Women in Fiction

Has anyone else had this week?

Starting with Mother’s Day last Sunday, and my realisation about the lifelong impact of The X-Files on my life (see previous post), the week has been a very feminine and fictional one. Tuesday was International Women’s Day 2016. I opened my tablet to 10.13am again, and just got the screencap as I had before. After The X-Files, Xena: Warrior Princess was my next teenage show. It was the only image of actresses I saw on social media that day. Sneak in an overnight eclipse. Skip forward another two days, and it’s an anniversary of the start of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Guess what? Another show with a female lead that I watched as a teenager. Another two days, and I’m in London for a conference about synchronicity. The actress who played the lead female in the Harry Potter films is on the front cover of the event magazine.


The conference (Hay House Ignite) opened with the lovely thought that whatever scares us the most is what we’re here to do. It followed with the suggestion about asking our dreams for guidance on our career choices. It middled at the idea that just because someone is already doing something, doesn’t mean there isn’t room for you too. It ended with the story of a woman who had a CAT scan for cancer and got whacked in the forehead by a massive bee that then died on the hospital floor. The bee for her was a wake up call about enjoying life rather than life happening to you.

I was perturbed at this woman’s real story, as I had that as a dream many years ago. The time I had the dream, I thought it was an amalgamation of Scully having cancer and bees from the Fight the Future film.

The woman’s name? Kris Carr. Anyone else putting -ter on the phonetics?

My cat woke me up in the night, as she normally does, to be settled into her food bowl. There are draught excluding blankets that we hang over the landing bannister and I often bump into them as I settle my cat. It doesn’t matter if I nudge them as they don’t reach the wind chimes. The dream she had woken me from involved imploring Gillian Anderson and Chris Carter to make Scully immortal, the former by standing by her performance, and the latter by removing his patriarchal control of his creation now it had it’s own life. To the sounds of my cat munching, I idly thought “Hey, wouldn’t it be cool if show creators listened to their fans rather than seeing them as rabid nutters.” The blankets wafted. The wind chimes jingled.

I didn’t go back to sleep after that. With my previous post, someone suggested I share it with the actors as a thank you, and I was terrified. After a few minutes of “I can’t do that!”, I shut my mind down and let my intuition hit the link button. I have this feeling that the season finale of The X-Files tomorrow is going to inspire another post, and another link. Hopefully I won’t be as hesitant to save something I love. The X-Files was there for me as a teenager. Maybe it’s time for me to be there for The X-Files.



About templedragon

I'm fabulous. You're fabulous. We're all fabulous.
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