Details, details, details.
For me as a writer, it's a blessing. Something can catch my eye and instantly, words start flowing in my head. Inspiration sometimes strikes as a dinky trickle or a ragging river. For me as a person and particularly as a girl, it can be frustrasting. I'd like to use a personal story to illustrate this.
I remember a lot about my (only) ex-boyfriend. And yes, I believe first loves always stick with you, occupying a place in your heart you can never truly erase them from. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. Years later, I'm sure I could pass him on the street, we would acknowledge each other, and I would walk away knowing we are now strangers. That's what happens when a broken heart heals; it bounces back strong and resilient, ready to throw itself headfirst into the next promising relationship.
But when it's still mending, every single detail of a relationship can be agonizing. As someone very concerned with details, I romanticized him. Instead of remembering how he made me feel, I knew the small things and I cherished the stolen moments. Even now, I could paint him like a picture.
He had sandy hair which grew long and curled right behind his ears and eyes the color of the ocean. He had brown freckles in them too, more on one side than the other, always slightly off-balance, his symmetry just to the left. When he was drunk, which was often, his slight lisp became more pronounced. A childhood spent growing up at the beach and surfing made him tan and lean, almost like he'd been hardened by the waves. On his chest where his ribs came together in the center, he had a little divet like an upside-down V and I remember sitting on my bed when we were breaking up, pressing my crying face into him and feeling my nose butt up against that spot I'd traced lovingly so many times before.
Over the summer when he went home to his parents' and to work at the beach, I would visit on the weekends. We'd drive around without shoes on with the windows down in his beat up green car, listening to songs with eight minute guitar solos and trying not to knock over the buckets of cleaning solution and chlorine tablets in the backseat. When he was working his pool cleaning job, I'd tag along. We'd visit beach houses and mansions and pretend we were as rich, jumping into hot tubs and pools of all shapes and sizes when no one was home. I remember popcorn shrimp and french fries from a little shack on the beach road and the 4th of July where I sat cross-legged drawing circles in the sand with my back molded against him, watching fireworks explode over the water and shower the breaking waves in fantastic colors. Red and blue and gold and green.
When his father, the commercial pilot, suggested we take their four seater for a ride, he gave me his crooked smile and slipped into the front seat. We'd been together for months and I never knew he had his pilot's license until then, but that was how he was. Humble and surprising. We flew low over the coastline all the way to Cape Hatteras, watching the cars and people scurry about their lives below us like ants.
See? It's very easy to look at the past and see it in shades of black and white. After the ashes settle in the wake of a break up and the heart mends, you only remember the good times. It's hard to gain perspective on what it was really like because all I can remember are the details.
For relationships, it may not be the best habit I have. For writing, this hypersensitivity can be a blessing. The details and little moments are the vehicles I use to create an emotion, tell a story, or construct a scene. In the editting process, I go back to what I've created and parse out the pieces that count, that really say something, but for the writing process as a whole, it helps give shape to what I'm trying to do. It makes my story concrete and full.
This may be a very roundabout way of saying "show, don't tell", but it's how my brain works when I'm writing. Typically in a story, I know the beginning and the end. I know the characters and maybe some of what happens in the middle, but fleshing out the rest of it is all about the details.
Monday, 25 June 2012
Monday, 7 May 2012
Chapter 7 - Please Don't Hate Me
This is going to be a live blogging experience...in which I quit my job.
Oh boy.
I've solidified my new server position and will start training after work this month. Now, my boss finally returned from his lengthy business trip and I am planning on giving my notice. Last day? June 1st.
Right now, he's in a meeting and I'm sweating. I know he isn't expecting this and truth be told, I have no grudge against Soul Crushing, Inc. I've never given notice before though. I mean, I've quit jobs but for obvious reasons like school or moving. So this is new territory for me.
I also need to tell my manager. Sorry, let me clarify. I have a manager (whom I share an office with, how effed up is that?) and then we both have someone who oversees us. I'm going to talk to Head Honcho first and then tell my Lady Boss.
