08 février 2018
I had known my résumé was lacking, and that had been my closing argument at the interview. I rather wish they hadn't.
"Not you again..." I had told him repeatedly that he was not her father. We had done a paternity test that came back negative. He kept coming by. I was never going to let him near her, but I was starting to think this argument was just an excuse to see me. I was exhausted.
"I'm so in love with you." He smiled at her words, but her mouth tasted sour. It was their 20th wedding anniversary and she hadn't been in love with him for 19 years. She wondered if his smile was just acceptance and resignation to the situation, but she didn't dare ask.
"Dance with me!" They were in the grocery store, in the freezer aisle by the vegetables to be exact, and one of the top 40 songs was playing over the store speakers. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into her in the middle of the aisle. He was shy, but there wasn't really anyone around and he succumbed.
"Catch me if you can!" The little girl was giggling as she ran with her bubble wand, streaming liquid rainbow orbs behind her. An older man, presumably her father, pretended to run after her. His tie hung loose around his neck and his top button was undone. He must have just gotten off work. It seemed to me a tremendous display of devotion to bring his daughter to the park without even taking the time to change clothes.
"Are you drunk?" The question was obviously sarcastic as it was 0900. It was also rather unprofessional, but the Commander appeared to be at her wit's end as she glared at the Lieutenant sitting two chairs down from her. It would seem that she did not care for his idea of warfare tactics.
07 février 2018
He sat across from me on the subway car drumming gently on the tops of his thighs and bobbing his head every so slightly causing his shoulder length dreadlocks to sway gently, hypnotically.
She made the bed with hospital corners, used a ruler to space the jars on her kitchen counter, and was absolutely out of control in all the areas of her life that actually mattered.
I suppose you could describe his personality as taupe.
My father was a lawyer, and his father before him, and his father before him and I just want to be a drag queen.
The twins had developed their own language as toddlers, but unlike many twins, they still used it now in their late 20s.
"Where were you last night?" I practised asking the question in the mirror, trying to sound casual and maybe borderline flippant. Like I really didn't care. Like it didn't bother me that I had waited and waited for her to come home. Like I hadn't stayed up pacing the kitchen until 1 in the morning. Like I hadn't gone to bed and just stared at the digital clock as it slowly ticked away the minutes until the sun rose. Like I wasn't simultaneously angry and worried.
01 février 2018
What kind of monster sets the microwave to times that don't end in five or zero?
He was the sort of person who likes to change seats from meeting to meeting to really confuse and annoy his coworkers.
I could get lost in a round room.
She liked to swim from one end of the pool the other without surfacing, even if that meant black edges creeping in on her vision.
Who buys dishes without ensuring that they are microwave safe?
30 janvier 2018
We locked eyes across the room - it wasn't romantic, but at least now I knew I wasn't the only one bored nearly to tears by this lecture.
She couldn't be "that girl" at the gym, she just couldn't, but she also couldn't get the bar back up off her chest and she couldn't really breathe.
She held the battery powered clippers in her right hand and stared at her reflection a moment before clicking the power button and shearing the first line down the middle of her scalp, no turning back now.
"I'm a strong independent man."
He had never really been a fan of soup.
"Where were you last night?" My mom asked the question very casually as she pulled a box of bran flakes from a brown paper grocery sack and placed them in the cupboard. She continued unloading groceries, her back to me, as my pulse began to race. I had planned everything perfectly. I had kissed her good night and gone upstairs to set my music on a timer. I had arranged a few pillows messily under my sheets to resemble my body and I had even left my phone in the bed in case she tried tracking it. How could she possibly know I had snuck out?
29 janvier 2018
Her voice resonated with a southern accent - not the nasal twang he had heard before, but a rich lilt that made him think of honey butter and cornbread.
He was lying on his back puffing smoke rings into the sky.
The chime sounded to let me know someone was coming into the store, and I wanted nothing more than to hide under the counter.
When he parked in large lots, he meticulously wrote down where he left his vehicle and took pictures to ensure ease of return so it might be an understatement to say he was surprised when spot D53 in the east section of the structure was empty.
She wasn't much for metaphors and similes but she'd be darned if his eyes weren't a warm turquoise like the waters of the Caribbean.
Start with "Where were you last night?"
"Where were you last night?" She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at me with innocent curiosity.
She knew perfectly well where I had been considering I'd been in her bed. But I maintained the ruse.
