I think I took this when super storm sandy happened.
Water fell in torrents. What a perfect end to a stormy night. Rain poured down the gutter, my face fell with it. I looked down at my speckled blue rain coat, and flicked the dark drops from my shoulders. Tomorrow will be a new day. Today, I’ll bury the hatchet.
I recently watched Amelie again, which is an adorable french film about a very shy young woman, who appreciates the small things in life and how she finds love. Although socially awkward Amelie should be miserable and lonely, she takes joy in small pleasures like:
‘Dipping her hand in sacks of grain, cracking creme brulee with a teaspoon, and skipping stones at St Martin’s Canal.’
It’s both simple and beautiful in an unsuspecting way, and I just love it. On the opposite spectrum are other characters dislikes: like puckered fingers in the bathtub, wet bathing suit shorts that stick to the skin, and the touch of someone you don’t know.
There is a lot of focus on the detail and that’s what makes it so great. I thought I’d make a list of my own just for fun:
Amanda is a shy yet passionate writer. She likes when men give their girlfriend’s flowers, running her fingers through the scruff on her boyfriend’s cheek, and driving down a long stretch of road with the sun on her face.
She likes listening to songs that make her cry, and the sweet yet, chewy taste of a warm chocolate chip cookie when you bite into it. Amanda likes when the colors of her food compliment each other, but she hates it when restaurants use too much salt.
She dislikes long lines at the grocery store, scraping ice off her car windshield in the early morning, and when parents yell at their children in public.
She likes the smell of old books when you first open them and the crunch of potato chips after drinking a nice, cold Pepsi.
I think this is something that I could go on and on with, but why not try one of your own? It’s fun, trust me!
Happy Saturday everyone!
“So then Robbie told me that he caught this giant lobster, and it practically took his arm off.”
“What’d he do with it?”
A shrug from the man across the lunch table from me. “Dunno.” He picked at some chicken in his teeth. “Cooked it up–No. That one he threw back.”
Rafael has been regaling me with tales of fishing with his cousin in Maine. In the last fifteen minutes, I’ve learned that people in Maine talk funny, chowdah is the tits, and don’t stick your face in front of a lobster. Specifically, its claws.
“What’d you do this weekend?” He asks me.
I shrug. “Went to the park. Worked out. Got a pizza.”
“Your life is so boring, dude.”
I shrug again but its more like a wince. “Daniella left, you know. Again.”
“Why you wasting your time with her? Get a new one.” He juggles his hands in front of his chest knowingly. Our co-worker, Jane, makes an appalled face.
I bite back a laugh. “Naw, man…I don’t think Merlin would approve.” Merlin’s my five-year old rottweiler who’s part human and part dog-child all wrapped into one-hundred and thirty pounds of goofball; but mostly he just hogs the covers.
“I think I have a cousin, you can meet,” says Rafael.
“I hope it’s not Robert.”
Chicken goes down the wrong way, and comes flying out across the table. “You’re gonna kill me, man.” Another cough. “It’s Ashley. You know, bright-blond, kinda slutty?”
I grunt. “What happened to Sarah?”
“Oh, she got married last year. Met some guy in Vegas. I told her not to, but she said he bought her some kind of leopard-printed dress that matched her ring…and well, she said her new man’s got style.”
“He rich?” asks Jane. Rafael gives her an odd look, like he forgot she was there, eating her PB&J.
“Yeah, where you been?”
“Any kids?” I ask.
“Twins. Cute, too, although you wouldn’t think it, cause her new husband, some kind of Antonio…he’s got a dog’s face, dude. Guess you can be ugly when you’re rich.”
“That’s not very nice,” says Jane.
For some reason, I immediately feel sorry for her. She gets up from the table and slumps from the room.
“What’s her problem?” says Rafael.
I shrug. “Bad weekend, I guess. ” But my eyes are still on the open door of the break room.
I get up then without thought. “I’m going for a smoke.”
Rafael looks up at me, startled and then he looks down at his paper plate and realizes he’s already eaten his chicken and he’s spilled his rice all over the table.
“You’re such a slob, man.”
He laughs as he swipes rice into the trash. “Wait up, will you?”
But I pretend I don’t hear him as I walk purposely from the room. I can hear him calling to me from down the hallway.
“Oh! And there’s also my cousin Mary-Patrice…”
She sat at her desk and drummed her fingers across the keyboard. Seven more days of this, she thought. Seven more days until she could surround herself in sun tan lotion and sand. Already she could hear the sound of the gulls and the waves lapping at the shore. Soon, she would stand in the surf and let the water wash over her ankles, sinking. Sinking and relaxing. Isn’t that what vacation was all about it?