It's 9:47. Head Honcho is in a meeting until 10. I don't know why I get so anxious about confrontation! I can feel my heart thumping and I can't keep my hands still (one of the reasons why I'm writing right now). Also Lady Boss has been yapping on the phone with a friend since I came in this morning and it's really starting to grate on my nerves.
9:54. If she doesn't shut the fuck up, my head may explode. Also, I have to pee.
9:56. Uh oh, she's about to get off the phone. Going to hide in the bathroom.
10:08. Dammit! She cornered me. I'm 22! I don't want to hear about your kids.
10:13. Trying to sneak away.
10:14. Okay, here goes!
10:33. Whew. I did it. Still sweating, but I feel better. Head Honcho was very understanding. Lady Boss is back on the phone. I'm waiting for her to get off it now so I can tell her. It's like ripping off a Bandaid. I'm on a roll, ready to get it done.
11:02. And it's done! Well, Lady Boss took it surprisingly well.
I feel relieved, honestly. I think I'll have a little freak out when I have all this free time on my hands now, but I really am looking forward to sitting down and giving my writing everything I have. It's time to focus on what I want. For once.
Oh boy.
I've solidified my new server position and will start training after work this month. Now, my boss finally returned from his lengthy business trip and I am planning on giving my notice. Last day? June 1st.
Right now, he's in a meeting and I'm sweating. I know he isn't expecting this and truth be told, I have no grudge against Soul Crushing, Inc. I've never given notice before though. I mean, I've quit jobs but for obvious reasons like school or moving. So this is new territory for me.
I also need to tell my manager. Sorry, let me clarify. I have a manager (whom I share an office with, how effed up is that?) and then we both have someone who oversees us. I'm going to talk to Head Honcho first and then tell my Lady Boss.
It's 9:47. Head Honcho is in a meeting until 10. I don't know why I get so anxious about confrontation! I can feel my heart thumping and I can't keep my hands still (one of the reasons why I'm writing right now). Also Lady Boss has been yapping on the phone with a friend since I came in this morning and it's really starting to grate on my nerves.
9:54. If she doesn't shut the fuck up, my head may explode. Also, I have to pee.
9:56. Uh oh, she's about to get off the phone. Going to hide in the bathroom.
10:08. Dammit! She cornered me. I'm 22! I don't want to hear about your kids.
10:13. Trying to sneak away.
10:14. Okay, here goes!
10:33. Whew. I did it. Still sweating, but I feel better. Head Honcho was very understanding. Lady Boss is back on the phone. I'm waiting for her to get off it now so I can tell her. It's like ripping off a Bandaid. I'm on a roll, ready to get it done.
11:02. And it's done! Well, Lady Boss took it surprisingly well.
I feel relieved, honestly. I think I'll have a little freak out when I have all this free time on my hands now, but I really am looking forward to sitting down and giving my writing everything I have. It's time to focus on what I want. For once.
Thursday, 3 May 2012
Chapter 6 - Motivations
I want to talk about motivation today. First,
My plan has been set in motion and amounts to this:
1. Leave job at Soul Crushing, Inc. (and write).
2. Start waitressing (and write).
3. Move into a more affordable apartment (and write).
4. Begin Creative Writing courses at a local university in the fall (and write).
As to #1, my parents are not very happy with me and while I understand, I respectfully disagree. I have done everything practical and "right" in my life. I've also done it in the correct order. I graduated high school in the top of my class, went to one of the best public universities in the country, chose two majors and stuck to being pre-med, I didn't get arrested (just one drinking ticket, but come on - we like to pretend we're a dry university and that's laughable), I didn't get pregnant, I graduated in four years without amassing loads of debt, and I landed your typical office 9 to 5 after graduating. I became financially independent.
What I'm saying is I did all the right things and you know what? I'm unhappy because what I want isn't practical. Sure, if I ever get published and make a living doing what I love, then all of this will seem like a bad dream, but I don't have a crystal ball. My parents, I think, probably once had the same ambition and head-in-the-clouds kind of attitude that I do. Call me crazy, say I'm regressing to childhood fantasy, but I am unwilling to give that up. I pledge to always be curious about the world. I do not ever want to lose the magic I see in day to day life. I refuse to.
