephant Talk
Answering the cry of: "There is no good music out there anymore" is Kevin. In his blog, Kevin checks out some of the newest artists on the scene. Not only that, but he pays some groovy love to the bands that came before them. This guy loves his music, and no matter the genre, he'll tell you all about it in his own brand of Elephant Talk.

Feeding Your Addiction
"The foodie lives to eat, and to eat to live is definitive boredom". Life and food go hand-in-hand, and Fatema shows you just how great living can be with the right amount of seasoning and the sound of your favorite ingredients hitting a hot pan. Satiate that hungry monkey on your back by Feeding Your Addiction.

Managing the Game
He's a big man with some big talent. Chris's range spans from make-up design, to artistry, film, and managerial stint(s) in the gaming industry. The industry can be at times unforgiving and at others wholly rewarding, and Chris breaks down his experiences in design, creativity, and Managing the Game.

Sara Crawford
I owe this girl a lot, and you owe it to yourself to check her out. Music, movies, plays, you name it, she does it, and she does it in a way that will make your head giddily spin. One of the most creative people I know is way more than this website, but the links and pages are a great way to start your introduction to Sara Crawford.

System sans Setting
He'll break it down, and build it again, probably better than it was before. Whether this is a video game, a treadmill that refuses to go down stairs without a fight, this paragraph, a plothole, or an idea, Stephen will find a new approach, a new solution, and a new way of mastering the game in System sans Setting.

The Hollywood Projects
Last, but in no way even close to least, there never was a boy who loved film quite the way this one does. Young at heart, wise with a pen, Andy's got a way of not only seeing movies, but discussing them. He takes a look at some of the best, and where he might tell you he wrecks the whole sha-bang by ranking them, I'll tell you he gives you a whole new way to watch film in The Hollywood Projects.

I'm still collecting a couple more sites that I want to put up, so they'll be hanging around soon. If anyone I know has read this and wants me to plug a site or a blog of theirs, just give me a holler! Until then, check these guys out. You'll be in for a treat!

Chapter 4: Revised

And the exposition train keeps on chuggin'. Those that did get a chance to read through The Anchoress on the first go will notice an early appearance of Captain Gonzalez and his spouse, Olvida. This change will be explored in the next installment.

"We will meet again!"
(PS: Robert De Niro in The Mission was a big visual for Gonzalez, uh, that's why he's posted here... you should probably just keep reading now.)

For now, let’s check out Padre Alvarelo, the young priest that was sent from the mission to retrieve Carmen and Nieve. I wanted to add a little more to this first encounter, so we have him discussing events prior to Carmen and Nieve’s arrival, as well as being a little more verbal on the ride from port. He is one of those characters who writes himself, so revisiting him and creating more of a first impression has been a happy breeze.

"Just imagine me a little more Spanish. And not spittin' while droppin' sick beats."
(Joaquin Phoenix in Quills)

This chapter will also see the exclusion of the “stranger” that Nieve encountered in her past when she was lost in the woods. This stranger was meant to be an early visitation from a demon, and was also meant to be a nod to the play Vinegar Tom which begins with the devil more-or-less raping/seducing one of the characters. Excellent play, by the way, check it out. As much as I love The Crucible, I find Vinegar Tom much better.

Kitty's Question: Why aren't you running out and reading this play right now?

Anyway, the point is that this shady figure in Nieve’s past not only seemed over-kill on the wow factor, but also eclipsing of other events. I did not want to devalue those events just because I felt like grossing someone out. I have other moments that can do that.

I can only hope this will be the face you make.

Also, when I saw Paranormal Activity, I did not like the whole idea of the heroine being the center of some demon’s attention since she was old enough to enter her first spelling bee. That is one bored demon, and there is a certain “chosen one” factor to the heroine that I did not want to see on Nieve. So, the stranger has been eliminated completely, and what demons Nieve has are her own, at least where her past is concerned.

Bored Demon is nostalgic as he watches your parents take off the training wheels from the tricycle. D'awwww.

4

Dear Adan, what a lovely person!


Carmen and I sat with the deacon at Padre Alvarelo’s table. Though the padre smelt of smoke, and most unwelcoming smell, I found him an otherwise refreshing man. He removed his hat and smoothed away rough tangles of short, sandy brown hair. He resurfaced with the kindest of smiles. He asked Carmen and myself about our trip, marveled at our courage in the face of the fearsome storm, and was quick to welcome us once more to our destination. We ate a modest meal, but I was more interested in my new company than the dish cooling in front of me.

“How long have you been here?” I inquired.

“Going on five years.” He said before dunking that amiable smile into the drink he had lifted from the wax dotted table.

