Helluuurrr everyone! A few weeks ago I posted a small blurb about a sci-fi humor novel that I’ve been working on, and somehow in the past two weeks I’ve written 22,000 words on it and come up with a name.
(Just to clarify if you didn’t read my last post, this is a story about a botanist trying to help a species of aliens called the Ka’ai restore their home planet. Her story is told by both her first person journal entries where she tries to help future generations of humans survive space, alternated by 3rd person chapters of her story.)
SO, in celebration of my little idea finally finding direction, please enjoy another nugget of wisdom from Evie and the Land of a Million Flowers.
Now I know this isn’t going to sound very progressive of me, but one of the hardest things for me to accept once I left Earth was my body image.
And I don’t mean “body image” as in my weight or my height. I’ve always been content with my 5 feet, seven inch, size 8 frame, thank you. No, when I say I couldn’t stand the way I looked, it was because I couldn’t shave anymore.
I know that the concept of shaving was nothing more than a patriarchal ploy to sell razors and beauty creams. Deep in the back of my mind, I know that. I do. But it doesn’t make it any less difficult to just stop. I went from a smooth, hairless dolphin to a cavewoman in just a few short days. The years and years of social conditioning didn’t just go away in the blink of an eye. I struggled with my hairy legs. I thought they were hideous.
Let me clarify though, that I didn’t give a fuck about my hair while I was captive. I wasn’t sitting in my slave pen lamenting about my armpits while they were poking me with needles. The self-loathing didn’t come until much later, when I was safe with Rosha, trying to adapt to a new world, and looking at a person in the mirror I didn’t recognize.
Because truly, who I am in space is not who I was on earth.
The earth version of Evie was still a little wild at heart, but space Evie is on a whole different level. My body is hairy. My skin is discolored. I stink more often than not, and my hair hasn’t had the benefit of a conditioning treatment in years.
It took months for me to be able to look at my reflection and accept what I was seeing, and while it may not seem important to you now, trust me, it is. There’s nothing in the universe more disheartening than looking at yourself and going, I don’t even know you anymore.
So right now, while you have time, I want to implore you to get comfortable with yourself. Learn your angles. Discover things about you that will remind you of who you are, no matter what you look like or where you are. Skinny, fat, hairy, smooth, messy, sleek. None of that should define you. It can all change overnight, in an instant, without any warning.
Like I said, I know it’s not easy. Self reflection never is. It’s tough and it’s uncomfortable, but you have to believe me when I say It. Is. Worth. It.
If you don’t, then you’ll end up like me, sniffling over armpit hair when you could be out doing space-drugs and riding giant lizards under the three dark suns of Vroxid.
And whenever you feel stupid for crying over something small, remember that you’re not alone. We all lament over our zits and scars and body hair. It’s a struggle we all have to face at some point.
Last night a chaotic, science fiction obsessed muse touched my shoulder and whispered the name Evie Rochard. She’s eccentric. Obsessed with plants. And one of the only humans stuck in the outer galaxies.
I decided to try to write some of her story. So far all we’ve got is that Evie is a botanist trying to help a species of aliens called the Ka’ai restore their home planet. In a dream world, her tale would be told by both her first person POV journal entries where she tries to help future generations of humans survive space, alternated by 3rd person chapters of her story.
Think hitchhiker’s guide, but with a crazy lady. A sci-fi/adventure/rom-com for those who don’t care about love interests with purple skin.
Interested? Here’s a sample. I’d love to know what you think.
***
Contrary to popular belief, the two things in life that are guaranteed are not death and taxes but rather, death and the overwhelming need to piss during the worst possible situations.
You see, not every planet accommodates for humans like me. They don’t fully understand that I need to eat, breathe, and go to the bathroom every few hours. But it’s not their fault that I’m strange. Every planet is different, I’m well aware of this fact. I’ve been on planets that are completely covered with large mechanical cities that would short circuit the instant a drop of pee got into their mainframes.
Another planet I’ve visited was covered entirely with water, and I was required to wear a suit 100% of the time or I would drown. You would think an underwater planet would be easy to pee in, but boy let me tell you, it is not. And then there’s planets like Ka’ai. Covered with a million sacred flowers, it is considered an executable offense to desecrate one of these flowers with your urine.
