“Orpheus never got the memo that loss is a ticket to resilience, not some sewer of revenge in which to wallow, marinating selfish, hellbent purpose for centuries on end.” GriefRevengeMythologyOrpheusEurydice Book:The Power of Amie Martine Source: The Power of Amie Martine
“The sensuality of her grief, thawing. Her power coming into focus, still so chaotic inside her. I love the way she splurged on this hedonistic indulgence: a public cascade of tears. Not sobbing, not beaten, just allowing the ocean inside to surge and be visible, palpable, wet.” GriefEmotionsInner StrengthCryingCenteringRelease The PastAmie MartinePublic Display Of Emotion Book:The Look of Amie Martine Source: The Look of Amie Martine
“The scene is grim, a dank corridor rising out of Elysium, back to human climes and textures. I feel the man sensing what he’s done and the catastrophic change in the air around him. Grief as swift as a blade that cuts the cord of your innocence but leaves you stranded, still alive and pulsing while she stays stuck in death. Or did she? Now I’m chasing down Eurydice as she disappears into that tunnel. The story of Orpheus no longer interests me; I’ve been there, done that. What I want to know is how she took it, what she wanted to happen in that moment.” ChoicesLossGriefRegretResilienceTunnelAmie MartineOrpheus And Eurydice Book:The Look of Amie Martine Source: The Look of Amie Martine
“At the last minute, he broke the rule and he looked. He was so rapt in his view of the light at the end of the tunnel, he got excited, tuned up, he got crazy nervous and for a second he wavered in his confidence and he looked! To confirm or affirm or just firm up,’ students laughing ‘his manly love for her and in that motion of divine stupidity, he killed her dead forever with a glance. Hades ripped her back into his den and that was, proverbially, that.’ A girl across from me says bitterly, ‘No second, second chance for Orpheus.’ ‘He was fucked,’ D continues, nodding. ‘Not because the gods were heartless, but because he fucked up. The guilt of that. Can you imagine? Spent the rest of his pathetic days wallowing, lamenting, composing (or was it decomposing?) heartbreaking tunes upon his lyre, dissolving in grief and music and art, never being the least bit happy or lovable. The saddest sap of all. How do we tell a story like that without being sappy? Oh woe! How do we shape into lines our most harrowing mistakes and losses without drenching them in sticky poetic sap?” PoetryGriefMusicRegretMythologyMistakesCreative WritingHadesNo Turning BackOrpheus Book:The Look of Amie Martine Source: The Look of Amie Martine