When I told my father, he sat back in his chair and did his sideways disapproving head-shake, keeping his eyes away from mine, and almost laughing, said, "My daughter, the waitress." Like it was a slur. Like I was slumming it to go back to where I've come from. It would have made any other person angry.
For me, it lights a fire under my ass. My entire life I've felt that I have to fight for what I want. I told them I was going to college. I told them I was going to be pre-med. I told them I was going to Spain. I told them I was going to run a marathon.
I did all those things. So I know when I tell them that I'm going to be a writer, one day through hard work and dedication I will be a writer. It may not be soon and I'm sure as hell it won't come easy, but it will happen. My best motivation has always been someone telling me I can't do something. So I will take the little head shakes and that twitch at the corner of everyone's mouths when I tell them I'm quitting my job to write a book and I'll pocket it for later when I'm bogged down in the middle of it, wondering why the hell I wanted to get myself into this business.
Second, I thought I'd share some of the motivations behind Momentum (current word count: 57, 607 - I know I've been slacking). Although it isn't happening yet because no one really gives a shit what I have to say at the moment (but that will change, world! *shakes fist*), I know eventually someone will ask me where I get my ideas.
The idea for this story came from several different experiences. One of the scariest books I ever read was Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I had nightmares for years after, not about the act of killing someone, but the guilt and paranoia that follow it. Then, one night my junior year of college, I was leaving the library at 2 am, in a caffeine-and-Adderall-incuded haze and I passed by some of the frat houses on campus. They sit in two semi-circles, Frat Court where there are 5 houses, and the aptly named Little Frat Court where there are 3. As I cruised by Little Frat Court, I saw that the courtyard they all face was lit up in blue lights. They were having a party.
And that was that. The blue skinned girl came directly from that.
I also found a feeling I wanted to capture. I believe you can bare the most intimate parts of yourself with writing. It is a vulnerable task by nature and I wanted to explore a feeling I've felt often during my life. Not to go all emo on your ass, but there is something very lonely and alienating about watching a party go on without you. I've written about it before (not here), but it's like standing outside on the street and watching that warm happy glow come through a window you aren't allowed through. JR, the main character in Momentum, spends a lot of time glimpsing things through windows. I want the reader to feel that sort of alienation with him, the want to join in on that life you've only seen in flashes before, but somehow you can't find a way inside.
Hopefully, I can articulate all the things I want in this book without bashing the reader over the head with it. If I can, I think this thing may be halfway decent.
My plan has been set in motion and amounts to this:
1. Leave job at Soul Crushing, Inc. (and write).
2. Start waitressing (and write).
3. Move into a more affordable apartment (and write).
4. Begin Creative Writing courses at a local university in the fall (and write).
As to #1, my parents are not very happy with me and while I understand, I respectfully disagree. I have done everything practical and "right" in my life. I've also done it in the correct order. I graduated high school in the top of my class, went to one of the best public universities in the country, chose two majors and stuck to being pre-med, I didn't get arrested (just one drinking ticket, but come on - we like to pretend we're a dry university and that's laughable), I didn't get pregnant, I graduated in four years without amassing loads of debt, and I landed your typical office 9 to 5 after graduating. I became financially independent.
What I'm saying is I did all the right things and you know what? I'm unhappy because what I want isn't practical. Sure, if I ever get published and make a living doing what I love, then all of this will seem like a bad dream, but I don't have a crystal ball. My parents, I think, probably once had the same ambition and head-in-the-clouds kind of attitude that I do. Call me crazy, say I'm regressing to childhood fantasy, but I am unwilling to give that up. I pledge to always be curious about the world. I do not ever want to lose the magic I see in day to day life. I refuse to.
When I told my father, he sat back in his chair and did his sideways disapproving head-shake, keeping his eyes away from mine, and almost laughing, said, "My daughter, the waitress." Like it was a slur. Like I was slumming it to go back to where I've come from. It would have made any other person angry.
