Self-Indulgent Post

In which I just ramble on because I can't stop thinking tonight.

Sometimes I get all existential crisis-y. Tonight is one of those nights.

I feel as if everyone I know is very far away. Not in physical distance, but like there is an emotional chasm that I can't seem to cross. Like I am reaching out my arms to them and they are just beyond my fingertips. I can't decide if this is a good thing. On one hand, it causes me to turn in. Become self-reflective and introverted. I get a lot of my thinking done at times like this. I realize who I am and who I want to be, what I believe and what I don't believe. What I long for, what I dream for. On the other hand it's a very lonely time. I don't feel like I can connect to anyone. I want to be able to have deep and meaningful conversations, but nothing seems to work out. I feel unloved and undesirable.

I think I am a very selfish person.

It's weird to come back home. It puts everything into a strange perspective. The world has kept moving on in my absence; the roads have changed, there are different stores in the mall, my mother has a new job and my little brother has a girlfriend. My other brother just got engaged. My old bedroom, once yellow, is now painted gray, and my 21st birthday is just around the corner. Everything has changed and yet, nothing has.

I went to dinner with some old high school friends tonight. My ex-boyfriend was there as well as the boy I used to love. There were some people who were once good friends and others who I used to just put up with. They all managed to fall back into their old roles. My once-love was the center of attention and exuded charm and leadership. My good friends were all amiable and talkative. Those who annoyed me reminded me why. My ex was handsome and mysterious. It was like all these people has been put into time capsules. Yes, they were older and slightly different. They'd had new experiences and met new friends. They no longer held the most important places in my life. But I could see why they used to. And, with some, I wanted them to hold those places again. I wanted to hold my ex's hand. I wanted to hang out with my good friends. I wanted the attention and esteem of my once-love. So when we change, how much do we really?

Can anything ever really be how it used to be?

Stealing 1st Sentences

It's been a while. I missed this. But it's okay, because I'm back now, armed with all kinds of knowledge from creative writing courses. Here's some fiction.

All this happened, more or less. (Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse 5) Now I don’t mean to be startin’ off my story making all kinds of excuses or nothin’, but I just gotta tell you that even I don’t know evrythin’ about what happened that sticky summer. There was so much sneakin’ around and so many secret rendezvous at midnight that I of course couldn’ta been there for it all. But I do know an awful lot because I’m good at payin’ attention to what the grown-up types are sayin’ when they don’t think anyone is list’ning.

Now, I oughta warn you - Mama says that when I start talkin’ I never know when to stop. She tells me that she don’t need all the details of every story I tell her, just the “important bits”. But there’s so much goin’ on in this world and I don’t see the point in not talkin’ about it all. And ever since Tad found his way back from university in the big city to work with Pop for the summer, there’s been a lot more goin’ on than usual. You see, that’s the summer after Ashley Ellis blossomed. At least, that’s what Miss Lucinda and her book club ladies called it.

            The fall before her 16^th birthday, she shot up and filled out. She had a proper woman’s figure and I’d never noticed before but it made my knobby kneed, flat-chested self seem all kinds of wrong. Mama said that I shouldn’t worry myself about things like that because it was all vanity, but I’d noticed her admirin’ Ashley’s figure with something like envy and nostalgia all rolled into one.

She was the first girl I saw that made me think maybe women were the fairer sex after all, like Miss Lucinda always said. She was beautiful and bold and loved boys, who all loved her right back. A coquette, Mama called her, a flirt. But she wasn’t allowed to date anyone because her parents believed in a kind a datin’ that meant you had to be 18 and wantin’ to get married before you could. She said it was dumb. She said that about everythin’ that didn’t go just exactly her way.

            The day my brother showed back up in town, I was walkin’ right behind Ashley and her best friend Sarah on our way back from the school and overheard their whole conversation. I’m pretty sure now that was on purpose.

            “I’m so sick of all these boys,” Ashley whined, turning dramatically to Sarah. “They’re just such brutes!”

            “I thought you liked Tommy though,” Sarah replied.

            “Ugh, no! He’s so uncivilized,” she shot back, “I ought to be spending my time with more sophisticated men. The older ones, you know.” Ashley glanced back at me pointedly.

            “Who do we know that’s older? Most of them have all gone off somewhere to make somethin’ of themselves.”

