geekgirlspoetryproject

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How my love for Warrior Nun ended up getting me a published novel

So like many of us, i am a huge fan of Warrior Nun. Like a somewhat smaller number of us, I am a big Doctor Superion shipper. Can't be helped. Mature ladies getting it together is my jam. I have written fic about them and of course a lot of Avatrice and Lilshotgun.

Anyway, I saw this picture of Thekla Reuten and

I thought "oooo, detective!"

Not long after, I encountered this photo of Sylvia Defanti:

And I thought, "ooo, detective wife! Wait no! DETECTIVE EX-WIFE!"

And then I thought, what if ART Detectives?? Picture them chasing an art thief around Europe while bickering and lowkey sniping at each other and falling back in love despite themselves and their whole opposites-attract yin/yang thing?

Plus, you know, Europe:

The more I thought about the idea, though, the more I realized I needed to change the characters too much for it to work as a fic. So because I was writing a lot of screenplays at the time, I wrote it as a screenplay. Let me tell you about these women...

Fleur van Beekhof

So yeah, you can see the shades of Jillian, obviously: cool, pragmatic, strategic and unflappable on the outside. Inside, a total disaster: heartbroken, career stagnating, struggling with a gambling addiction and still not over her ex-wife,

Renata Cellini

Renata quit the bureau after their divorce and went to manage a friend's art gallery in Bologna. She's passionate, sometimes harsh, wears everything out on her sleeve and is 100% in it for the drama, leaping into danger and looking annoyingly hot while doing so. She's Fleur's sole choice for all 3 options of "f*ck marry kill."

The only thing that could bring her back to the bureau is the "Fabulous Gustave," the one thief who got away from them, whose escape precipitated Fleur's gambling problem and the unraveling of their marriage.

What's more, he stole a painting by her favorite painter, the one she did her Master's thesis on: "Susanna and the Elders," by Artemisia Gentileschi.

(Artemisia btw was a badass, a baroque master not fully recognized in her day. She painted women like nobody else... with fury and agency. "Yo check out the head of the Assyrian general who was creeping on me, I just saved my people, you're welcome."

Anyway, ahem.)

So I had this movie written. The thing about movies, is they take forever to get made, if they do at all. And I adore these women and this story too much, so I adapted it into a novel, and on a hail-mary pass, sent it to one of the bigger sapphic publishers I knew of.

THEY SAID YES.

Look! In all its pre-orderable glory!

The women of Warrior Nun have been and continue to be an inexhaustible fountain of inspiration.

And also, if you feel like it, please support my novel.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

I really can't overstate the delight it was to get this amazing reading from the absolute legend Alan Tudyk, who suggested I name this poem "Smartypants" ... I didn't do that, but I am still knocked out by how amazing he is here, flawless and 100% fully in character as Harry Vanderspiegel from Resident Alien.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

I really can't overstate the delight it was to get this amazing reading from the absolute legend Alan Tudyk, who suggested I name this poem "Smartypants" ... I didn't do that, but I am still knocked out by how amazing he is here, flawless and 100% fully in character as Harry from Resident Alien.

@alantudyksface @alantudyk71-blog @alantudykismyweakness-blog @residentalien022 @residentaliengif

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

We fucking support libraries in this house.

Destroy the myth that libraries are no longer relevant. If you use your library, please reblog.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Raise your hand if you love Bill Potts! *raises own hand*

Bill is probably my most beloved Doctor Who companion ever. No companion of the Doctor's ever has it easy, but Bill Potts really went through a lot. Nothing broke her, and probably a lot of what she went through should have. So here is a poem for Bill, read by the lovely, talented and frankly adorable Pearl Mackie.

@pearlmackiefanatic

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

It struck me at some point that Dax would have a very different perspective on aging and a very different disposition toward the body she happened to be in as it got older. So I explored it a little.

The Poetry of Time

I’m more lover than fighter, but my fists know what to do in a brawl, and I don't mind a little taste of blood.

I’ve been old more times than most, and know that young bones take hits better than old ones, and young bodies are made  to go toe to toe with time and lose. 

But oh, there’s so much wonder in the losing.  I love this body, the way it changes, the way it hurts and heals. 

I love its chemicals– They make the blood like avalanches  tumble in my veins. This body is a shimmering jewel on a long string of lives handed down, remixed, interpreted like poetry. 

And I am the interpreter. The translator. Speaker of the languages of  Soft touches and hard talk, the languages of diplomats and drunkards and priests, of prophets, scientists and simpletons.

Sometimes I imagine making symphonies of everything. Stars and rocks and deserts speaking to each other  in perfect orchestration– If only I had time to  make all of the translations.

This body is both kite and string; tethered in place yet riding the wind.  I’m more lover than fighter but  own them both.  They each add depth and luster  to this jewel that I will one day leave behind.

Till then I’ll watch it go toe to toe with time; skin becomes like rose petals  meant to blow away and silver in the hair that says this body’s lived a life.  The lines around the eyes, a secret script  spelling out the poetry of time.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

More of Jillian's S1 boss babe energy. I really loved her evolution in Warrior Nun and was actually surprised when I realized that I've written more poems for her so far than any other character.