But even if those planets did empathize with the bodily functions of a human, not every species understand human parts. They may direct you to a toilet, but that toilet ends up being nothing but a soda-can sized tube in the wall and instructions on just precisely where to insert it.
I know. It’s awful. When you see some of these space toilets, the first feeling is revulsion. Then the questions begin. How is this supposed to work? Why? Jesus, where does it go? How does it stay clean?!
Trust me, I’ve been through this mental cartwheel a million times. But there is no easy answer. Each planet is different, and a woman must adapt if she is going to overcome.
But before you go insane trying to puzzle out the logistics of poo tubes, it’s important to remember that aliens are aliens. The Gruter from the planet Zathar have an appendage that sticks out of their backs that they need to squeeze in order to expel waste (which is absolutely disgusting to witness, mind you) and the Kruuvians regurgitate their food and spread it on the ground like fertilizer.
After we remember that most aliens aren’t cute things with big eyes, or sexy men that shapeshift into dragons, we then have to remind ourselves that we are also aliens. They don’t need to accommodate us, just like a poor little Kruuvian is not going to know what do with a urinal.
So, with all that being said, my first and most important advice I can give to you is to pee whenever you can, wherever you can. You find a nice bush with no legal protections? Piss behind it. You see a basin that looks somewhat like the porcelain thrones we grew up with? Sit on it and luxuriate. Because you never know when you will see that golden opportunity again.
First let me start off by introducing myself. My name is Camille Morgan. I’m 28. I live in North Alabama, but I grew up in Northern California. I have two pitbulls named Luna and Nova, and fantasy books are my jam. I love to read them. Write them. Obsess over them. If I have too many drinks, I start to ramble about them to strangers who absolutely do not care about fantasy like I do.
I won't lie, I dabble with sci-fi too. But it just doesn’t hold my heart like a well written fantasy epic can.
Unfortunately for me, writing doesn’t pay the bills, so I currently work as a 911 operator so I don’t starve. It’s not glamorous work. In fact, if I never have to take another call where someone cut their fingers off, I would be ecstatic. To transition into a career where I can live off my passion, that’s the dream.
Hopefully y’all can help me. My DM’s are always open for advice. But for now I would just be happy if I could share my work with you.
Right now, I have three major WIPs. The one I’m currently writing is tentatively titled First Born, and it's a Rumpelstiltskin retelling. The tale revolves around a woman named Mara who lives with her four adopted daughters in a shack by the woods. In order to save her children, Mara makes a deal with a dangerous fae, but she has no idea what it's like to be in his debt until it is far, far too late.
The second is one is called The Hunter and the Witch, and guess what? It’s about a hunter and a witch. But Sierra isn’t just a normal hunter. She’s the last of her kind, and she has teamed up with a witch named Adelaide to find a book that can end all vampires. But, their story isn’t totally as it seems, and a vampire lord named Alaric is dead-set on unraveling their mysteries before they can destroy his world. FULL DISCLOSURE: I have been working on this book the longest, and every time I work on it, it’s like my fingers can’t match what's in my brain. Will this tale ever see the light of day? Perhaps. But my skill level just isn’t there yet.
The third is a loose premise, but one that I treasure all the same. It’s the story about a girl named Leona, an executioner in one of the world's last mega-cities. It’s a fallout-esque, post apocalyptic saga, and Leona is the baddest bitch in the land. Only catch? Leona is barely 18, and when she begins to realize she’s been groomed her entire life to be a tool of a corrupt government, things around her begin to implode.Eventually she goes through the typical existential crisis one would expect from a stone cold killer, but is the rebellion all that it seems? WHO KNOWS!
Well that's it for right now. I have other ideas bouncing around in my head, but what I feel like I need is a community. I truly have no idea what I’m doing, and while my coworkers tell me I have talent, that doesn’t mean shit unless I have direction. I’m hoping this community will take me under its proverbial wing, and I can finally finish a novel.
Like I said, my messages are always open. If you want to read something, you want to offer me advice, or if you just want to shoot the shit, let me know.
I just want to wander a thorn-covered castle by candlelight, write you love letters as a storm thunders outside, and drink red wine as I read poetry by the fire.
