“Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.”
I am powerless against pasta. Nothing makes me happier than slurping strands so that it sounds like a quick, childish kiss as sauce splashes around my lips and covers my mouth in tomato red. Last night, Mom added sausage, chicken and shrimp to the sauce. How could I resist? It was unfair of me to even ask myself to say no. If pasta is my kryptonite, then I wonder what my super power is?
I have newly discovered tea with orange honey and I absolutely love it.
Today, my friend Raina and I are going to Sleepy Hollow. I cannot wait to hit the road and am elated to be celebrating Halloween. As an avid horror fan, I thoroughly enjoy and become involved the October holiday festivities. Last year, just after Halloween, I traveled with my little brother’s Boy Scout troop to where “Friday the 13th” was filmed and even stayed in the same cabin the final fight scene was shot in. Last night, I watched the “Alfred Hitchcock Hour” with my mom. It was not terrifying, but was unnerving and certainly creepy. I was in awe of the dialogue and Hitchcock’s ability to turn what should be cheap and easy into something artful and masterful. To transform a somewhat simple and clichéd plot into a piece of film that makes the audience cringe and want to turn away is a talent I admire, respect and covet.
I suspect that is why my latest writing endeavor is not capturing my interest the way Her Beautiful Monster did. I am trying my literary (and I use that term loosely) hand at romance – a much older, married man striking up a relationship with a much younger girl to try and stave off aging and death. To add complexity to that storyline, I made the much older man a famous musician and I made the much younger girl a fan. I wanted to explore what it means to be an adult and the power death has over us from the very moment we take our first breaths. I also just wanted to be romantic and passionate – imagining scenes between the two to fill some kind of loneliness and ache within me, which is a tool I most certainly employed throughout Her Beautiful Monster and if it worked once, why not use it again?
But I felt the plot was lacking in suspense, which I believe to be my forte. I decided to develop the much older man’s wife into a fuller character and in a desperate fit of revenge, she would claim a younger lover of her own. But this young boy toy would prove more dangerous than anything else, as I envisioned him becoming more and more obsessed and less and less emotionally stable. For the ending, I had decided the young girl would die in an ironic twist of fate, since she was always accusing the much older man of using her to feel young and invincible. I wanted the obsessed lover to be responsible, figuring in some kind of car crash scenario a la The Great Gatsby. Clearly, I am still working out the mechanics and logistics in my cluttered, tired mind.
I have a few other ideas that seem promising, but I am reluctant to give up on the much older musician. I was working on beginning to write near the end of the summer and was shocked when I pumped out twenty handwritten pages, front and back. I am a big believer in fate, so I do not believe it is an accident that I was able to do so. This story is within me and wants to be released, and so I will. I think I am hesitant and unsure because I have a full-time job now and more adult responsibilities than I did when I wrote Her Beautiful Monster and for some weird reason, that scares me. But writers write; so if I want to be a writer, I have to write.
I have to stop over analyzing every blessed thing and just do it. Hopefully, this inspires some of you to take one last deep breath and dive in to whatever it is you wish. And if you do, know that I am cheering from the stands and wholly and completely on your side.
I am totally ready for the summer. I enjoy teaching – I think – and I thoroughly enjoy my students, but lately, I’ve been feeling dramatically uninspired. I haven’t always been the consummate professional I need to be. I worry the students don’t respect me, or take me seriously. I am anxious about whether or not I’m performing my job to the best of my abilities and become increasingly frustrated at the lack of feedback. I am paranoid, and over analyze every single passing glance in the hallways. I am unsure of what my future holds in a way that I never have been before. And then, I stuff all of this uncertainty down and away from me because I claim it doesn’t even matter; I’m going to be a famous writer. I try to shift my focus and my priorities, but I’m scared. I’m also lazy. It’s almost like I want to wake, make tea and write all day without putting in the work to be able to do so. I know that there’s a prevailing sense of entitlement that could very well doom me. What I don’t know is how I’m going to deal with it, or any of the heartaches and shocks thrown my way.
That being said, I hope you enjoy tonight’s writing prompt. I think it’s silly, and I’m not sure I did it right. But still, enjoy.
PROMPT: Promises for Swing Voters You are running for president of the writing community. What promises do you make to swing voters in your direction?
Authors! Writers! Wordsmiths! Lend me your ears!
Seriously though, I have a few ideas which I believe will benefit the entirety of our close-knit writing community. Admittedly, our community is fairly awesome as is, but there are always areas for improvement. That being said, I propose that any member of the writing community that continuously confuses there, their and they’re shall have their membership immediately and permanently revoked. Is it not a safe assumption that vast majority of the writers within the community are educated, at least well enough that spelling errors should be few and far between?
I am not a tyrant, friends – mistakes are bound to happen! All will not be punished severely. However, those not in favor of the Oxford comma will be upset because it will be mandatory; that particular writing tool makes perfect sense and should be used. Conversely, those who comma splice will find company among those who confuse they’re, there and their. Writing is a craft which must be practiced daily, so while mistakes will be numerous, the quality of such mistakes will be noted and judged.
When I close my eyes and envision the perfect writing world, everyone with talent – real talent – has an agent and thereby a fighting chance. It perturbs me that successful writing is more a vicious cycle than anything else. Publishers look favorably upon writers with agents, but a writer can only easily attain the services of an agent if a writer has been published. If an aspiring author asks someone how to get published, I think the answer would be: “Be published” and I ask you, what kind of answer is that? That’s not to say getting published is impossible, but many promising writers are discouraged, so let’s end the vicious cycle and the exclusivity which is based on mere opportunity rather than more appropriate standards such as talent and tenacity.
That’s the kind of writing community – nay, the kind of world – I’d like to live in.