For me, it lights a fire under my ass. My entire life I've felt that I have to fight for what I want. I told them I was going to college. I told them I was going to be pre-med. I told them I was going to Spain. I told them I was going to run a marathon.
I did all those things. So I know when I tell them that I'm going to be a writer, one day through hard work and dedication I will be a writer. It may not be soon and I'm sure as hell it won't come easy, but it will happen. My best motivation has always been someone telling me I can't do something. So I will take the little head shakes and that twitch at the corner of everyone's mouths when I tell them I'm quitting my job to write a book and I'll pocket it for later when I'm bogged down in the middle of it, wondering why the hell I wanted to get myself into this business.
Second, I thought I'd share some of the motivations behind Momentum (current word count: 57, 607 - I know I've been slacking). Although it isn't happening yet because no one really gives a shit what I have to say at the moment (but that will change, world! *shakes fist*), I know eventually someone will ask me where I get my ideas.
The idea for this story came from several different experiences. One of the scariest books I ever read was Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I had nightmares for years after, not about the act of killing someone, but the guilt and paranoia that follow it. Then, one night my junior year of college, I was leaving the library at 2 am, in a caffeine-and-Adderall-incuded haze and I passed by some of the frat houses on campus. They sit in two semi-circles, Frat Court where there are 5 houses, and the aptly named Little Frat Court where there are 3. As I cruised by Little Frat Court, I saw that the courtyard they all face was lit up in blue lights. They were having a party.
And that was that. The blue skinned girl came directly from that.
I also found a feeling I wanted to capture. I believe you can bare the most intimate parts of yourself with writing. It is a vulnerable task by nature and I wanted to explore a feeling I've felt often during my life. Not to go all emo on your ass, but there is something very lonely and alienating about watching a party go on without you. I've written about it before (not here), but it's like standing outside on the street and watching that warm happy glow come through a window you aren't allowed through. JR, the main character in Momentum, spends a lot of time glimpsing things through windows. I want the reader to feel that sort of alienation with him, the want to join in on that life you've only seen in flashes before, but somehow you can't find a way inside.
Hopefully, I can articulate all the things I want in this book without bashing the reader over the head with it. If I can, I think this thing may be halfway decent.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
Chapter 5 - A Year in Reflection
A Year in Reflection
While at work today, I’ve been distracted by blog postings and tweets and facebook chatter. Jimmy Fallon is filming his late night show today featuring Obama at my alma mater and it’s making me a bit of a sob story. Gasp!
This isn’t something new for me though; nostalgia hits me nearly every change of season and I reflect back and wish and want and learn. It’s good to be self-assured and aware. I think you have to look back to gain perspective on your life. This time last year, I was scrambling to graduate. Finals, LDOC, long nights at the library, bad food, energy drinks. I did it 8 semesters in a row, not counting my summer sessions. Now, however, I find myself missing it.
Do I miss the annual library streaking the night before the first exam? Yes. Do I miss the flash rave in the Pit organized by one of my friends? Yes. Do I miss the way the light falls across those brick sidewalks and across the tops of the buildings nestled between the trees at 7 am when I’m trudging back to the library after leaving at 2, backpack laden with supplies to keep me going for another marathon study session? Yes, actually.
I miss the pressure, the sense of urgency, the momentum pushing at my back (see what I did there?). I’m starting to believe this is what my job is lacking. I like the unpredictability of hours -long study sessions into the night. I like watching the deadline creep up on me as my Adderall-addled brain starts cranking out more and more words in a last ditch effort to finish a paper on time. Honestly, it’s when I have some monster of responsibility (a class I must pass, a test in the morning, a paper due at midnight) breathing down the back of my neck that I discover a font of untapped resolve deep down inside.
I don’t necessarily want to go back to school, but I hate the day to day monotony of post graduate life. I’m not being pushed is what I’m saying. Sure, I can push myself but there are only so many days when it is dark and rainy in the morning that I have the energy and dedication to convince myself to get out of bed and go perform. My job doesn’t offer me any deadlines or bosses waiting by my office door with open expectant hands. Instead, it’s like working at the library for 8 hours a day and constantly being granted an extension. It’s the same spot in front of the same window with the same people and the same food and bad coffee and distractions.