            “Well wouldn’t you know, I saw Tad Calhoun walking to the grocer’s this morning. He must be back to help his Daddy this summer.” Ashley said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively

Hoping for a Fairytale

"Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."


Ask anyone and they'll tell you that fairy tales, especially the ones with princes riding in to save the day, give you unrealistic expectations about love. But I don't think so. I'm pretty sure we're just not getting the right message.

What first pops into your mind when you think about fairy tales? Happy endings? True love? Good triumphing over evil? These are all prevalent in a standard fairy tale and the problem is that we focus too much on these messages. And it's very easy to point to the world and say, "No, that doesn't match." Because, unfortunately, in life, the bad guys win quite often. Relationships end in heartbreak, marriages are torn apart by divorce and life is awfully sad. So the cynics, who frequently masquerade as realists, point to all of this and decry fairy tales as horrible. Or, at least, as being useless children's stories.

Here's the thing - there are lots of things about fairy tales that should be dismissed. Like talking animals, hair long and strong enough to be a ladder up a tower and a shoe that only fits one girl in an entire kingdom. But there are plenty of things that can teach us valuable lessons about life.

Rapunzel had been warned about the dangers of the outside world and could have easily stayed in her tower her whole life. But she yearned for more and decided the risks were worth taking the chance. She got her family back and love thrown in for a bonus. Cinderella went from being a favorite child to the household maid. But she did her work and, though it was menial and tiresome, she never let it beat her down. She kept dreaming. Belle was ridiculed for being different from the rest of her town and most people gave her attention simply because she was beautiful. But she was modest and poured herself into reading rather than feeling down on her situation. When her father was in danger, she sacrificed herself to save him, even though it meant a life of bondage. While I doubt that they lived through these hardships without so much as a complaint, I think it's important to note that they all chose to rise above their situations. They made efforts to make their lives better (by painting, making friends with animals, reading, etc.) and when their life-altering opportunities arose, they took them. Rapunzel escaped from her tower, Cinderella got herself to the ball, Belle made the best of an undesirable life.

But it's the princes to whom I think we should pay the most attention. Though it may be obvious from our third-party-objective-observer standpoint, I don't think any of our heroines thought much of their heroes initially. Rapunzel just needed someone to protect her on her quest, Cinderella just wanted to go to a party and Belle despised the Beast when she first met him. The men themselves didn't think very highly of their own situations. Flynn Rider finds himself roped into babysitting Rapunzel when all he wanted was a clean getaway with his treasure. Prince Charming is fed up with his father's attempts to marry him off and is dreading the coming ball where he will be forced to choose a wife from among the attendees. The Beast wants nothing more than to find the girl who can break the spell that he is under but struggles to set aside his own pride and anger in order to do so. Again though, these men rise above their situations. Flynn does everything he can to make Rapunzel's dream come true. He even goes so far as to give up his treasure to protect her from the goons who are following him. Prince Charming takes the one clue he has, a glass slipper, and searches the entire kingdom to find the foot to which that shoe belongs. And the Beast learns to control his anger and does what he can to make Belle's life pleasant by giving her the library and, when it comes to it, sets her free though it means (he thinks) that he has lost his chance to break the spell.

Now imagine what would have happened if these men had been less charming, or our heroines less brave. What if Rapunzel had never left her tower, or if Flynn had deserted her halfway through her quest? What if Cinderella spent all night dancing with someone else, someone equally handsome but with much less good of a heart? What if Prince Charming had given up on his search when he was unsuccessful the first few tries? What if Belle had decided to marry Gaston? What if the Beast had decided it was too much effort to be good to Belle?

There are too many Rapunzel's who stay in their towers and too many Flynn Rider's who never give love a chance. All too often, Cinderella picks the wrong guy to dance with and Prince Charming doesn't look hard enough, or settles for an ugly stepsister instead. Too many Belle's end up with Gastons and the Beasts of this world decide to wallow in their misery rather than takes steps to improve themselves.

I guess what I'm saying is this: get yourself to that ball (even if it's in a borrowed dress), search an entire kingdom for the foot that fits. Do whatever it takes to find  your real Cinderella or Prince Charming. Because doesn't your very own Happily Ever After sound pretty good?

Inspiration and a Reminder

This.

No Trespassing

A (mostly) fictional piece written for Creative Writing.


