The Vial

Sometimes he wished it was just a bit more difficult.

Looking in the mirror he contemplated both the night ahead of him and the head in front of him. It had been a good decision to shave everything off, he thought. The clean-shaven head and goatee made him look meaner, and he’d realized a while back that most girls thought the meaner a man looked, the more protection he offered. Girls’ errors in judgment were not his problem though. In fact, you could say that girls’ errors in judgment were his stock in trade.

He grabbed his toothbrush and set the timer for three minutes. While scrubbing viciously on his teeth he planned his movements. He knew which bars he was hitting first, and he knew where he’d probably end his evening. Any good thing that happened in between was just gravy. Last week had been very special and he was still riding that high.

He’d been nervous at first, the cute little blond looked so far out of his league he’d felt like he was batting for his nephew’s tee ball team. But then she’d seen him looking and she’d looked back, and he’d known he had a shot. He’d left that one crumpled in the last stall on the left in the bar’s dimly-lit bathroom. If she’d been conscious he was sure she’d have been smiling. She wouldn’t remember anything that happened, of course. She certainly wouldn’t remember him. He could probably walk up to her tonight and chat her up all over again. But then again, he doubted she’d be out this weekend. She was probably resting up.

Teeth clean and sparkling white and, according to the toothpaste tube, he was now graced with breath as fresh as an alpine breeze. How fresh was an alpine breeze anyway? Fresher than a mountain spring? Fresher than polar ice? He bet that polar ice got pretty rank from time to time; say if someone had just clubbed a baby seal to death on it, or a penguin took a big shit. That wouldn’t be too fresh.  His breath was as fresh as just-brushed motherfucking teeth, he decided, and wondered if he’d missed his calling for writing ad copy.

He walked to the bedroom and contemplated his wardrobe. Not great. Things were looking a tad sparse. He took a clean black shirt out of its plastic wrapping and threw the bag to the floor of the closet, adding to the growing pile. Maybe he needed to go shopping, buy some new gear. He hated shopping though. What he really needed was a girl to go shopping with him, or maybe for him. He was crap at picking out things to wear, absolute crap. That wasn’t a straight guy’s forte though, was it? Dressing himself? Nah.

Now… wallet? Check. Keys? Check. Abundant cash? Check. Vial of what amounted to pure liquid love? That’s a big fat check right there, hombre.

Life before this little glass vial had been… problematic. Difficult. Never knowing how the night would end. Standing around uncomfortable, awkward, wearing a dorky outfit and a goofy grin as often as not. Now, life was easy, certain, sure. Every weekend he met the most extraordinary women, and they loved him so intensely he thought sometimes he’d die of it. Relaxed, comfortable women who were kind and smelled good and smiled gently at him through bleary, tear-filled eyes. He’d get them away from their pesky friends, he’d get a little privacy and then he’d… well, gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell, did they?

He climbed into his car and thought back to his first clumsy attempt at the routine that was now slick and glossy. Miranda. He pressed the middle syllable of her name against the roof of his mouth. Mi-raaaan-dah. She’d actually pulled a knife on him. Slurring, she called him a fucking creep and had fled behind the bar, where the bartender started giving him nasty looks as he listened to her story. He stayed well clear of that bar now. He stayed well clear of girls like Miranda, who looked like they knew what was up. He targeted the lonely, the out of place, the girls who looked persuadable. The girls whose friends weren’t paying attention, the girls who weren’t sure what bar they were in, or what neighborhood. Adding to their confusion hardly seemed a sin.

Swinging his car into the parking lot he smiled and checked his teeth in the mirror. White and gleaming, breath still minty-fucking-fresh. He was ready for another night out on the town.

The Grand Conspiracy

A few months ago, some of the local St. Louisans I’ve met via Twitter told me about a project of theirs, known as The Grand Conspiracy*. Since they’re almost all artists and writers—and many are both—they wanted a collective place/way to share their work.

The Conspiracy was apparently originally conceived as a one-sheet of short fiction and artwork to be distributed in local bars and shops.  Since then the project has morphed into an electronic one, centered around a collectively updated blog, with a print version to eventually be taken from the best of its posts. The other Conspirators kindly invited me to play along, and I was really happy to accept. It’s much easier to write when you have an intended outlet in mind, and it’s easier to keep to a deadline if you know someone else is depending on you to do so.

Of course, people and their schedules being what they are, the blog has taken quite some time to get off the ground, but I am excited to announce that we’ve got our collective asses in gear, and will begin (hopefully daily) posting at The Grand Conspiracy today!

As luck would have it, Thursdays are my posting day, so there’s a new piece of mine “Make Your Selection” up now. I’d love for you to have a look and let me know what you think of the blog overall, and of course any critiques of my work are always welcome.