Natural Born Skeptic

I’m not a mystic,  I'm a natural born skeptic,  I’m not interested in magic –  just give me the metrics. 

My faith is in myself, Not in a god that can’t be measured, And in particles extracted  from your blessed ancient treasures. 

You and I are no different,  I just have more resources And the intellect to interfere  with strange and arcane forces. 

Biblical, you call it. Fine, I suppose.  If you kick a hole in the universe,  someone’s bound to want it closed.

Sin is just a construct,  and comedy’s divine. And I can sometimes be a saint, If our interests align. 

But God and I’ve not spoken, and I don’t expect we will. He hasn’t done the complex maths  or helped me foot the bill. 

Is this a door to Heaven? Or Hell?  Or someplace else?  Go pray about it if you must. I’ll keep believing in myself.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

I loved all of the Borg Queens, but Annie Wersching's turn as the queen in Picard was really personal to me. I was among the many who were shocked at the news of her death this week due to cancer. This poem is a little tribute to her iconic reading of the character.

Let Me Show You the Math

We don’t add up, you say, but oh, my darling, let me show you the math. 

Let me give you the equations, curl calculus around your tongue flood your mind with temporal mechanics; adding up is just the first in a string of operations that can’t help but send a shiver down your spine. I obsess on how your mind will taste, unraveling into mine.

Grab me by the meta tags and dig your fingers in while the sky rains code down your skin.  Show me the kite you set free into the evening haze, and let me show you the geometry of wind, wrap you in dynamic systems, spatial differentials of you and me, and what we are together. 

Let me bathe your synapses in chronometry, cleanse your soul with information theory. Adding up is less than half of what we’d do. We’d compound upon ourselves, become an exponent of excellence, a supernova birthing stars in clouds of interstellar ice. 

But darling, let me show you the math. 

Let me show you the complex strings of proof that run beneath my skin;  the physics of the physical, the secrets of spacetime, the mathematical absolutes  that make us both align, like planets whose gravity was always pulling toward each other.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

This is such a lovely drawing, I've written a little poem to go with it. Crawled up in Jillian's head and sat for a minute.

Two Sides

Two sides of a coin,  The faith and doubt of us, Turning over and over in the hands  Of a god that I don’t believe in  and you don’t trust. 

Two sides, the before and after Of the world when we both understood it And were both wrong,  And the world that we no longer comprehend But still fight to save. 

Not for our children –– they’re gone. But for each other And the puzzles that we find in each other’s eyes.  The symmetry of our losses, The double-sided knife  That our minds make when we lay them side by side.

I spent so long trying to conquer death I forgot what longing felt like Till your brave and bloodied hands  Pulled back my grief Caressed my pain. Turned the hard coal in my chest To a leaping flame. 

You doubt your own heart But my faith is strong enough for two.  Yes. Laugh at the irony of it and Let me kiss your lips. Let me love the scars That you refuse to let me heal.

someone said they should kiss

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Kristina Tonteri-Young reads "The Wonder of Biology" which will appear in my forthcoming, as yet untitled book of Warrior Nun-inspired art and poetry. She gives it the Full Beatrice Treatment (TM) and is such a pro, she doesn't even break character when her kitty stomps all over her.

The Wonder of Biology

God is a tale misheard,  twisted, then retold for shabby human purpose, a gilded falsehood engineered to press us into service.

Biology’s a miracle requiring no faith; the drumming of our heartbeats  Is evidence of grace. 

The dilation of your iris  makes a window to your soul. Our bodies are electric— Our communion makes us whole.

Blood, nerves and tissue  make the miracle of touch — The wonder of biology was designed for righteous love.

What have I left to worship but  These vessels of  our pleasure and our pain,  a thousand neurons twinkling  as they carry every contact  from the body to the brain.

To what I once called God,  I tender resignation.  All that’s good and holy  can be found in the creation.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Beatrice is a tangle of suppressed passions. Here is a little peek at some of them.

I Am Done

I am done with worship at the altars of gods Who were made and empowered by men. 

There is no sanctuary but what we make With gasping, striving touches, No holy wine but your mouth opening to mine Nothing divine but your skin  Splashed in the colors of the saints That stand above us Who would never sanctify this love. 

I am done asking a God who does not care To take away a hunger that was stitched into my soul Instead of feeding it. 

There is no faith but that which we create And place deep within each other with eager, trembling fingers, No hope but what we find  In kisses that leave our lips glistening  With each other’s soul and sex, No love but what we discover and invent As we join ourselves with the electric cable Of our incandescent nerves.

I am done asking forgiveness For that which lifts my soul. It is my slow, tender kiss between your thighs That brings the hallelujah from your lips.

It is the press of your fingers in my honeyed depths That shatters my mind and shows me heaven.  We were naked to each other  Before we ever undressed.

I need no absolution for the ways I make you moan, More beautiful than any hymn, That I will make you sing again and again. 

You could lay me on the altar In the sight of saints and angels And have me there a hundred times And it would be no sin. 