I often find I tire of workspace very quickly. Sometimes just moving my laptop to another place rectifies the need I feel to be constantly moving. The problem is I can’t do that here. It is the same – day in and day out. I can’t go lay on the quad. I can’t set up in my bathroom (done that) or sprawl my notes across the couch. I can’t sit in the rocking chairs in front of the Student Stores overlooking South Road. I can’t even visit an old yet cherished workspace in the libraries I spent a majority of my time in school.
It’s a small reflection of the larger wanderlust that creeps up on me every so often, whispering in my ear no sort of solution but simply pointing out that I need to be doing something different, something strange or off the wall or better. It’s a gift and a curse because it allows me to constantly dream, but it also is a thirst I can’t slake and I know somewhere, sometime, it will come back, as insistent and pulling as ever.
My curiosity with the world is a near constant itch I can’t scratch and is part of the reason I know deep down in my heart, deep down in the place where my soul resides, that I need to be doing something creative. I need to. It’s something I can’t help, deny, or control. It’s something I can ignore only for so long before it bubbles up in me, angry for being kept at bay for so long.
While at work today, I’ve been distracted by blog postings and tweets and facebook chatter. Jimmy Fallon is filming his late night show today featuring Obama at my alma mater and it’s making me a bit of a sob story. Gasp!
This isn’t something new for me though; nostalgia hits me nearly every change of season and I reflect back and wish and want and learn. It’s good to be self-assured and aware. I think you have to look back to gain perspective on your life. This time last year, I was scrambling to graduate. Finals, LDOC, long nights at the library, bad food, energy drinks. I did it 8 semesters in a row, not counting my summer sessions. Now, however, I find myself missing it.
Do I miss the annual library streaking the night before the first exam? Yes. Do I miss the flash rave in the Pit organized by one of my friends? Yes. Do I miss the way the light falls across those brick sidewalks and across the tops of the buildings nestled between the trees at 7 am when I’m trudging back to the library after leaving at 2, backpack laden with supplies to keep me going for another marathon study session? Yes, actually.
I miss the pressure, the sense of urgency, the momentum pushing at my back (see what I did there?). I’m starting to believe this is what my job is lacking. I like the unpredictability of hours -long study sessions into the night. I like watching the deadline creep up on me as my Adderall-addled brain starts cranking out more and more words in a last ditch effort to finish a paper on time. Honestly, it’s when I have some monster of responsibility (a class I must pass, a test in the morning, a paper due at midnight) breathing down the back of my neck that I discover a font of untapped resolve deep down inside.
I don’t necessarily want to go back to school, but I hate the day to day monotony of post graduate life. I’m not being pushed is what I’m saying. Sure, I can push myself but there are only so many days when it is dark and rainy in the morning that I have the energy and dedication to convince myself to get out of bed and go perform. My job doesn’t offer me any deadlines or bosses waiting by my office door with open expectant hands. Instead, it’s like working at the library for 8 hours a day and constantly being granted an extension. It’s the same spot in front of the same window with the same people and the same food and bad coffee and distractions.
I often find I tire of workspace very quickly. Sometimes just moving my laptop to another place rectifies the need I feel to be constantly moving. The problem is I can’t do that here. It is the same – day in and day out. I can’t go lay on the quad. I can’t set up in my bathroom (done that) or sprawl my notes across the couch. I can’t sit in the rocking chairs in front of the Student Stores overlooking South Road. I can’t even visit an old yet cherished workspace in the libraries I spent a majority of my time in school.
It’s a small reflection of the larger wanderlust that creeps up on me every so often, whispering in my ear no sort of solution but simply pointing out that I need to be doing something different, something strange or off the wall or better. It’s a gift and a curse because it allows me to constantly dream, but it also is a thirst I can’t slake and I know somewhere, sometime, it will come back, as insistent and pulling as ever.