(I mean, I am not saying I won’t punch you in the face for daring to dislike my writing, but I certainly welcome the opportunity to punch you in the face.)

Anyway, have a look, add it to your feed reader, check it every day. If I know these people at all, there will be some stellar work there for your edification and delight.

*For those of you who are not St. Louis natives, this name refers to the the street, South Grand, where all our favorite bars are located. Not that this is a group which centers itself on drinking at all. *ahem*

Make Your Selection

The aisles of the store were wide and bright and it didn’t matter how it was outside, in here it was cool and clean and always the same. She pushed her cart down the wide, bright aisles and looked intently at this and that, wondering if anyone was noticing, judging her for the things she perused. Perhaps someone was judging in a quiet, unobtrusive way. It was hard to say.

“Who does she think she is?”

Maybe she should select something less expensive, so as not to seem pretentious. Or maybe something more expensive, to show them she didn’t care what they thought. Whoever they were.

She wandered over to look at other things, the kinds of things no one really needed, and she selected several of them. It wouldn’t do to go to the checkout with a meagerly stocked cart. Not at all. As she rolled the cart down the aisle she marveled at how large it was. It seemed as if when she was younger, carts were not so large. Perhaps it was a marketing ploy to make her purchases seem smaller, to make herself seem smaller. She wondered if anyone noticed how small she looked in comparison to the giant cart, and whether it was slightly ridiculous.

“There’s lots of room for you on the bandwagon.”

Quietly she smiled to herself, wise to their tricks.

She wondered if anyone noticed her selectivity as she shopped, her style and taste. Did they notice how the things she was buying seemed to flow together into her big red cart? How they painted a picture of her tidy, structured life? Looking at her purchases, anyone could see that everything here was perfectly managed and under control. Her manner of living was obviously one to be emulated. Worthy of their covert attention and grudging respect. She was sure they noticed that, at least.

She wheeled the giant cart to the rows of registers and paid for her things. The cashier seemed unimpressed with the quality of her purchases, ringing them up in a quite haphazard fashion. The cashier seemed sleepy and bored, truthfully. The cashier seemed not to notice anything important.

She went to her car and packed her bags neatly away in the back seat. The orderly way in which she arranged them ensured everything would arrive home safely. Of course it was then that someone finally noticed and appreciated her extremely good style and taste, her attention to detail. He had a knife and some silver tape, and he stood in the shadows where it was quiet and dark.

“It’s wonderful to meet you.”

He wielded the knife with precision. Quite gracefully, in fact. If anyone had noticed they surely would have admired his skill. And it didn’t matter how it was inside, out here it was hot and red and always the same.

Sunday Evenings

Days like this seem to contain all that same vast emptiness of fall Sundays before school would begin again on the Monday. That loneliness – the hollow, aching sickness of knowing that no matter how beautiful and calm things were just then, something bad was coming. And of course things weren’t beautiful and calm – not really. Sunday evenings were torture in my house, and even if he wasn’t home, or hadn’t started drinking yet, we knew what lay in wait for us. I think now that he must have had the same sickness of knowing that I have on Sundays. That he passed it on to me in lieu of a love of drinking. That he dreaded the work day, the week to come and he drank and destroyed us inadvertently. Just the collateral damage caused by the way we make ourselves live in the world. He was a victim, and we were double victims, and now I victimize myself by falling prey to the doldrums on these beautiful days. The beauty only passing, the week coming sure and slow and steady, creeping up to sink its teeth into my soul.

Protected: Conversations with Lune

Birdmad Girl

This girl has got a smile that can make me cry.

She flies outside this cage
Singing girl-mad words
I keep her dark thoughts deep inside
As black as stone
And mad as birds

This is based on the main character of my second NaNo novel, and the photography I did last week in Benton Park.

Had to do a little day-to-night action on the BG photo, but I am very pleased with it. Click here for full size (it’s worth it, much better at 1200px wide)

Also at Rendo for those who hang there.

So what have you learned, Dorothy?

So NaNo is over for another year. At the risk of sounding overly proud of myself (I am!) or preachy (I’m not!) this whole post is about lessons learned during this process and personal growth and stuff, so be warned.

During the process of NaNoWriMo, you learn a lot. You obviously learn about your own novel and you learn about writing in general, but you also learn a lot about yourself – as a person and a writer. What you’re capable of, your best working patterns, your hidden feelings about things which suddenly become glaringly obvious when they’re words on a screen instead of amorphous attitudes floating around in your head.

So first, you learn about these bizarre characters you have created, and what they’re up to. You learn how they talk to each other and how their world works. Some of it feels like it’s under your control, but a lot of it feels like it really isn’t. I honestly don’t know that I make things the way they are in my writing, they just are that way and I chronicle them.