Sinking her paycheck…but sinking…no, absorbing all the sun, waves, blue sky and soft comforter that she could stand. That time in the morning where you relish in the fact that there’s no place to be. No work, no appointments, no commitments whatsoever. Just the promise she’ll make to herself when she stretches her toes out of the covers and reaches her arms up over her head. Soon it’ll be the time to relax, to slough off the bruises of a long day, and the scourge of human emotions. Soon. But not yet. Not yet.
I’ve been listening to Terry Pratchett’s The Slip of the Keyboard at work recently; it’s basically a collection of essays about his life, writing and his struggles with Alzheimer’s.
In one of his essays, he mentions how women are portrayed in fantasy. If there is a witch, she is generally evil and crouches around like an old hag, spitting curses at everyone. If she is beautiful, she is seductive, using her sexuality as a means to an end. (I think many Disney villains can be used as an example here: Ursula, Wicked Step Mother, Malificent, etc.)
On the opposite scale are the Wizards, who are male, wise, and that mentor that most protagonists seek out in times of great peril. Think Gandolf in Lord of the Rings, or Ged in A Wizard of Earthsea.
I guess my question is: Why is this so?
One of my own stories has a witch as its main villain, and I inadvertently made her beautiful, seductive and evil. I did this without thought, yet I’m wondering if this isn’t the time to mix it up a bit? Isn’t it time we had an evil wizard? Or a kind, yet sexy witch, who is not evil?
(J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books don’t really count in this musing, I suppose. As plenty of her witches are very nice, beautiful intelligent people. And Voldemort, a.k.a most evil wizard, ever.)
One thing I love about Terry Pratchett’s writing is that he doesn’t write characters that are predictable. Everyone (of the characters I’ve read so far) are unique and one of a kind. They don’t fit a basic formula, and they aren’t comfortable, which is completely fine. By comfortable, I mean you don’t always know what you can expect from them: one minute they might be performing an act of heroism, the next, you might question their sanity a bit.
The point: Terry Pratchett creates real characters that don’t fit into the formula of basic hero and that’s fine. (He also made the point that not all best-selling fantasy books are the best written either.)
This is something I agree with. But I guess what gets me is this whole idea of how women are portrayed in Fantasy. If she is a witch in some stories, why do we assume she is evil?
Do we automatically assign gender roles to specific aspects of fantasy? Do we like when witches are evil? Is the old hag expected to bring bad news? Or is this what we’ve just seen time after time, and so, we use examples of literature before us and think: ‘this the way it’s supposed to be.’
Or, if these gender roles are missing in the novel, does that automatically make it more unique than others? Just a thought.
What do you guys think? Any examples you can think of?
I kept thinking yesterday was Saturday because I had the day off, but today IS Saturday and it is also the 4th, and to me, that means family, freedom and fireworks! Oh, and hotdogs. I make sure I consume at least one hotdog around this time of year. Usually at a cook out. With pasta salads. And watermelon. And cupcake desserts.
Source: deviantart.com
Anyway, we wouldn’t be here celebrating the 4th, if it weren’t for the brave soldiers many years ago, who made that dream a reality.
Free our troops
Really free them
Each sacrifice is sacred
Each life is special
Don’t forget the lives
Our soldiers give up, but
Mostly: Pray they come home
Pray they come home safe!
I am eternally grateful to the men and women in service and the sacrifices that they have made and continue to make on a daily basis. Without them, we would not be here to celebrate the freedom we so desperately love on this independence day. Thank you all!
Happy July 4th everyone! 🙂
Right now, I work in data entry, I’ve been there about five months and as far as boring jobs go…well, this one takes the cake. I don’t really mind it though. It’s not stressful, the people I work with are alright, and I don’t have to deal with customers, or customer service, or retail, (which I hate.)
And I can listen to music, AND audio books while I work, and this arrangement works well for a book-nerd like me.
I’ve come to realize I have this obsession; I told myself that if I wasn’t in Grad school, I would absorb all the books that I could, and perhaps learn something new.
I guess I didn’t realize until now, (late twenties now and I’m just starting to realize) that I really do have a terrible attention span. I’ll watch a video for 20 secs, and I swear if it doesn’t insight some kind of meaningful reaction in that very short life span, I’ll exit and find something else to look at.
I think this is also the reason I love young adult and children literature. For that genre, you really have to start out in the middle of the action to catch its readers, it is immediate, it takes you along for the ride.