My curiosity with the world is a near constant itch I can’t scratch and is part of the reason I know deep down in my heart, deep down in the place where my soul resides, that I need to be doing something creative. I need to. It’s something I can’t help, deny, or control. It’s something I can ignore only for so long before it bubbles up in me, angry for being kept at bay for so long.
Insurgent Giveaway!
Desperately trying to win SOMETHING!
I won a thousand dollars in cash once. This would be so much more awesome!
http://www.divergentlexicon.com/news/insurgent-is-8-days-away-were-giving-away-an-arc#comment-1028
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
Also...
Momentum current word count: 47,526
Over the halfway hump!
Also, 90K is just what I'm shooting for. I'm not necessarily saying the manuscript will be finished at 90K or that I'll finish before and have to stretch.
Over the halfway hump!
Also, 90K is just what I'm shooting for. I'm not necessarily saying the manuscript will be finished at 90K or that I'll finish before and have to stretch.
Friday, 13 April 2012
Chapter 4 - Sex Alliance Against Society
Sex Alliance Against Society
I read King Dork* recently and a passage in the novel got me thinking. The main character, an adolescent boy, muses about what it means to have a girlfriend in high school. To him, it seems to be lots of making out and bjs in cars. A girlfriend is someone who stands by your side as armor, who stands shoulder to shoulder with you in a Sex Alliance Against Society – Society being asshole bullies in high school.
In all honesty, I don’t know much of what happens in relationships my own age behind closed doors. I mean, I know what happens behind closed doors – I lived with 4 girls in “committed” relationships in college, trust me – but I don’t really know what happens. You go to tailgates together and get mad at each other when you’re drunk. You always have dates to weddings, no matter how awkward it might be. Sometimes when you have money, you take trips. Concerts. Bad food. Lots of Going Places and Doing Things. But beyond that and basic pillow talk, your general Sex Alliance Against Society is like Clue and I thought it was the lead pipe but instead it was Miss Scarlet in the Billiard Room with the wrench.
What I’m saying is my understanding of relationships is elementary and limited. I have one “real” relationship to speak of (I’m not counting high school) and I say “real” with quotes because it was my freshman year of college and there’s only so much you can put into a relationship when you’re 19 and don’t want to piss anyone off.
1. What happens after you get settled or past the honeymoon period (arbitrarily agreed to be the 6 month mark)? I never made it past the honeymoon period in college where everything is daisies and I look back through rose-colored glasses to days filled with lying in the sun on the quad, drowsing. Seriously, I did that. As to my other romantic endeavors, the three week mark has always been the point of no return where whatever spark it was snap, crackles, and pops and suddenly, I can’t stand the way he chews his food or he stops calling.
2. How do you fight with a SO? I’m using this freshman year romance as a meter stick. We never fought. Once. Like, not at all. I don’t know if it was because I was afraid of rocking the boat or we really didn’t have anything to fight about or that sleeping with someone creates some sort of anti-fighting hormone that affected both of us, but we never did. In fact, the only time I remember a fight was at the end of the relationship. I sensed distance, realized distance was not in my head, confronted him about distance, and then it was over. Fin. So in my tiny brain, a fight is equated to the end of the relationship. Or like a big blow out, one ingrained in my poor head by that scene in the Parent Trap - the remake - where that lady who died tells Dennis Quaid she threw a hairdryer or a shoe at him and then took one daughter (seriously, how effed up was that? Oh yeah, they're totes equal human beings. Let's split them like you would split a chocolate bar) and moved across the Atlantic. It all seems like fun and games in the movies, but in real life, a fight with whoever my SO may be seems like a giant cliff to leap off of back into Singledom.
