Genine Tyson has been a "new writer" for the last ten years. Since obtaining her creative writing degree, she has done nothing with it except get a job, write on weekends, and stew in self-loathing that she wasn't doing more with the degree she got into so much debt for. However, in the last few years, that has changed. Whether it was turning middle-age or watching her country flirt with becoming the backstory of a dystopian young adult novel as she turned middle-age, Genine has decided to "go for it". In 2018 she wrote blog posts for AfroComic Con while starting a series of novellas about magic, the human psyche, and the weaving of the two. To connect, you will find her on Twitter before you'll see her on her infrequently updated blog, but Genine endeavors to change all of that in the weeks to come because she hasn't a single survivalist bone in her body. She may not survive if things go downhill, but she hopes her words will and inspire others to see the fire and magic within themselves to take on whatever comes their way.
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In the last few hours of 2018 I want to thank all my readers. I’m grateful to you all. I went from vowing to post every week to doing considerably less than that. But the nice messages I received help me to keep going and I appreciate them.
I am also grateful to this year, in general. It’s been a bitch, healthwise and personal-wise, but I know these things had to happen. Gentle taps on the shoulder from the Universe wasn’t getting the message across, so a slap in the face was needed. I’m smart enough to leave it there and get things moving in the right direction. And even the bad hasn’t been all that bad. They were things that needed to be done and now I feel like I’m on the threshold of a whole new world and I didn’t even have to leave Oakland. Who knew? (Besides the Universe – obviously).
2019 will be a good year, definitely a more creative one. One of the realizations I had was that I put so much energy into other people that I fail to invest energy in myself. I’ve spent years, tears, and thousands of dollars gaining skills, insights, and abilities that have never gone to my benefit. 2018 was about ending that. No more hiding behind others. 2019 is about letting my light shine and knowing it makes a difference.
Oh, my god! That was some of the most fun I had watching an hour of television in a while. It was campy, silly, and FUN (Did I mention that already?). All the things that I am about right now and I am here for it!
Elseworlds is the annual Arrowverse cross-over event on the CW. In the first crossover, Supergirl was introduced to the Arrowverse. Supergirl, which launched on CBS, takes place in a separate world from Barry, Oliver, and the Legends gang. That crossover was definitely good, but the focus was on introductions and the fallout from Flashpoint (a crisis on the Flash which had repercussions throughout the Arrowverse).
The second crossover was a bit lighter. The gang from two Earths and a time machine all came together to attend Barry and Iris’ wedding. (Side note: On the show, traveling to go to ANOTHER EARTH to attend a wedding seemed easier and cheaper than attending a destination wedding on THIS Earth. Seriously…wtf?) The personal drama was a little less angsty, however, angst is part of the deal on CW shows. I’m pretty sure it’s in the contract. But, rightfully, all the teams were more focused on stopping Nazis from taking over the planet. (If only our electorate was so proactive…)
But this third crossover was a hoot and a holler. Of course, they had a little angst (again… contract!), but they embraced the camp and even had a Smallville throwback which made me scream with laughter and clap my hands. The energy of this episode was positively off the charts and you can tell the cast was just having a good time. Even granite-faced Stephen Amell (And this is not an insult. The entire man is granite, that’s a huge part of his appeal) couldn’t hide the sparkle in his eye as his played Olivier-as-Barry. The actors were just having a good time and that manifested in a dynamic episode full of action and joy.
Now some of this might diminish some as the group heads to Gotham City in tonight’s episode (which I’ll watch tomorrow). If you’re familiar with the DC Universe you know Gotham is not a place for joy or fun. In fact, the place can make the Arrow of Season six seem like Disneyland. But it’s still exciting as this is when Ruby Rose as Kathy Kane makes her debut and we get to see what her show is all about. I’ve been hearing good buzz, so I hope it works out. I’ll definitely find out tomorrow night.
Okay, folks. It’s been a minute, a minute and a half, really, but that’s life.
While the month of September was a deluge of health challenges, the month of October was a ton of personal ones – and a vacation. I may write about the last 90 or so days of my life, or I may not. But, right now, I want to talk about the show Manifest.
I am excited because I just saw the seventh episode and it was one of the best episodes of the season. As I stated in my initial review, I’m always a sucker for an out-of-time/ fantasy story and Manifest delivered. Up until this point, I was pleasantly entertained and somewhat intrigued by the mystery. I tend to be very loyal to television shows. Once I start watching one, I keep doing so unless it pisses me off – royally. At the moment, I can only think of a handful of shows that have that possess that dubious distinction; for example, the last season of The 4400 and Sleepy Hollow (Seriously, why would they do Abby that way!?), and the last two seasons of Heroes (from the early Aughts). So as long the Manifest surfed the waves of mild entertainment, I was likely going to stick with it.