I love a great story, but sometimes I don’t have the attention span, or time to sit down and try to absorb a thousand pages of high fantasy with a trillion characters, and numerous worlds, but I CAN listen to an audio book and I’ve absorbed my fair share in the past couple of months:
The books I’ve now read (listened to):
Harry Potter, by J.K. Rowling (all seven of them)
Game of Thrones, by George R.R. Martin (all five)
The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak
American Gods, by Niel Gaiman
Still Foolin’ Em…Where I’ve Been, Where I’m going and Where the Hell are My Keys? By Billy Crystal
Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls, by David Sedaris
Virals, by Kathy Reichs
The Casual Vacancy, by J.K. Rowling
If I stay, by Gayle Foreman
Where She Went, by Gayle Foreman
The books are pretty much in order from how I listened to them. I started with Harry Potter first, because, let’s face it – it’s the best! I’ve already read the books about a thousand times, but I do love listening to the audio occasionally.
And because it’s a list, I thought I’d do a little bit of ranking…
My favorite: Harry Potter, of course.
Least favorite: Virals, by Kathy Reichs. It wasn’t as original as I thought it’d be.
Funniest: Billy Crystal’s Still Foolin’ Em
Saddest: If I Stay, Gayle Foreman
Most thought-provoking: The Book Thief and American Gods
Most Surprising: The Casual Vacancy. The book was just different from what I was expecting. I think I expected more of a mystery-type novel from the way it is described, but the book is really more of a look into the heartbreaking world of human emotions.
And Most Inspiring: Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls. It inspired me to journal more, and write more non-fiction of my own.
And I guess that’s it. There really isn’t much else to this post except that I’m going to sit back and admire my own list and think about how awesome I am. 😉
I am contemplating listening to the Wheel of Time series next. What do think? Any suggestions?
What is your favorite book?
Have you read any of the books on this list?
I’ve been listening to David Sedaris’ Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls, at work for the last few days. His book is a collection of essays about his life and some short stories. For some reason, it inspired me to try a little bit of non-fiction writing. I do need to record more of what I do, and the conversations I have on a given basis. Mr. Sedaris apparently writes too much in his journal, or so he confesses.
Non-fiction isn’t always easy for me. I don’t know if writing about your life, and the people in it is easier for some – but for me, I have to hold onto the little bit of friends I have. So it is difficult for me to just let go. Being a writer is about writing truth…and I worry too much about what people think.
Anyway, the point is, I am trying to challenge myself to try something new. I do not write enough about my life, and that is a shame. As boring as it is, there’s got to be some gem amongst the stones, right? Right? Ahaha. Here goes.
A conversation at the lunch table.
“Someone stole my carrots!” I look down into my lunch bag at the lonely tub of hummus. It stares back at me blankly, smudgy, feeling like old cement.
“Well that’s just great!” I say as I shove my lunch away. “Now I have nothing to eat my hummas with.” The last part is said with a bit of a whine. If its one thing that pisses me off, it’s going hungry.
I look up to a stare from my fellow co-workers. The woman next to me gets an uncertain look. “Someone stole my soda once.”
“Seems unlikely,” says another woman, her hair is grey, long, down her back. “I mean, if it was a bag of chips…”
“At least you have pasta,” says another. A young woman, who reads graphic novels and writes in a journal covered with cartoon characters. “I have this,” and she gestures towards a microwave pizza she bought in the vending machine. It’s one of those french bread kinds, that are usually better in an oven.
“How it is?” I ask, already a bit skeptical.
She shrugs. “It’s not as crunchy as I thought it would be.”
I respond with a thoughtful, “that’s too bad,” and make my way out of the break room. One thing I do like about my job: the people I work with. There are other things that leave much to be desired. A clean floor would be nice, for one.
“I suppose I could have left it on the counter…” I mumble a bit disappointed, turning the dial on my lock to shove my purse away in my locker. “But it sounded so much better being stolen. Other than me just being forgetful. You know, I was late to work this morning.”
The older woman with the long hair laughs. “And that’s your story and you’re sticking to it!”
“You’re darn right.”
I watch her head back up the stairs, back to work. Back to the monotony and a desk that smells like dust and sometimes burnt coffee. I’ll sometimes prop my folder up on my desk, to keep the computer from blowing hot air on my face. For some reason, this gives me a weird sense of victory. I suppose there is pleasure in the little things in life. Like I’ve beat the system. Like who cares if the computer may over-heat, at least my face is cool.
Back to work…back to work…
When I get home, I am hungry and tired, and I find a bag of carrot sticks sitting propped up against the microwave. I wave a fruit fly away.