Last year I had what I thought was a much stronger basis for my first novel: a cool original character, a universe to put her in, some antagonists for her to deal with, some things for her to figure out. This year I had no earthly idea what I was going to be doing, I only knew who my main character was. For a while I was sure that there wasn’t even a story there. I didn’t know what the hell this chick was doing in town. When I finally figured out why she was here I was as surprised as anyone else might have been. Continue reading »

Wait, did I miss November somehow?

I can’t believe how this month has passed. All in a hazy swirl of neon lights and a big fat cloud of cigarette smoke. It’s been all words, drinks and drama. It was October when Jake originally got sick, because I was home for Halloween, remember? How is it possible that I’ve been compulsively checking him for red spots for more than a month? He seems to be doing well on these medications, and I will take him in soon for more blood work. Not too soon, though. I am tired of them jabbing him.

I took off every Friday in November to give me more time to get my NaNo book written, and it really helped. I finished NaNo a day early, and will post more on that later. It was amazing, and I can’t believe I did it. So I am glad I took the time off. I also needed this break from work, and I needed to be able to look forward to not being in the office one day a week. This month it has seemed more like work is just something I have to do sometimes rather than the All Encompassing, Never Ending Badness That Rules My Waking World.

And now it’s December. Well, tomorrow it will be. Holidays, festivity, snow. I have to work THREE WHOLE WEEKS in a row with no days off except weekends! Eeek! But then I get a nice chunk of time off work, almost two full weeks. So that’s much to look forward to.

The house… well, I am continually challenged by the perils of home ownership. This time coming to me in the form of a malfunctioning water heater. I loathe dealing with things like this. The interminable phone calls, the arguing with people who don’t speak English, the waiting for repair people, the phone calls back to India, the arguing, the realizing it’s still not working even though the guy just left and swore it was fine. The having to shower at your friend’s place. The feeling that if only you were somewhat smarter you could sort this out. The feeling that you’re the only person in the wold this kind of thing happens to.  Bah to all of it. And when this gets sorted out it’s just going to be something else, some other broken down malfunctioning thing. It wears on me, wears me out. I am trying to just breathe deeply and deal with it as it happens, but it’s hard.

One day I am going to learn to roll with the punches, but you know better than to think today’s that day.

Anyway, that’s all for this month. I blinked and I missed it. But if I recall correctly, it was a lot of fun.

Gearing Up for a Lazy Saturday

We’re coming down the home stretch of NaNo, and I feel pretty comfortable with where I am. About 33k words. I hope to have 40k in by the end of the weekend, which shouldn’t be too hard to do. I have cleverly arranged things so that I don’t have to leave the house today if I don’t want to, so I should be able to get some decent work done.

Had to take Jake back to the vet yesterday, it was almost time for his bloodwork and I noticed some spots on his stomach that I suspected might be petechia again. It’s hard to tell because they’re basically just red dots & blotches, so any scrape he gets might look like that. The vet said better safe than sorry, given the condition he’s got, so they went ahead and moved his bloodwork up by a few days. Called this morning and his white blood cells and platelets are slightly elevated. This is actually good, because it must mean that his body is making some of its own platelets by now. I am still waiting for the results of the clotting factor test, but since these marks on his stomach haven’t spread I am hopeful that they’re just scrapes or something.

Anyway, that’s all for me. I am still waiting on news from MyTodd™ about some kind of fracas at his after-hours last night. Apparently there was an ambulance involved. I am glad I went home straight from the bar, his after-hours parties scare me.

Looking forward to NaNo being done and really doing a lot of reading in December. Instead of writing goals, I think I may set myself reading goals next month. People have suggested a lot of their favorite 1st person works of fiction to me, but if you have more please shoot them my way.

In the Mouth of NaNoWriMo Madness

So not much to say, or time to say it. I took these pictures of Jakester tonight. As a result of my spoiling him he’s become uber-clingy and wants to be held all the time. Or stuck in my sports bra to kind of lounge across my chest in the mornings. Anyway, they’re blurry and badly lit and I really like them anyway.

Really Random, Because My Brain Refuses to Work

Snagged this screen cap from a video my cousin made a while ago. This is me with my brother and two of my cousins. I don’t remember where we were, or why we’re posing in a covered wagon, but what I think is interesting is how we’re posing.

Observe my younger cousin on the left side of the image, looking at the camera. Observe my older cousin on the right side of the image, looking at the camera. Observe me and my brother in the middle, not only not looking at the camera, but not even being distracted in the same direction. There’s some kind of grander statement about our personalities there, but I don’t have the brainpower to make it right now.

Also, I think my NaNoWriMo book might be about an entirely different character than I intended. Which is weird, but also how it’s forming itself as I ponder it.

That’s it for Thurssday randomosity for now.