“And you?” I faced the deacon.

“The same,” he agreed. “Through rebellion and peace.”

“Amen,” Padre Alvarelo chuckled, and bowed his head to the grinning deacon.

Carmen was not as amused. “You were here when the Tairona rebelled.”

“That was years ago,” Padre Alvarelo soothed, aware of the thoughts racing through Carmen’s mind. “The Tairona are peaceful now, we have achieved a balance with them. We live very harmoniously with them here.”

“So,” I said, “you like it here.”

He marveled at my statement. “I love it here.”

We left once our meals had settled in our demanding stomachs. I must confess, Adan, the meal was light, but better than anything I had eaten on the ship. The fruit was exotic, so peculiar and sweet. The bread was soft, the crust was crunchy, dusty with flour. The rice was spicy, but like nothing I had had back in Spain. I would need the energy from this satisfying, slight meal; I was about to learn how to ride a horse for the first time. When Padre Alvarelo informed us of this, Carmen and I stopped in our tracks. We were unprepared for such an announcement, but there was no time to waste!

The deacon accompanied us to the stables at the border of the port to see us off. Heavy hooves were clapping against the stable’s hay strewn stone floor. There were stablemen huddled near a rack of saddles, smoking and discussing something quietly. Behind them, bridles dangled across a wooden wall. They greeted us with a wave, and pointed us in the direction of the horses waiting in their pens. The horses shifted their weight, and their ears swiveled as they heard our advance.

I took a deep breath, and approached the horse that Padre Alvarelo indicated would be mine. He pointed out the another for Carmen and the deacon was quick to assist her. Padre Alvarelo was patient as he helped me into the saddle, and led me out to the stone path leading away from the port.

“You hold the reins like this. Now, give him a light kick with your heels. Not too hard now. Good. Like that. Now, if you pull on one rein - pull it out to the side. Gently, he does not need much,” he laughed gleefully, and watched as I became more comfortable in the saddle. “Good. Yes! Just like that. He will turn in the direction you pull. Give him one more kick, Nieve. Do not be nervous. This is just a trot. Find the rhythm. Good, very good. Can you feel that? Up. Down. Up. Then down. Just like that. Easy, easy, all right, now, slow down. Ease back.”

I leaned back in the saddle, I pulled gently on the reins as I circled around to stand in front of Padre Alvarelo. He tipped his hat back on his head, I could see his eyes more clearly. They were full of mirth.

“Good?” I asked.

And he nodded. “Very good.”

We were on our way, the deacon waved at our backs. It seemed Carmen, too, was a fast learner! She took to horse riding very naturally. I must admit, I was a little jealous, but only a little. We traveled up a stone road that tapered into the jungle beyond. The afternoon sun would begin its descent soon, but this did little to cut the thick and wet heat of the jungle. The sun sparkled through cracks in the otherwise lush canopy. I was seized with a sudden memory from our childhood, Adan. We were playing in the woods. You were hiding, and I was seeking, and I could not find you. You played a nasty trick on me—you and your friends. I thought we were playing, but you ran off.

My, but I was alone, and so scared. I remember looking into the peeping eyes of sunlight I could make out through the edges of the leaves above me. I thought I heard you giggling in the bushes under the roots, behind the trees. I thought I heard your silly friends, too. But alas, no one! I thought I would be lost forever. Until the time I had wandered back into our parents’ yard, it certainly seemed that way. Your friends were gone - too afraid to get in trouble - and you embraced me so tightly. You said you were so sorry. How could I have lost my way so easily?

“Enchanting.” Padre Alvarelo’s voice brought me back. “Just enchanting.”

My eyes circled the forest, so unlike the one on our father‘s territory, Adan. Trees reached for the dwindling sun, whose rays could hardly muscle past the wide leaves and woven black branches. What light could be spared came through in smooth yellow beams that kissed the ground. All around me, the bugs were buzzing, and beyond the stone path, there was ceaseless movement in the jungle. Whether this was the wind or creatures I could not yet identify, I did not know. The heat, as a result, was forgotten.

“I have never seen anything like it,” I breathed.

Carmen was anxious, her head constantly whipped this way and that in reaction to every sound. “I feel like we are being watched.”

“We probably are.” Padre Alvarelo wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and slapped a grape-sized fly off his horse’s neck. “There are numerous creatures in these woods.” Carmen watched the fly fall to the ground. Its many legs jiggled as it rocked among the twigs. The insect recovered and buzzed away angrily.

“Are they… dangerous?” Carmen hazarded as she watched the fly take off.