“Think they’re still good?” I mutter, as I inspect the orange skin, that now looks dried and crackley, like they’ve been in the desert doing some serious time and not lounging serenely on my counter all day in an empty apartment.
My boyfriend gives a deep chuckle from the next room. “I’m sure they’re fine.”
I scrunch up my nose and laugh as I put them in the refrigerator, feeling suddenly like a little kid and then shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. How silly I was to think people would actually steal healthy food. Crunching carrots on the sly, isn’t exactly inconspicuous.
Unless there’s some kind of crazed vegetarian out there, just ready to go postal.
I’m starting to think I should be on the look out for Bug’s Bunny. I’ve tried the “What’s up, dock?” thing to Michael while munching on a carrot before. He doesn’t find it attractive.
Ah, next time I suppose.
Eh, just looking for some inspiration. Something different to write. Here goes…nothin’. Been having a hard time prioritizing my writing time again. This is something I definitely need to get into the swing of again. Found this writing prompt online via google. It was supposed to be for a poem, but suddenly I found myself in a fiction mood. 🙂
Writing Prompt: Write using all of the following words: smooth, soothe, work, dark…
It was a smooth, dark, night. A world full of purple and black. A night that touched the skin, and felt like velvet, a world that kissed and made promises.
He stood outside of the nightclub and held my hand. Across the street, the wind blew restlessly through the green trees in the small park. His eyes were wide and purple as they looked down at mine. I knew he had contacts in. I knew the diamond stud in his ear wasn’t real.
“Babe,” he said, as he held my hand. “Babe, I just need to focus on my career, on my work right now.”
I felt my stomach plummet. Suddenly, the street lights that tipped our shadows across the street, felt too-bright and intrusive. I stared up at him. Was his hair pink? Maybe blue? I batted at something that twinkled by his head.
I felt his grip tighten, or was he pulling me closer? “You’re drunk off your ass,” he said. “What else did you take? Acid?”
One didn’t need to take acid to discover how musical his voice was not. He enunciated something to me. I watched his soft mouth open wide and then purse together. Like a fish. Huh, fish lips. Fish gills. Fish and chips!
“Fish and chips?” He slapped my face. “Wake up!”
I stumbled back from him, moment gone. “I don’t need to wake up,” I blubbered as I touched at the blood coming down my nose. It was the drugs that made me weepy. It was the world that was taken away. It was the magic that had filled my head, and then was dumped out onto the street, useless, had lost its sparkle.
His skin was too pale anyway. His hair too black and greasy. He needed to focus on his music, right. Focus on a new pair of tits, and an ass that fit his hand better. Boy, I sure knew how to pick them.
I stumbled across the street.
“Adriene!” He called to my back. I ignored his grave voice. The wind that blew music through the trees was calling me. The smell of something new and fresh and not forgotten called me, soothed me.
The moon came alive on my face, then. The light that managed to trickle down into the city, lit all of the trees and the benches and the large grey stones next to the park’s entrance in a gray-blue light.
It was the fairies calling me. The fairies and soft green grass and a ground that fit just right. I imagined myself curling into the long grass, the tickle of wild flowers next to my face, and then I was doing just that. I was in the grass and in the dirt and I would lay there forever and never wake up.
Never wake up.
My family and I lost someone very special to us this month; my grandma of 88 years, passed away Friday, May 8th. While words don’t really do her justice – (I’ve never had this problem before!) It certainly doesn’t hurt to try.
So, I wrote a poem to honor her, which I read at her memorial service. Afterwards, everyone came up and told me how great it was, how “perfect” it was and fitting for her. But inside I felt empty. A part of me was pleased that everyone liked it, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it; it wasn’t good enough, it didn’t feel complete. But I think it was because, in this case, words can never really express how someone was in life, how much they mean to you, how much you ache and feel sorrow because they are gone.
I think there comes a time (even for a writer) when words just aren’t enough. No matter how much you try. Regardless, my grandma was a beautiful woman inside and out…and I did it to honor her.
(Or if you click on my beautiful picture you can see a larger image and read the poem there.)
The woman who loved the color purple
had laughter on her lips
and everywhere she walked and talked
there was a purpose to her quips
She was always there to lend an ear
no judgement in her mind
She was always there for everyone
hard-working, mischievous and kind
The woman who loved to laugh and camp
had compassion in her eyes
She didn’t have to do everything
but by golly, she did try!
She was a woman of many names
and as busy as can be
But no matter what you called her
she was always “Grandma” to me.
A. J. Morse 