I was going through some old creative endeavors of mine, looking for a piece that could be salvaged, edited and then included in the second novel I am doing my best to construct. I found very little to work with because this second novel is unlike anything I have ever written before, but that fact did not dishearten me. If anything, it motivates and excites me because it challenges me; I have to be original and innovative. I cannot rely on old tricks and gimmicks hidden within old, worn notebooks, with pages thinned and yellowed by time. I have to be someone new and I love reinventing myself. I believe I’ve admitted before that I hope to always be restless and that I hope to always feel unsettled. I’m terrified that comfortability leads to complacency leads to laziness leads to waste.
“If you’re just killing time, you can be sure it’ll kill you right back.”
I made a list at the beginning of the summer, and I’ve been able to cross off two items; that’s it. I’m failing myself – I know that, and I eat to fill the emotional void such knowledge creates. I hide away in my bedroom, behind paper creations of a life filled with romance, drama, intrigue, connections; a life I wish for. I can’t live, so I write about it … like those who can’t do, teach – I guess. I think that’s pretty clever.
It’s weird; I feel like I’m being really, really honest with you (the reader or readers) right now, but I refrain from posting certain pieces because I’m horrified that my deepest desires will be exposed. Writing is sharing, but I don’t want to share too much. How much is too much? Who’s to say?
So I say, eff it. I’ll share everything. Go big or go home, right? But I’ll share lots … after tonight. I don’t think I could handle it tonight. I ate a lot of chocolate today and I am feeling particularly vulnerable.
That being said, enjoy the prompt. I did. 🙂
PROMPT: A woman who’s constantly quoting classic novels meets a literature professor at a cocktail party.
I stepped out onto the back patio, extremely aware of how weak my ankles were when it came to walking in high heels, especially ones hanging on by a thin, thin strap. The shoes were completely adorable, though – the shade was perfect and worthy of being the topic of any conversation, so I suffered through the awkward tumbling way of walking and the slight pain concentrated in the balls of my feet. The pain was worth the beauty, and that lesson could be applied not only to life, but to fashion as well. I think I read that in a book somewhere.
Truth be told, I probably did read it in a book. All I do is read. I find it much more comfortable between the pages of a novel than I do seated between other human beings. Some assume it’s a lonely existence, but it’s not awful. If you stop and think about it, it’s actually kind of awesome. My friends are made of paper and ink, so they don’t talk back, they never disappoint and are always there when I need them. They are not fallible like their flesh and blood and bone contemporaries, and there are no nasty surprises when someone you think you’ve known for years and years decides to be a douche bag seemingly overnight.
That’s not to say I’m a creepy recluse who avoids all human contact, like some Boo Radley (To Kill a Mockingbird). I talk to co-workers and make small chat when I’m ordering coffee or food. After all, isn’t the point to only connect (Howard’s End)? I believe it is, so I do talk. Unfortunately, I have the habit of constantly quoting from classic literature. Like that time at work when Brian left his sandwich in the fridge for a solid three months and the stench became unbearable, so I said, “There is something rotten in the state of Denmark” (Shakespeare). No one got it, and that’s fine. I did something similar at my family reunion, when we were trying to figure out who was sober enough to go with my uncle to the liquor store to resupply our alcohol stores, and I said to my sister, “Either thou, or I, or both must go with him!” (Shakespeare … again) No one got it … again, but again, that’s fine. I get that I alienate my audience with specific and sometimes obscure literary references, so I’ve been trying to curb the behavior.
I got invited to a cocktail party by Sara, a co-worker. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to try and flex – or restrain, depending on how you look at it – my conversational muscle. I bought the new shoes we’ve already discussed, and a matching dress. I Googled YouTube videos to find out how to make my eyes look smoky and seductive and actually worked on my hair – I looked good. Now to try and break into some conversation; I walked from small gathering to small gathering, listening in for a moment or two. Either the topic was something I found terribly uninteresting, or something I knew nothing about. I felt discouraged and was about to leave, run for the hills as they say, when I heard someone say, “You just have to keep on keepin’ on, right? It’s like what Fitzgerald wrote; ‘Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.”
It was a somewhat older gentleman, fashionably dressed in a tweed jacket with elbow pads and heavy slacks. He was quoting The Great Gatsby, arguably the greatest American novel of all time. I couldn’t contain myself. I walked up behind and said, “Doesn’t the end of the quote defeat your purpose, though?”
He turned to me, obviously surprised, but smiling.
I continued, “Fitzgerald says, ‘And then one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’ We never get where we’re going, but we keep going anyway. That’s not as optimistic as what you were going for, I think.” I held my breath at the end, worried that I’d offended him and come off as something as a know-it-all.
But he extended his hand and said, “Hi. I’m Eric.”