3. Social media ruins me. Damn you, Mark Zuckerberg! Back then, Facebook was around but not as prevalent or I was so gob smacked and in lurv that I didn’t notice. There are so many questions and pressures from people I don’t even know to define my not-a-relationship in a public forum from the beginning that it boggles the mind. When is the appropriate time to become Facebook Official? Do I have to? Will stupid girls at the club stop giving me the evil eye that I’m with him if he makes some grand proclamation? Why do I keep looking at the old profile pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend even though I know it makes me mad? Why did I have to be born into the era of Facebook? Seriously, if your man is tech savy (which thank God mine is not, because I already have enough internet-related distractions at work), there are infinite ways to cyberstalk and obsess. Why are guys surprised when we're jealous then? We have access to all your old photos, your EX's interests and disinterests, and twitter pages and pinterest boards and tumblrs and blogs and omg my head is going to explode.
4. I don't know balance. At all. For instance, I spent one semester watching and/or DVRing the entirety of Law and Order: SVU (ILY Stabler!) but pretty soon, I would hear that little dun dun and have to change channels. What I'm saying is that be it a TV show, a hobby, a new friend, a book series, a whatever, if I like it, I throw myself at it and hope it sticks around for a while. I go through phases of liking and disliking things and I'm not sure if my One College Relationship ever made it past the I Love This phase that I go through with every New Thing. I simply don't know how to tell the difference between something intense and fleeting and something intense and longlasting. It's like flavored gum. I can only chew it for so long before it stops tasting like deliciousness and starts hurting my jaw. So I spit it out and move on to the next piece. Sorry, this is supposed to be a metaphor but it's turning into a giant ramble.
5. Along the lines of my above point, I don't do coy for very long. My bag of tricks is exceedingly shallow. Also I am incredibly impatient, unable to wait a couple of weeks down the road to pull out all the stops. I want to be extravagant and unforgettable from the beginning! I will change your life! You will always look back at me as that redhead that you blew your mind! It's self-centered, I know, but I think deep down inside, you always want to be the one that rocked his/her world the best. The problem is it's exhausting and you can't maintain that kind of awesomeness forever. At some point, you will be sitting on the couch in your sweatpants with your hair in a rat's nest above your head, crying watching an episode of the Biggest Loser, eating ice cream**. And someone will see that eventually. I don't know if there's enough mindblowing sex or deep conversations in the world to keep someone coming back for more after witnessing something like that.
I guess what I'm saying is I have doubts about a Sex Alliance Against Society because I really don't know what the alliance part means. It's new territory for me. But I guess years of Disney movies and rom-coms have conditioned me to hope against all hope that whatever the alliance is, it will stand strong against Society - be it asshole bullies in high school or dumb bitches giving me the evil eye at the club.
*Great book by Frank Portman. Go read it. In no way do I tend to plagiarize your idea about a SAAS.
**I've totally never done that...at least, not all three at the same time. There may come a day.
I read King Dork* recently and a passage in the novel got me thinking. The main character, an adolescent boy, muses about what it means to have a girlfriend in high school. To him, it seems to be lots of making out and bjs in cars. A girlfriend is someone who stands by your side as armor, who stands shoulder to shoulder with you in a Sex Alliance Against Society – Society being asshole bullies in high school.
In all honesty, I don’t know much of what happens in relationships my own age behind closed doors. I mean, I know what happens behind closed doors – I lived with 4 girls in “committed” relationships in college, trust me – but I don’t really know what happens. You go to tailgates together and get mad at each other when you’re drunk. You always have dates to weddings, no matter how awkward it might be. Sometimes when you have money, you take trips. Concerts. Bad food. Lots of Going Places and Doing Things. But beyond that and basic pillow talk, your general Sex Alliance Against Society is like Clue and I thought it was the lead pipe but instead it was Miss Scarlet in the Billiard Room with the wrench.
What I’m saying is my understanding of relationships is elementary and limited. I have one “real” relationship to speak of (I’m not counting high school) and I say “real” with quotes because it was my freshman year of college and there’s only so much you can put into a relationship when you’re 19 and don’t want to piss anyone off.
1. What happens after you get settled or past the honeymoon period (arbitrarily agreed to be the 6 month mark)? I never made it past the honeymoon period in college where everything is daisies and I look back through rose-colored glasses to days filled with lying in the sun on the quad, drowsing. Seriously, I did that. As to my other romantic endeavors, the three week mark has always been the point of no return where whatever spark it was snap, crackles, and pops and suddenly, I can’t stand the way he chews his food or he stops calling.