“Some of them.” He looked back to find us both slack-jawed. He winked and moved on. Carmen and I encouraged our horses to match pace with him rather quickly after that. A blur of questions were on our lips, begging to inquire him: What creatures? What did they look like? When did you meet them? Were you hurt?

Our guide turned to us once more, and pointed up the road. “I have arranged lodgings with Captain Alejandro this evening. He and his men are the protectors of our mission.” I could see what he was indicating now. There was a faint, dirt path that led away from the main stone road. “Traveling the jungles at night,” Padre Alvarelo dropped his voice theatrically, and brought his horse around to ours, “can be dangerous.”

Carmen made a face, and I cupped my hand around an unexpected giggle. We left the road, and the winding dirt led among thick roots of towering trees. It was not long before we entered a man-made clearing; there were shorn tree trunks, and the grass was cut close to the ground.

The path was stone again, our horse’s hooves clattered loudly. At the end of the path we found an impressive mansion. Though it was only a couple stories high, the estate was wide. A porch curled around the structure, and local plant life I had seen on our journey decorated this encompassing platform.

The doors opened, and a tall man emerged. Two Tairona men were beside him. They moved stiffly, like military men. My immediate impression of the manor’s master was that of a strict man. Every stitch of his attire was in place, and a beard was groomed close to his jaw, chin and mouth. The image I had of this host was that of a curt man, clean and strict. However, when he smiled I was caught off guard. The expression was warm and inviting, especially after the journey from the port. He opened his arms to our party. The Tairona servants helped us from our horses.

“Padre Alvarelo.” The master of the manor called from his steps. “These must be the sisters from your letter.”

A striking woman came outside to stand beside him. She was quite beautiful, and a proud step guided her poised form. Her dress was a beautifully solid green, the collar a linen pair of wings folded daintily along her throat. I imagined her with long dark hair when it was not twisted and coiled in ribbons, pinned tight to her head. They looked like a pretty match.

“Welcome,” the tall man said through a grand smile, his teeth slowly painted in as he drew his lips into a happy line. “I am Captain Gonzalez Alejandro. This is my wife, Olvida.”

Chapter 3: Revised

Wow! It sure has been a while, hasn't it? A lot has been happening on this end. There is a small part of me that wishes I still had to do those "What I Did On My Summer Break" essays. You know, like, back in school before you started dissecting owl pellets and shit? Well, on my summer break, I lost my job, and then the boyfriend hit a rough patch, and then my boyfriend became my husband, and I got into culinary school. Now, how about those owl pellets?

Okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty in the capital city here. You aren't here to read up on my personal life, I'm not here to write about personal breakthroughs. I have an LJ for that, a nice, quiet secluded LJ. I'm here to keep this whole novel gravy train going.

So, here is the third chapter of the revise Anchoress draft. Having pulled through the storm, the sisters are now ready to set foot in Santa Marta. We'll be saying farewell to Elias (for now!) and moving right along. A lot of my experiences in Nassau have been translated to the chapter.


Not only my impression of the Bahamas, but also a little church I found there. The church you will be seeing in this chapter was inspired by a church my husband and I went to in Nassau. So many details - big and small - struck me upon setting foot in this church, but what really struck me was the heat, and the fact that I think only one person was on duty in the church. I wanted to put the silence, the heat, and the solitude of this tiny character into this chapter.


Also, I felt that Nieve's first visual encounter with the Tairona was very rushed and minute in the first draft, so as she travels through the port, there is more detail and attention given to what should essentially be - if this were a film - "extras". Recently, I've been watching a lot of Kiruosawa. There are so many things that define him, but for me his work with extras and background motleys/groups/crowds is as intricate and essential to detail as the rest of his techniques and the performances he gets from his casts. I wanted to apply that to Nieve and Carmen's journey through the port to the church.

PS!
If you want to learn more about the Tairona and the "Heart of the World" that is Santa Marta, check this blog out. It's really spectacular!

3

Adan!

We have arrived in one piece; we are in the port of Santa Marta. I must have been so obnoxious this morning. I ran to Carmen’s cabin as soon as I was dressed and barged my way in. My, was she surprised by how tightly I embraced her!

“You are much stronger than my brothers,” she gasped, “for such a little thing.”

“Carmen, we are here. Here! Can you believe this?”

“Be still, Sister; you are far too loud!”

“We must go on deck—hurry! Hurry!”

“Yes, yes. Go on without me, Nieve.” Carmen laughed, she shooed me away. “I will be there when I have finished packing!”