Oh lord, it’s so hard
it’s so hard when you’re living in the devil’s playground
in the devil’s playground

There’s some man that is starting a war and I feel like we’re knocking on heaven’s door
You better let me in
I wanna get in

Gram Rabbit – Devil’s Playground

NaNoWriMo – To Write or not to Write?

I posted this over in the forums at NaNoWriMo HQ, but I’d love the opinions of those of you who read my blog as well. You’re all creative types. What do you think?

Last year was my first year participating in NaNoWriMo. I had a crazy-insane wild ride and I did win by getting to 50k words. I got the complete structure of my novel down so I have a beginning, middle and end to my story, I just needed to do more research and rewrites. (“Just” probably needs to be in quotes there.)

Right after November I had a major trauma at work, broke a bone, got really sick and then proceeded to have an utterly crap year. Last year’s novel is therefore not completed. I am still working on it whenever I can. I understand that this is not National Novel Editing Month, so I shouldn’t use it to work on an old piece.

I’d always planned a sequel to last year’s story. That was bopping around in my head even as the first book took shape, so I am considering writing that this year – but I hesitate because last year’s novel isn’t finished and shiny-pretty with a beautiful bow on top. Since I am new to this, I need advice.

On the one hand, writing the sequel may help me to refine the original. On the other hand… what? Will writing something new before the old thing is totally put to bed destroy the creative process on the first piece? I have a situation this year in which I can take significant time off work to devote to writing in November, and I hate to pass up a year of participation just because I haven’t finalized my last work.

So, for those of you who’ve been doing this for a while, what is the best course of action? To write or not to write?

Dirtiest Mad Lib Plath Poem

moist button’s moist button

“I lick my buttons and all the button licks button;
I lick my buttons and all is lick again.
(I lick I lick you up inside my button.)

The buttons go licking out in moist and moist,
And moist button licks in:
I lick my button and all the button licks button.

I licked that you licked me into button
And lick me moist, licked me quite moist.
(I lick I lick you up inside my button.)

button licks from the button, button’s buttons lick:
lick button and button’s button:
I lick my button and all the button licks button.

I licked you’d lick the way you lick,
But I lick moist and I lick your button.
(I lick I lick you up inside my button.)

I should have licked a button instead;
At least when button licks they lick back again.
I lick my button and all the button licks button.

(I lick I lick you up inside my button.)

- Susan & Sylvia Plath

Create Your Own Madlib on LanguageIsAVirus.com

Langauge is a Virus – Poetry Generator

Poetry Generator

Was reading last year’s October posts and found this. Still just as good this year. Even better maybe.

All angry over the spirits

All angry under the bullshit
I cavort with dazzling spells among the clouds
Be aware! The sin was good
So sensuous within the fire
We sense luminous vapors before the fire
Awaken, awaken! The passion must continue
All angry over the spirits
You expel yellow flames among the ground
Heavy! The birth has died
translucent thirsty
across the water
empty hands
How many times
the foreigner
come singing
before help could come

Sunday Feeling on Monday

Despite a pretty robust (3/4) lifescore today, and (what is for me) hyper-sociability for the last three days, I am still pretty melancholy today, without really knowing why. I’ve been around people, I’ve been to parties, I’ve been to bars, I’ve been writing, I’ve got laundry done and dishes done and house clean. I don’t know what my fecking problem is, really.

I can say that the editing and revision of a novel is much more tedious and time-consuming than the actual first-draft writing of a novel. Very stop and go, very “crap, does that make any sense with what I said three chapters before?” and stuff like that.

What’s funny is that as I was writing the first draft I made little notes to myself, “research blah-blah, look up the date that such and such happened, find out about xyz” Well today, sitting at the gelateria and writing with Todd doing homework next to me I ran into a psychiatric/medical question that I had noted “ask Todd the correct psych diagnosis for this disorder.” So I was able to stop what I was doing and ask him, and that was an interesting discussion.

For each of the main characters in the book I’ve created play lists. “What would be on their iPod” kind of stuff and also songs that I feel capture parts of their personalities. Maybe part of my issue today is that my main character is kind of depressive and feels out of control and helpless. I’ve been listening to her play list all day to get me in the frame of mind to write her and that’s probably having an effect. I’ve switched over to a more hell-raising character’s list, which may perk me up.

Also, the “delete” key on my new laptop’s keyboard is in the place where the “backspace” key was on my old one. That fucks me up because I am a big back-spacer. That’s irritating, and instead of blaming the keyboard and my finger-memory, I blame myself for being stupid, every time I do it.

Lastly, the gelateria guy asked Todd if I was his wife. Why that should be so funny to me, I don’t know. I suppose most people who don’t know us assume that we’re a couple. But it made me laugh anyway.