writing/reading

last weekend i attended my first writing conference. one of the keynote speakers, andre dubus III, said in his afternoon lecture, that when we read a book, what we're looking for is to find a part of ourselves, "give me, me", he said.
if this is truly the case, and it must hold some truth, otherwise i would not have bothered to write it down, then which characters are me within the stories i enjoy reading: anita blake? merry gentry? hunter kiss? janelle angelline? vicki nelson? lt. torr?
and before now: the children of v.c andrews, the various victims of dean koontz, emily dickinson, the worlds of edgar allen poe.
the stories and characters i read then were about victims and being victimized, helpless to fight back with little to no chance of taking charge in a world gone mad.
the stories i read now are about being a heroine, taking charge of your life and the lives of those you care about.
anita blake is no one's victim.
merry gentry is no one's victim.
hunter kiss is no one's victim.
janelle angelline is no one's victim.
vicki nelson is no one's victim.
lt. torr is no one's victim.
this doesn't mean that none of these characters have been victimized, it just means that they've lived to tell the tale, and they are stronger now than they were before, and they are able to protect themselves and those around them from anything like what they've experienced from happening again.
these women are nobody's victim and neither am i.

page 271 of my memoir

He’s worn this same jacket since we were in high school. It’s an army surplus, which I just recently found out was from the Vietnam war. I always wondered why he chose to buy fatigues of any kind, since he’s always been dead set against war and did not even bother registering to vote for years due to his fear of being drafted, but I do remember a night when I wore the camo pants that matched them, which means at some point, he went out and bought the set of them.

My only guess as to their purpose would be that he bought them for paintball, and now that I think about it, where did his paintball gun disappear to? Did he sell it before he went cross-country? or before we moved in together? It never did appear in the apartment we shared together in Gardner, so it must have been sold soon after his return from California. Maybe he never owned a paintball gun? Maybe he rented it? I never thought much about where the gun came from until now. Isn’t it funny how you can know something for years, but when you sit and think about it for a minute it becomes a mystery so elusive your mind cannot possibly solve it?

And how about that apartment in Gardner, huh?

It was an attic apartment with slanting ceilings, a gas stove for heat and walls so thin that we could hear our neighbor’s kitten crying for hours and hours on end because no one was there, but we were there, and more than once I thought about breaking into that neighbor’s apartment and keeping the kitten company. However, every time I mentioned it he would tell me, absolutely do not do that, and for some reason I actually listened to him. It didn’t always happen, me listening to him I mean. There were many times when he disagreed with me and I went ahead and did it anyway, some of those times it was for the better, some of those times for the worst, but always, whatever my choice was, he accepted it. It didn’t mean he liked it, or even that eventually he approved of the decision, but he did accept it and we moved on, and this is how we’ve managed to span close to half of our lives together.

I do crazy, slightly insane things, like insist on going to a weekly writing workshop, and he accepts it, just as if normal people do this all the time, but whether he tells me directly, or just eludes to it, I know he knows that this is not normal, that I am not normal, and again he just accepts it for what it is, and only occasionally will I hear him say, ‘freak’, to which I reply, ‘you’re the one that married me’.

Just recently, he’s been replying to my reply: ‘what choice did I have?’

To which I say, 'you could've stayed in California'

16 at 16

… the number 16 haunts my thoughts …

… 16 ways to do this …

… 16 ways to do that …

… 16 years ago i was 16 …

… sweet 16 …

… 16 candles …

… 16 years old …

… 16 years young …

… 16 years + 16 years = 32 years …

… 16 years ago i was 16 years old and i wore a size 16 …

… 16 years later and i’m back to a size 16 …

… what is it about the number 16 that is so intriguing? …

… why can’t i think of 16 things to say about 16? …

… 16 – 1 = 15 …

… 16 – 2 = 14 …

… 16 – 3 = 13 …

ah, lucky 13! i did it!

16 things about 16!

the muse is not happy

my muse is tired of beating me over the head with words.

she sits in her darkened corner, waiting for me to shine a light upon her, but at this moment she’s almost resigned to her place, she can tell that now is not the best time to make herself known and yet, i can see her tapping her foot to a rhythm that can no longer find its rhyme, i can see her fingers twitching every time i turn on my computer, and she heaves a great sigh of derision when i go on-line instead of powering up microsoft word.

she looks at me in mild astonishment, and her silent thoughts come as clearly to my mind as if she had shouted them: ‘what the hell are you doing?! nobody cares what you’re making for dinner! get the fuck off facebook and work on the damn story!'

it's possible that she wouldn't be so upset if i hadn't promised her that i'd be hers for the past week and a half. at the time my intentions were clear, and at one point my thoughts were in the right place, i even thought to myself: for the next two weeks i am the muse's bitch. i will do exactly what she says, when she says, and when she tells me to go jump off of a bridge, my only reply will be: which one?

sadly, regrettably, these days have not gone as planned. i am not finding new and interesting ways to connect scenes, create flawless plot lines, or build stronger characters. i am, however, finding new and interesting ways to bemoan our new status quo, flawlessly building wall upon wall of fault lines that can tumble into meaningless rubble by a mere glance or even a stray comment, and the only strength i can find within this time is that these events are building me into a stronger character. but i do wonder, not for the first time, do i need to be stronger? haven't i gone through enough? you mean there's more shit i need to shovel? damn-it! i thought i was done with this crap!

"it's been a pleasure doing business with you"

this is the last time i mix business with pleasure. the end result could have been determined within seconds of coming to terms with the situation, and yet, somehow, i have found myself within this space. the business does not get done in the allotted time necessary to hold anything together, and the personal aspects have left much to be desired, the associations and confusions brought on by this continual engagement have warranted knowledgeable dissent and catered to the least common denominator resulting in gross approximations of reasonable doubt inherent in the proclamations of advisable conduct present in mixed company, as well as outlandishness in the worst possible circumstances, thus it has been determined that in order to restore desirable conduct you must repudiate your previous associations in order to form appropriate and current proclamations and proclivities of the heart, body, mind and soul.

weights & measures of worth

for years i have been measured in the eyes of others and it is only recently that i have tipped the scales, weighted the balance to my advantage, and suddenly i find myself on the opposite side of the spectrum. no longer am i bothered by the glances of quick evaluation, no longer am i plagued by the measure others give me, no longer do i let their thoughts consume my mind.
that's not to say i do not notice, not even to say i do not feel the sharp pain of ridicule, but i now brush it aside because i know something that they do not.
it's my secret to keep, or it's my secret to tell.
i know what i am worth and on my own scale i am weighing less than i have in years, and this time, since i am actually eating food and maintaining this balance of my weight and size, then that's all that i need to keep in mind as those around me put me onto their scale of weight and measure.