2. How do you fight with a SO? I’m using this freshman year romance as a meter stick. We never fought. Once. Like, not at all. I don’t know if it was because I was afraid of rocking the boat or we really didn’t have anything to fight about or that sleeping with someone creates some sort of anti-fighting hormone that affected both of us, but we never did. In fact, the only time I remember a fight was at the end of the relationship. I sensed distance, realized distance was not in my head, confronted him about distance, and then it was over. Fin. So in my tiny brain, a fight is equated to the end of the relationship. Or like a big blow out, one ingrained in my poor head by that scene in the Parent Trap - the remake - where that lady who died tells Dennis Quaid she threw a hairdryer or a shoe at him and then took one daughter (seriously, how effed up was that? Oh yeah, they're totes equal human beings. Let's split them like you would split a chocolate bar) and moved across the Atlantic. It all seems like fun and games in the movies, but in real life, a fight with whoever my SO may be seems like a giant cliff to leap off of back into Singledom.
3. Social media ruins me. Damn you, Mark Zuckerberg! Back then, Facebook was around but not as prevalent or I was so gob smacked and in lurv that I didn’t notice. There are so many questions and pressures from people I don’t even know to define my not-a-relationship in a public forum from the beginning that it boggles the mind. When is the appropriate time to become Facebook Official? Do I have to? Will stupid girls at the club stop giving me the evil eye that I’m with him if he makes some grand proclamation? Why do I keep looking at the old profile pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend even though I know it makes me mad? Why did I have to be born into the era of Facebook? Seriously, if your man is tech savy (which thank God mine is not, because I already have enough internet-related distractions at work), there are infinite ways to cyberstalk and obsess. Why are guys surprised when we're jealous then? We have access to all your old photos, your EX's interests and disinterests, and twitter pages and pinterest boards and tumblrs and blogs and omg my head is going to explode.
4. I don't know balance. At all. For instance, I spent one semester watching and/or DVRing the entirety of Law and Order: SVU (ILY Stabler!) but pretty soon, I would hear that little dun dun and have to change channels. What I'm saying is that be it a TV show, a hobby, a new friend, a book series, a whatever, if I like it, I throw myself at it and hope it sticks around for a while. I go through phases of liking and disliking things and I'm not sure if my One College Relationship ever made it past the I Love This phase that I go through with every New Thing. I simply don't know how to tell the difference between something intense and fleeting and something intense and longlasting. It's like flavored gum. I can only chew it for so long before it stops tasting like deliciousness and starts hurting my jaw. So I spit it out and move on to the next piece. Sorry, this is supposed to be a metaphor but it's turning into a giant ramble.
5. Along the lines of my above point, I don't do coy for very long. My bag of tricks is exceedingly shallow. Also I am incredibly impatient, unable to wait a couple of weeks down the road to pull out all the stops. I want to be extravagant and unforgettable from the beginning! I will change your life! You will always look back at me as that redhead that you blew your mind! It's self-centered, I know, but I think deep down inside, you always want to be the one that rocked his/her world the best. The problem is it's exhausting and you can't maintain that kind of awesomeness forever. At some point, you will be sitting on the couch in your sweatpants with your hair in a rat's nest above your head, crying watching an episode of the Biggest Loser, eating ice cream**. And someone will see that eventually. I don't know if there's enough mindblowing sex or deep conversations in the world to keep someone coming back for more after witnessing something like that.
I guess what I'm saying is I have doubts about a Sex Alliance Against Society because I really don't know what the alliance part means. It's new territory for me. But I guess years of Disney movies and rom-coms have conditioned me to hope against all hope that whatever the alliance is, it will stand strong against Society - be it asshole bullies in high school or dumb bitches giving me the evil eye at the club.
*Great book by Frank Portman. Go read it. In no way do I tend to plagiarize your idea about a SAAS.
**I've totally never done that...at least, not all three at the same time. There may come a day.
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