We were traipsing around in that area behind the “No Trespassing” sign and flimsy string of barbed wire that was supposed to keep people out. But it was a public park and we were allowed to go wherever, right? So I followed the two of them over the wire and across the field of tall, brown grasses toward the patch of trees in the distance. Kyle wanted to know what was on the other side of those trees and I figured that I could better dissuade him from this side of the wire than if I was to hang back and wait anxiously for their return. Besides, the walk would warm me up, I told myself, and it was freezing. About a minute into the makeshift forest and he looked back at me, saw my face, and let out a loud bark of a laugh.
“Oh, come on!” he said, grabbing my hand, “we’re not doing anything wrong by being out here. Besides, who’s around to catch us?”
The Park Ranger, I wanted to reply, but the warm pressure of his gloved hand intertwined with mine kept me silent.
We kept walking that way, us holding hands and his best friend DJ bringing up the rear. Reaching a thinner spot in the trees, we were able to see what was on the other side: a downward slope covered in more of the same tall, brown grass as before and more trees at its foot. We shared a look, both disappointed that our discovery didn’t match the vague imaginations of hidden cabins or lonely ruins that we had been constructing on our walk.
“Hey guys! Check this out!” we heard DJ shout from somewhere to our left. We took off at a sprint and quickly found DJ, standing about five feet from the edge of a sharp cliff that dropped at least three stories down to a small creek in a gully. It was really quite beautiful in the crisp February light.
Kyle and I looked at each other, him grinning more mischievously than Puck, and he walked straight to the rock face that jutted over the edge of the cliff. I didn’t see what he was intending to do until it was too late to know what to say to stop him.
“Dude, we don’t know if that’s safe!” DJ said, expressing what I couldn’t, “it could just crumble under you, bro, and then what’ll we do?”
Images of him tumbling over the edge and into the chasm below filled my mind; my heart shot straight through my stomach and down into the frozen earth beneath my feet. Then another scene played out in my horrified imagination – us being airlifted to the hospital and me hysterically trying to explain to the medics why we were in a “No Trespassing” area of the park.
“Please, please just come back,” I blurted, a mix of fear and protective instinct shaking in my voice.
He looked back at us then and, locking eyes with me, hesitated for a moment. But then he squared his shoulders, steeling himself, and turned away and sat on the rock, legs hanging rebelliously over the side of the cliff.
“I just want a front-row view, guys. Calm down!” he said, not looking our way.
I didn’t know what to do. I just walked back and forth in the clearing behind him, trying to busy myself so I would forget that he was one misplaced foot away from crashing down a cliff.
  Fifteen minutes of eternity passed before I saw him get up, brush the dirt off his pants, and walk away from the edge. DJ had given up ten minutes ago and was off climbing a tree somewhere, but I hadn’t, couldn’t have, given up my vigil. He walked toward me, carefully watching my face as he approached. I glared at him with as much disapproval as I could muster, turned sharply on my heel and marched away. A quiet chuckle from him behind me was all I heard in response.

Walking faster, I internally berated myself for giving him exactly what he wanted – my attention. I had revealed to him throughout that whole episode exactly how much I cared and I hated him for it. A rustle behind me of quickened footsteps and then a hand linked with mine. I stopped abruptly, pulling him to a standstill beside me, looked at our hands, and then up at the small smirk spreading across his face. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to smack the recklessness off his face and throw his hand away from me. But I couldn’t.

I returned to my brisk pace and he paraded along beside me, triumphantly continuing to hold my hand and silently attempting to break through my frustration. After another minute of marching, we could see, through the thin screen of tree branches and dead leaves, the open field and parking lot beyond where AJ had perched himself on one of the stone posts of the barbed wire fence. He appeared to be whittling a stick that he must’ve spotted on his solitary hike but who knew what he was doing, really; DJ did whatever he wanted to. This sight seemed to spark something in Kyle and he tugged my arm, drawing me to a stop.
Resting his hands on my shoulders, he dipped his head to look me straight in the eyes.

“Look, I get it – you’re pissed. But how long are you going to be mad at me for?”

I glared at him incredulously, and turned to stomp to the car, but he stopped me.

“Hey, ok, all right. I was an idiot. It was reckless and you were right. All I wanted was a better look at that gorgeous view. Sue me – I’m sucker for pretty things,” he said, reassuringly rubbing my arms, an arch smile dancing on his lips, “I’m sorry I worried you.”