Well, apparently, that was not good enough for the writers because last night’s episode raised the bar!
Not to get too spoilery (Is that a word? I’ve decided it is), but the mystery went from interesting to compelling. This is more than Early Edition – (does anyone remember that show?), 4400-esque mystery of the week scenarios. Yes, that is still the format of the show, but it has become more. The last two episodes have really emphasized the connection among the passengers and what it all means. No longer are these passengers unfortunate (maybe) singularities dealing with the aftermath of missing for 5 ½ years. Now these people are a part of something bigger in a way that’s more concrete than I’ve seen in similar shows. And the people around them are being sucked into their world so much that they are almost as much passengers of MA 828 as the people on the actual plane. The thing I am most excited about is the character arc of Deputy Director Vance, head of the investigation into what happened to flight MA 828. Again, not to be too spoilery, but the pivot of this character not only gives him depth, his transformation gives gravitas to Ben’s efforts to understand what happened to him and the other passengers, and ups the suspense factor by several notches. And even this character’s pivot may not be as straightforward as we might think. Sure, Vance might be [BEEEEEEEEEEEP] this time, but who’s to say he won’t pivot again or pirouette or grand jetè even? The dude’s NSA, let’s not put anything past him.
When I wrote my initial review over a month ago, I had questions as to whether this show had the fuel to maintain its flight. Well, at the seventh episode mark, this vehicle seemed to have refueled and I’m excited to see where it goes next.
[Yes, I skipped a week. Sorry! To make it up, please see this recap I wrote for Manifest]
April 7, 2013
That’s the date 191 people boarded Montego Air 8-2-8 from Jamaica to New York. It landed November 4, 2018. For those on board, only a few hours passed – both mentally and physically. For the rest of the world, including those closest to the passengers, it’s been five and a half years.
That part is on the television promo. Spoilers are below the fold…
It’s not Saturday, but I’m updating my blog this week to note that I have nothing brilliant to add. It’s been a rough summer. First, work was insane, and now my body decided to implode. My mental energy has been too busy thwarting dark thoughts to engage in creative endeavors. I really hope that all comes to an end soon and I can regale you with tales of magic, love, and maybe terror (I’ve been in a dark place lately). I hope to have something new next week.
How do we perpetuate bullshit? By telling ourselves that the bullshit is the natural order of things instead of the result of choices we, as a species, have made. That way the bullshit will never be changed, we just accept it and deal with it the best way we can. What else are we going to do? This satisfies the beneficiaries of the bullshit just fine, though this doesn’t make them evil. It makes them human, for we all fear the unknown. Continue reading It’s Not Chocolate→
I flew when I was five. Playing witch, I’d climb onto the dining room table then jump as high and far as I could into a sea of pillows I’d placed on the floor. I was five, but understood enough about physics to know falling meant pain. It only took a few tries for me to touch the popcorn textured ceiling, but I didn’t revel in my power until I’d actually hit my head and the pillow sea had to extend to the living room to catch my fall. I’d cackle as I “flew”, imagining myself flying against the backdrop of a full moon in a night sky.
Imagination is power is one of the first things I learned. So, imagine my surprise when, one day, I jumped and kept going – beyond the dining room and past pillows. I yanked my stick to the side in a desperate bid to avoid the disaster of crashing into the credenza loaded with my mother’s plants. Shocked when I turned in mid-air, I had no time to process what was happening as I sailed, head on, into the disaster of crashing into the fireplace and toppling my mother’s photos.
It took me a while to move. I banged my head and slammed my elbow pretty hard. But I was five, recovery was quick. When my head cleared I wondered if my bones were okay – and what else was possible.
“Frank! Come on in.” Her smile faltered when he hesitated and Frank suppressed a rush of indignation at the sight of her office. It should be his. Instead, he silently fumed, the Board chose this black chick to be Director of Biochemical Processes; ostensibly, because of her supposed “outstanding education” and “groundbreaking achievements”. But Frank knew the truth: political correctness run amok! She probably learned chemistry in some crack-house somewhere and Stanford tripped over themselves to get her because of affirmative action. When he said as much, his colleague called a racist! Frank told him a racist was just an insult to a white man who wanted a level playing field. It wasn’t fair. Things have gone off the rails since he was a kid. Nothing made sense anymore- except the 9×19 Sig Pro tucked into the back of his pants. Guns made sense where there was none.