Openings

Part of our first lesson consisted of creating four or five short openings. Here are mine:

“It’s a simple process.” Clark twisted a dial halfway up the console. “We fire the particles at a ridiculous speed and they smash into the atom.” He turned to Monica with a wry grin. “Presto, change-o! Big Bang!”

All of Monica’s experience with the Big Bang was theoretical, gleaned from the pages of her high school science texts. She lifted an eyebrow at Clark’s simple explanation. “But isn’t that, I don’t know, a little dangerous? The term ‘Big Bang’ doesn’t exactly instill confidence in simplicity, you know.”

***

Morgan stares ahead blankly, his eyes unfocused and his mind a million miles away. Traffic creeps by, sometimes flies by (depending on the light, which, by the way, is burned out on Red), and at long last, a line of buses chugs to the curb. The rattling, growling, behemoths belch black exhaust into the heavy air and Morgan thinks of those anti-bottled water commercials. Thirty minutes on a treadmill, a lifetime on the planet. He inhales the toxic air deep into his lungs. It could be worse, he decides as he climbs aboard. I could live in China.

**

I have always been of the opinion that once a plane reaches a certain altitude, everyone on board is fucked if something goes wrong. You know, the damn thing rips open at the belly and sucks half of the passengers out; they’ll die of heart attacks or asphyxiation before they hit the ground. Everyone probably will. I have always taken comfort in that knowledge. Death at 37,000 feet will be quick and painless and won’t leave any time for contemplation.

I mean, that’s what I used to think. Right now, I’m just staring up at the blue sky and the clouds ripping through us and wishing like hell that I had backpacked through Europe after college instead of getting a job at a law firm.

**

“What is this supposed to be?” Reggie poked the lump with his stubby index finger.

Margie gaped at him. “Bread! Can’t you see that it’s bread?” She picked up the dough, which kind of oozed around her fingers like cold molasses.

“Oh. Well, why haven’t you baked it yet?” Reggie pinched a hunk of dough between his thumb and fingers. His new bride’s gaping stare melted into a trembling chin and watery eyes.

“It is baked, Reginald. It is.” She yanked the dough away from his curious fingers as though he were attempting to pick the eyes out of a child’s skull. “I was trying to make you a nice dinner for when you got home from work. I’m your wife now. It’s what I do.”

Reggie thought she needed a bit more practice.

Snippet

“Cassandra,” he said quietly, his voice thick and raspy. He was so close. So close. She felt his body heat radiating out from him. It made her drowsy and happy. She raised her eyes to meet his again and her breath caught in her throat. She bit her bottom lip again and he lifted one hand, his long, beautiful fingers tracing along the line of her jaw to her chin. With the slightest bidding of his fingertips, he guided her mouth to his.

His lips were soft and when her own parted and she tasted his mouth for the first time, a shiver rippled through her. She leaned in, her hand moving to outer side of his thigh. His fingers thrummed lightly over her neck and she was reminded of fall in the country. Barren trees, yellowing grass, golden light. The oddly comforting vast loneliness she invariably felt as the seasons shifted from inescapable heat to breathable cool.

I WROTE THIS YOU KNOW

i won’t think that kissing your lips
will be like drinking from the fountain of youth
because i’ll be too nervous to even remember how to use my lips
or my tongue
and i won’t know what to do with my hands
should i put them on your arms?
or on your shoulders?
or at your waist?
and what about opening my mouth?
when should i do that?
how much tongue is too much tongue?
does my breath stink?
do i have food stuck in my teeth?
how’s my technique?
how’s yours?
oh my god, what if you’re a bad kisser?
after all this anticipation and daydreaming
what if you sweep me into your arms and look into my eyes
and say all the right words
and then kiss me with basset hound tongue?

(c) 2008

I talk too much

Look! That is the place where I will talk about not writing and not clog up this blog with non-writing things.

Sometimes

Sometimes I forget. I forget that my admonitions fall on deaf ears. I forget, have forgotten, have never known, the sound of my name in your voice or the feather light whisper of your fingers on my face. Pre-dawn hours, both so raggedly exhausted that our conversation is nothing but giggles and ridiculous flights of fancy. Your eyes are exhausted. You haven’t smiled in years.

I miss you.

(c) 2008
5.3.08

Hypothetically

There’s a lot I want to say to you, a lot that has been building up because it feels like you’re not listening anymore. I believe in putting things out into the world so that they exist, if they’re important enough to say, but I’m not sure why I’m choosing this venue because you won’t see, can’t see it, don’t have a way to even know that it’s here, hiding on the blog you don’t know about. But if it’s out in the universe, maybe it will travel through the things we cannot see and implant itself in your subconscious. So here we are. And now I have the floor to say to what I need to say.

I can’t find the words. That’s the problem. I can’t find the words and it seems as though you have turned your back on anything I have to say. You’ve turned your back while simultaneously staying completely open to listening. But you don’t listen. Or you do and choose to pretend you aren’t. Or you just ignore what I’m saying because you’re confused. I’m confused. Why? Why are we doing this? We’ve had a long time to figure out this damn song and dance and yes, I know that before, things were different and I was young and you were trapped and we were different people. We different now, different and the same, closer and probably more aware of the inevitability of it all. I know that before, I was the one who walked away but I want you to understand (and I thought you came to that realization at some point but maybe I was wrong?) that I did it because I had to. I was drowning, I was losing it because you were reaching out so much and you needed so much more than I could give you that I was making myself crazy. I understand why you did it and I was never mad at you for it; I was mad at myself for not being exactly what you needed. We both went to horrible places and then found our ways back to some fractured sense of normalcy and then I remembered.

I remembered you.

At first, you were not having it and god, did it break my heart. I deserved it, deserved your cold shoulder. Then one day, you decided to listen. Bit by little bit, I started to get you back. Trust is a tricky thing and I know I still have to earn so much of it back but I swear to god that this time, I won’t be the one to walk away. And right now, I don’t think you’re walking away or thinking about walking away. I think you’re retreating to think, to sort it all out. That’s fine. That’s wonderful. I don’t want you to engage in anything without knowing it’s what you want. It’s cold without you. I just…I want you to have space and time and everything you need because it’s heavy. It is. I understand that. But please don’t go. Please don’t. I swear to god, please don’t go.

Over until August

Now is time to do what I want. But I plan to give myself a week or so off to relax my brain before launching back into it, which will mean more content for the blog! I know you’re all looking forward to that…

I got some good news tonight

1234567890

FUCK.

Academia 1, student 0

So the beginning I thought I nailed down on Monday is actually pure crap upon closer inspection, so I started over again. It wouldn’t be a real writing effort if I didn’t start over at least five times. And as if I didn’t have enough stress over writing short stories these days, I signed up for a 24-hour short story contest. We’ll see how this boundary pushing turns out. Next week I’m going to a reading by (in part) my professor and there’s supposed to be a good contact in attendance.

I think I’m old enough to admit that this scares the shit out of me.

Start small, go big

We’ve instituted a new thing in our house in the evenings: one hour of creative time a night. Tonight was the first night because hey, I have a story to turn in by Friday. I got a great start on it tonight, so I had a very successful night.

I hope that over the summer I can get some new stuff up here for the masses to read. All three of you.