His smile said it all; he wasn’t sorry one bit, except maybe that I wasn’t talking to him. But still, for all the effort in the world, I couldn’t stay mad at him. I smiled begrudgingly.

“Whatever, bro,” I teased, shoving him hard.

I’d caught him off-guard and he stumbled back a few steps before regaining his balance.

“Better not start something you can’t finish,” he said, grinning and advancing toward me.

I darted away, and then off we went, chasing each other toward the car in the distance, our chorus of laughter warming the frosty air.

Setting

Another Creative Writing prompt that I like.
Raindrops like rivers streak the grimy windowpane, cleaning little paths to the outside world. It is an empty day, no one caring to venture into the rain-soaked world, so there was no one to watch on the street which the window faced. Not that he would’ve wanted to look out at the dark gray skies and muted shop fronts anyway; it was like an old black-and-white-film outside, though it was far from silent. The rain crashed down on the roof, creating a deluge of miniature waterfalls as is rushed down the slanted sides and into the gutter. Shoving against the walls, the wind whooshed with howls and screeches as it gusted by. Every few minutes, lightning would break open the sky, momentarily lighting the dreary day, and a ferocious growl of thunder would leave the building shaking in its aftermath. How the old structure could withstand such abuse was beyond him and he was, for once, consciously thankful for its stodgy shelter.

After yet another torrent of cruel weather, he weaved across the room to the window, searching in vain for the sight of sunshine or clear sky in the distance that would mark the end of the downpour. But no, it was dark masses of clouds as far as he could see in the smudged sky. So he wound his way around the thread-bare red velvet couch and disgustingly elaborate last century side tables and back to the desk where he had previously been perched, pouring over the dry, leather-bound book that apparently held the key to property law. It was, without a doubt, the dullest book he had ever read, and he was a law student at Oxford. Tugging at the hem of his vest, and loosening his silken cravat, he steeled his nerves and sat down once more, determined to tackle this reading.

2.8

This semester I am finally in some English classes that I truly care about. Mostly just one that really, really matters to me. Creative Writing (read: Writer's Workshop, collegiate style). Susan Aizenberg is no Dylan Carter, and the Joes and Connors will never, ever be my Michaels. But it's a new experience, new writers from whom I can learn volumes, and new motivation to WRITE EVERY DAY (I'm told this is the secret to being a good writer). As part of the curriculum, we are required to read a textbook which has, scattered about its pages, many "try this" exercises. We are assigned a few per week to write over the course of a few days and are asked to put them in a journal, where we are compiling all our writing from the semester. Even the bad stuff. So I decided that I was going to post them here, as a kind of directed freewrite. Raw, unedited, maybe even unread by myself. In whatever condition they are as soon as my fingers stop typing. You have been warned. So, with that, here is Try This 2.8: describe a terrifying or thrilling experience from your childhood or adolescence.

My heart thud in my chest like a tap dancer hammering out a feverish dance, practicing over and over in an uneven rhythm that threatened to appear in the warm, blushed skin of my chest. “Stop it,” I thought to my treacherous organ, “you’ll give me away.” I glanced at him but my eyes shot away upon meeting his, a smile winking flirtatiously on my lips. A waft of his knowing cologne met my nose and my lungs unconsciously filled themselves with the musky spice of the scent. Our eyes met again. Over the stack of books and top ridge of his laptop, he rumbled something in his mid-timbre range of distraction. I agreed, without fully paying attention. I sipped the crunchy sweetness of my frappuccino, trying my best to fall in love with his favorite beverage, one over-priced and over-sweetened cup at a time. I, of course, had not been making any progress in my reading since he had surreptitiously, masterfully, casually placed his hand on the table close to mine; fingers sharing electric currents but not skin.

The chatter and whirr of the coffee machines gossiping among themselves is the background symphony to our stimulating silence, revealing nothing and everything. I sat staring at the same page, the words swarming across and around and through and over the page like black ants around a forgotten picnic. Nothing is normal in my world of caffeine and adrenaline. Our eyes pull at each other’s like magnets again. He grins and shrugs his shoulders; I smile and bite the corner of my lip in response. I get lost in his forest eyes that dare me to take that step into adventure.

Then, natural as a breath, his warm, rough, oak tree hand covers my cool silk dress fingers. And they intertwine, bark and silk, making promises no two things so different should make.