Whip Me Baby One More Time.

Final research for Scissor Me Timbers has been beating me down. 🫦

Scissor Me Timbers is officially at the 75% mark, having hit the 50k word count! This thicc lil mama is shaping up to be another girthy one, about the same size as Gig of the Damned. Serving just as much p***y realness, but with a sloppy, unholy kiss. This is shaping up to be my MOST punk Splatterpunk title to date. I am going for the Catholic church’s jugular with this one & I won’t be asking for forgiveness after.

In the last few weeks I’ve read “The Nuns of Sant’ Ambrogio: The True Story of a Convent in Scandal” and “Lesbian Nuns: Breaking Silence.” TNOSO:TTSOACIS is about a convent in the 1800’s that was under scrutiny for its Mother Superior allegedly sleeping with all her novitiates/the clergy & claiming it was the work of the devil. LN:BS is a collection of essays from 50 lesbian nuns/ex-nuns & the trials/tribulations they had to go through during their time in convents.

Both books have been helpful in bringing my characters to life and also injecting the underlying issues that they have been dealing with like the uncertain commitment they are taking on while also dealing with basic human urges/emotions. The Lesbian Nuns book is especially helpful in reading the treatment they were given and how much the church fought to keep them “quiet” about themselves, no matter what. An issue that is rampant in the heteronormative world that most catholics/recovering catholics feel. So trust and believe, I am pulling no punches. I am getting my licks in for my time resisting indoctrination & then some.

So back to the fun stuff, all the research I’ve been doing on the “discipline” my Mother Superior is putting herself through in order to have her prayers answered. I did a lot of research on the flagellants, who were a real order of the church that believed the more pain they inflicted on themselves IRL, the less they would suffer in the afterlife aka keep them from going to hell. I won’t give an opinion on the sensibilities back then, but I will say that this was also during the times where civilians thought rubbing dead pigeon parts on themselves would prevent them from catching the plague sooo…

We all know the typical scene of the priest flogging themselves, which many Flagellants did, but they also went out of their way to cause themselves daily pain in EVERYTHING they did. Including wearing hair shirts, keeping sharpened wire rigs beneath their clothes, and keeping sharp stones in their shoes. Real mentally stable, normal healthy things that someone who was not an actual religious fanatic would do.

So a younger Mother Superior stumbles upon the origins of her Penitence Room. Aware of how much blood was shed and how many prayers had been answered there because of it. She realizes her prayers have never been answered because she was mailing blank envelopes to Heaven. In her mind, the only way to get her prayers to her God directly was with bodily sacrifices & a bloody stamp.

Her slow steps scraped on the stone steps, her face one of dejected contemplation. She entered her room, not bothering to flick her light switch on before she shut her door. The laughter above her didn’t seem to be dying down, adding insult to her collection of mental injuries. She stripped off her soiled habit and knelt down on the rough concrete in tears. Each bit of gravel bore into her knees as she prayed. The sensation helped drown out the noise upstairs as well as the noise in her head. She lost count of how many Our Father’s she had recited, before she blinked a new idea into fruition. The Lord simply wasn’t hearing her prayers. Maybe he’s never even heard her voice before. Was she even worthy enough to have his ear? In the pitch black, a divine force lead her hand to the segments of knotted rope hanging from her wall.

Its purpose registering to her as she gripped the weathered handles and felt the gnarled ends graze her bare legs. It was as if some supreme presence was guiding her. Telling her to take that anger; take that sadness; take that sin; offer it up to a higher power; suffer as He did; join in his suffering; watch the sin leave her body in the form of her blood. Each lash against her skin. Each trickle of her life-force offered up to a now attentive God.

That night was the first night of Sarah’s life that she felt like she was truly heard. Having her heart ripped in two. Her delicate flesh parted and finally breathing for the first time. Her body wept so she would no longer have to. Pain was the answer. Pain was her salvation. Pain was the only thing that was going to make a change. It was the only way for her to right the wrong in her life. Right what was wrong in this monastery. Right what was wrong in this world. Blood was the key. Her new vows were written in thick, incarnadine ink. The more she offered, the more she would be heard. She had so much to ask for, but would she have enough to give?

So when our womanizing lumberjack falls in their convent, our lil’ Lilith disrupts a lot more than just their daily prayer. Now Mother Superior’s dormant & forgotten urges are being awakened. Old wounds are ripped open. This miracle that fell from the sky is a sinister presence that threatens everything she holds dear. Will she be able to pluck out the eye that doth offend her? Will she be able to sever the hand that causes her to sin? Or is the root of the sin where her slices should begin?

Passive-aggressively Yours,

Phrique