My feet had developed their own impulses. They took off, Adan, carrying me with them. I raced through the galley and climbed the stairs two at a time as I headed for the deck. The ship was not rocking as violently, the stairs were not as slick, and even if they all were, my progress would go unaffected. I was a different creature today, I felt as though I were a child once again.

On deck, the passengers were gathered along the edge of the ship. They gasped and cooed, a mixture of relief and exuberance upon finally catching sight of the port. Such a sun soaked destination had been teasing us as it stayed hidden behind the horizon for months. Behind the gathered crowd, the crew bustled about to prepare the ship for docking once more. Their feet slapped across the deck in a hurried rhythm, and whistled commands pierced between the low deck and highest rigging. The last time the ship was this crowded and active, Adan, we were leaving the Spanish port for Santa Marta. Now we were there!

The smell of the day’s previous storm was in the air, wet and refreshing. The storm had dented the humidity. The sun warmly cuddled the back of my neck through my habit, but such heat was cut significantly by a cool wind. The port was bathed in a welcoming light; it was so appealing, why, it took clenching my hands around the parapet to keep from leaping into the turquoise water to reach the white shore. Beyond the bustling, noisy port was the verdant, exotic rainforest, and looming in the distance of them were mountains, all draped in a cloudy shawls.

Adan, this was no longer a dream induced by the rocking in my cabin; my eyes were open, the texture of the boat was truly beneath my fingertips, I could feel the breeze on my cheeks. I was awake, Adan, and in a matter of moments, we would be anchored and bound to this place.

The plank hit the deck, and I was off like a shooting star, only this time, I was dragging Carmen with me. She held her coif close to her head, her skirts billowed behind her like a sail—can you imagine your sister, Adan, bearing such speed? But I did that morning, and I was not about to let up. Not even as Elias called to us. Carmen looked back at him over her shoulder, and cleared her throat.

“Hermana Nieve, you are possessed. Slow down!”

I turned, marched backward, much to her chagrin, as I spoke excitedly: “This is remarkable. Carmen!” Carmen latched onto my shoulders, and guided me around the fishermen, soldiers, and tradesmen I threatened to bump into the water. “We are halfway around the world. The world! In your whole life, Carmen, did you ever think you would be here?”

“Nieve, please, look where you are going.”

I spun around and through some unknown grace managed to skip over a length of rope that was coiled next some of the local fishermen. Their skin was the color of the earth, like the field beyond our house. We used to look at stars there, Adan, and when it rained the earth around the blades of yellow and green short grass would turn that rich brown. Some boasted gold, one had a thin golden band in his ear, the other wore a dented gold ring on his thumb. The other was in a dark blue gathered hat, he was smoking out of some sort of old reed, as were the others. They snickered playfully, one of them waved at us, and I returned the hail delightedly.

Carmen rolled her eyes and we linked arms. “If I do not keep a hold of you, my suddenly sprightly Sister, I am afraid you will take off into the very jungle.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps it is for the best, then. I will try to contain myself.”

There were quick, heavy footsteps behind us. Elias had caught up to us. He looked so different today than he did yesterday. His hair was smoothed back from his forehead, gathered in a shorn black ribbon. He was shaved, and appeared much more official in a jerkin and doublet. His sword was notched at his side, and he relaxed his hand across the hilt. He finally stopped, leaned further onto the pommel of his sword, and smiled.

“What do you think of it all, Hermanas?”

I could only smile.

We three entered the busy port. Oh, Adan—you would have loved it here! There was so much food. There was conch cooked in hot oil with plantains, and I could smell coconut milk in almost every dish we passed. Sizzling fish and the smell of split oranges hissing in the fire under them. Women were selling long strands of ceramic beads and golden jewelry, and there were men holding up woodcarvings of creatures and masks. Others offered us pink- and cream-colored shells, and still others unfurled loom woven tapestries along their arms to blow brightly in the wind. They drew so close to us, all trying to sell their goods; Carmen blushed and pressed on quickly with me in tow.

She pulled out a copy of the charge we had received from our church back in Spain. “Where are we heading again?”

“You could not have forgotten how to read on our trip,” I teased, and she pinched my side as she set to reading.

“We are to meet at the Santa Marta Cathedral, close to the dock. A missionary will be there.” Carmen fanned herself with the letter. Her face was bright red, and there was an uneven line of perspiration that had soaked through her coif. Not even some minutes off the boat and already Carmen was feeling the heat! “We should find him quickly. Get out of this sun.”

“This way, I think I see a church up ahead,” Elias said, and we journeyed further through the port until we found the modest cathedral Elias had indicated moments ago. The walls were tall and white; the painted windows narrow. A bell was tolling the hour above our heads. Beautiful, low tones bellowed across the bustling port. Carmen pushed open the heavy front door; so distracted was I, she had to catch me by the wrist and pull me after her while Elias held the door. I just could not help myself—I wanted to stay outside, despite the hot morning.