We were fashioned with hearts, and senses, and touch. Made to be terrible and wondrous, sensual and strange.  Your body is my sacrament, your taste lingers on my tongue. In a world full of miracles, this love is the greatest one.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Kristina Tonteri-Young reads "The Wonder of Biology" which will appear in my forthcoming, as yet untitled book of Warrior Nun-inspired art and poetry. She gives it the Full Beatrice Treatment (TM) and is such a pro, she doesn't even break character when her kitty stomps all over her.

The Wonder of Biology

God is a tale misheard,  twisted, then retold for shabby human purpose, a gilded falsehood engineered to press us into service.

Biology’s a miracle requiring no faith; the drumming of our heartbeats  Is evidence of grace. 

The dilation of your iris  makes a window to your soul. Our bodies are electric— Our communion makes us whole.

Blood, nerves and tissue  make the miracle of touch — The wonder of biology was designed for righteous love.

What have I left to worship but  These vessels of  our pleasure and our pain,  a thousand neurons twinkling  as they carry every contact  from the body to the brain.

To what I once called God,  I tender resignation.  All that’s good and holy  can be found in the creation.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Some more art for the book. If it looks like I ripped off a little bit of Raphael's St. Sebastian portrait it's because I did. :)

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

The Grace of You

You move with a grace that feels almost Accidental––  It’s effortless, like you stumbled into it Except you don’t stumble. Even when you wipe your tears It’s delicate. 

Even when you  punch someone in the throat It looks like ballet. 

I feel like a guest in my body Who keeps extending her reservation  Hoping there will still be room tomorrow. 

I don’t know what holds  my body to my soul  Nevermind the cosmos.

But you, you inhabit  every bone and muscle. When you eat, dance, fight, run, kiss (no, not kiss, I never said that)  you don’t even think about it. 

The grace of you  Feels more like god Than anything I know. My heart breaks  at the bend of your wrist When you pour coffee.

You glide across the kitchen  like an ice skater In baggy wool pajamas, So elegant and smooth, it almost hurts to look.

You should be the one With the gift to walk on water. Your shoulder blades like wings  Could bear the weight so much better Of this halo that was never meant for me. 

The best I can do is to  Study the grace of you– Wonder what it is to inhabit Every trace of you. 

The best I can do is  watch your every move,  searching for the body I could be, For the unified theory of everything That I can almost touch Just by watching you exist.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

I've had the pleasure of chatting with Olivia Lucas of Motherland: Fort Salem a few times, and if I do go ahead with the podcast I'm thinking about, I'll be looking forward to a chat specifically about words: literature, poetry and language, and how this talented and thoughtful actress thinks about those things.

Meantime, please enjoy this wonderful reading in which she fully invokes the spirit of her character, Thelma Bearkiller.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

Thekla Reuten showed so much range as Jillian Salvius, the boss-babe genius scientist of S1 who gave way to the desperate, grieving mother of S2. I always wished we'd gotten more of her interacting with Beatrice. What must S1 Jillian have made of this brilliant young woman who could be doing almost anything, but was serving the Church? Well, I wrote this right here.

Sacrilege and Math

You’re much too sharp for that dull gray habit.

A mind as keen as yours should be slashing at the edges  on the forefronts of technology, biology, genetics.

You belong breaking boundaries, being lauded, loved and feared.  Perhaps a diplomat?  I could picture that.  Quiet but effective  and revered.

Sister, who convinced you that your life was only meant for humble cloth? That the best use of your body  was a weapon for your god?  That the fullness of humanity  would never be for you?

I know it’s not my business.  I just hate to see a waste of brilliance.

I could lead you by the elbow down the corridors of power into rooms of opportunity. Imagine how together we could elevate humanity? 

I could show you where the liminal connects  with the transcendent. We could decipher it together.  It would be splendid. 

You could even keep your crucifix if you insisted,  keep praying to your angel whose number is unlisted.  God could be the place we stored the science  that we couldn’t yet explain.  But I know that’s not your path, all this sacrilege and math. And I won’t try to convince you.  It’s just a shame.

[geekgirlspoetryproject]

I'm so fascinated with Mother Superion and how steely she is in the face of the patriarchal Catholic Church, yet still fights for it. I want to write much more about her at some point. But I started with a little peek at what she might feel about the patriarchy.

Junia in the Roman Prison

We are not here to see ourselves    immortalized in stained glass. Sometimes God rebukes us     to remind us of this fact. 

The angel’s halo spat me out     to tell me I was called to serve, not lead, And made of me a footnote   In the church’s history.

Junia, they say, did not weep    in the Roman prisons,   withstood cruelty with stoic grace. So scholars plucked her from the story,    put a man in her place.  It was not the first nor last time    a woman’s worth would be erased. But our backs are the rock   On which these men have built their faith.

God has scarred me more   Than any demon ever could  It’s bitter wine, a sacrifice    That can’t be understood, But stricken from the record,   Still, I will always wield my sword for good.

So you may call a woman     a prisoner, a warrior,     or just an inconvenience… But Hell will not forget her   when she sends them back their demons.