The wooden door sighed shut behind our heels. Inside, we could see just how detailed those painted windows were. One panel boasted a serene Virgin Mary painted in deep blues, pure whites, and strong reds. Her face was glowing with sunlight; she looked charming. What a sight… to see her smiling so benevolently on us from the still glass. I felt as if she were welcoming me. Carmen and I crossed ourselves and knelt in the nave beneath the feet of a tall, wood-carved savior while Elias watched on quietly.

Carmen prayed for us both. “Dear Lord, we give thanks for our swift and safe delivery; bless us with your guidance, your strength, and your kindness.”

We said, “Amen,” together and stood after making the sign of the cross again.

“Excuse me.” The meek voice came from behind us; it sounded as if a mouse had uttered the polite interjection. Elias’s hand fell away from his sword’s hilt once we had turned to find a gentle-looking young man standing in the aisle. His smile was hospitable, his cheeks and neck were shiny with a slight sheen of perspiration. He wore a linen tunic with a similar linen stole draped across his left shoulder.

The letter resurfaced from Carmen’s knapsack. She unfolded it with one hand and peered at the man over the edge of the paper. “Do you know where we could find… Father Victor Alvarelo?”

“Oh, you must be the Sisters from the Santa Maria Cloister back in Spain. Seville, yes?”

“Yes.” I smiled, and he returned the expression with a sigh of relief.

“Padre Alvarelo heard from the dock master yesterday that you would be delayed due to the storm. He took lodgings not too far from here. I can take you to him now, if you’ll just follow me.”

Carmen and I nodded. “Thank you,” she said as the somber deacon led us from the cathedral. Outside, Elias faced all three of us with a comforting smile. His stare, however, soon fell directly on the deacon.

“You will be safe in the port?”

“Of course, signor,” the deacon replied politely. “I have lived here through uprisings and peace, and I have navigated both successfully. The hermanas will be safe in my care.”

“Then I am grateful,” Elias bowed his head respectfully, and started to move off. “I need to join my unit, but hermanas,” he came back to us with a quick step, and kiss both of our cheeks, “it was an honor traveling with you. Be safe.”

“Of course, Elias,” we embraced him, and watched him disappear into the currents of the busy crowd.

We were brought into a dimly lit tavern. The room was layered with drifting curtains of smoke. Bizarre and tantalizing smells came out of a bright kitchen. There were soldiers sitting around a game of cards, none of them I recognized from the ship, and all of them were nursing cups of coffee. Patrons were huddled over the bar, muttering with the tender, and there was a cook at the far end of the room, napping, a book folded on his chest while a couple workers manned the kitchen.

Upon our entrance, all eyes were on us, the new strangers shadowing the bright-faced deacon. After they had soaked in our presence, they returned to their affairs—flipping cards on the table, continuing their whispered conversations with the tender… The chef abandoned his book to check on something in the kitchen before returning to continue his nap.

I saw a hand raise. A small smoking reed was pinched between a forefinger and a middle finger. A tall and lean-looking man stood. The deacon gasped in recognition, waved, and gestured us to follow him around patrons and tables.

I had a clear view of the man now. He was young but still older than the deacon escorting us, I think. His skin was darkly tanned, like a farmer‘s skin. A thin beard framed the length of his jaw and climbed up to a head of unruly hair that was somehow tamed by an old, wide-brimmed leather hat. He was wrapped in a loose linen cassock. A stole, much like the deacon’s, was wrapped around his hip, and a wooden rosary looped around his left wrist. He turned from us to stamp out his hand-rolled tobacco and met us with a beaming smile. He removed the hat, held the garment over his heart, and nodded.

“You are the hermanas sent from Spain. My name is Father Victor Alvarelo.” His smile would have been as bright as the candle stationed in the dusty lantern on his table, only his delighted expression never flickered or wavered, and, as such, shone brighter than that little flame. It was as if he could not believe we were standing in front of him. He was so spirited, so pleased to see us.

“I am so happy you have come to us. We have been looking forward to your arrival, and I must confess,” his honey-brown eyes darted away sheepishly, “you could not have come at a better time.”

“We are blessed to be here, Father Alvarelo.” Carmen was beaming, and who could blame her?
He studied our faces, pleased with Carmen’s answer, and his smile seemed to grow upon once he looked into my eyes. “Well, my dear hermanas,” his arms opened with a welcoming wave, “please, sit! Join me.”