"I was pretty tired so I turned in early, sorry I didn't make the study group."
"No worries," Robin chimed in. "We finished pretty quickly. I was in bed by like nine."
I had been in Rachel's bed at that same time, but said instead, "I don't think I even saw nine. I woke up at some point with my TV asking me if I was still watching."
Everyone laughed, including Rachel, and I took this as a good sign that no one could see me sweating.
28 janvier 2018
He had thought to brighten her day by finishing the unpacking and arranging, but her expression told him that his thought and execution was poorly received.
She didn't know any of the runners at the high school track meet, but their intensity and expressions of an earnest desire to win made her choke up with an array of emotions.
She gave him everything he could ever want except for her time, and that, of course, was the only thing he truly wanted.
It was 2:17 p.m. and we were all standing on the lawn watching a succession of planes fly overhead towards the smoke.
His favourite shirt was unwearable - the print was worn and was now simply spots of illegible plastic transfer that kept the entire thing from being a mess of a holes - but he diligently washed it once a month and placed it back in his closet as a reminder.
A changing of exercises
As noted in my last entry, it's surprisingly difficult to go back and review the history of a story that I do not have on hand. As such, I am going to sift through the book I am using and select a slightly more accessible exercise to pursue for the next week or so.
25 janvier 2018
I don't necessarily remember answering the phone and hence my confusion when the voice on the other end demanded, "Well?"
I debated reminding him that repeating an action while expecting a different result was a sign of insanity, but we were in a mental institution so the point seemed moot.
I watched my Tactical Action Officer go sliding across the room as the ship rolled to starboard and waited patiently for the complementary roll to port so that we could resume our discussion.
I smelled like ammunition and sweat - it was even less romantic than it sounds.
I knew what I should do, but also knew what I wanted to do.
Some things that happened before Ender's Game starts but that we never actually read about:
Peter and Valentine had a few years just the two of them
Ender's parents made the decision to have a third
Peter and Valentine were both tested (and failed)
This is harder than I thought and I'm not sure if it's because Orson Scott Card is a gifted writer, because it's been some time since I read the book, or some other reason. I will continue these exercises though as they are rather beneficial. I think I need to focus on some of the smaller details and that may require having the books on hand. I will continue to approach this from varying angles.
24 janvier 2018
She had over one hundred blank notebooks and journals in her bookcase -- she didn't write in them for fear it wouldn't be good enough for how pretty they all were.
His collection of kitchen gadgets was so vast and impressive you would have thought he might actually know how to cook.
As a barista, my favourite hobby is writing down creative ways that people compare their love of black coffee to things like their hearts, their souls, or the hex color code #000000.
Lately I've noticed a lot of shadows moving in my peripheral vision which either means that I can see ghosts or I'm dying.
"Please stop crying."
23 janvier 2018
I flushed as I watched her caressing the teapot, imagining that she might someday touch me in the same manner.
She turned her toes in together as though she could use them as a blockade to hide behind.
He had started lifting weights because it was what everyone told him to do but he had continued because now it seemed like no one could tell him what to do.
She ignored the boxes labelled "kitchen" "towels" "home office", frantically pulling the sheets out of "bedding" until she freed a once-white, tattered teddy bear -- "I'm sorry I didn't catch you before the movers tucked you away," she clutched it tightly to her chest.
He ate automatically, tasting none of the food, simply performing the social function of eating at a dinner party.
22 janvier 2018
The first line below actually was inspired by my boyfriend, so I'm doing 6 today.
He was, at first, pleasantly surprised that his girlfriend did not feel hot to the touch as she normally did while they cuddled at night - her skin was quite cool as she was dead.
Her neighbour was laughing so loudly she could hear it through the walls and it was grating, inspiring creative homicidal thoughts.
"What if I just turned the wheel suddenly and threw myself and my car over the cliff?" she thought to herself, doing nothing of the sort.
He realised he hadn't consumed enough water for the day so he carefully drank two one-litre bottles in succession because that was the sort of man he was.
It had started as a simple search for her car keys, but now she was sitting on the living room floor simultaneously laughing and crying hysterically.
The precision it takes to make perfect roses out of buttercream frosting is not difficult if you happen to be neurotic.
18 janvier 2018
I also went back and looked at the first lines of two of my favourite books. They are stellar.
The Curious Incident of Dog in the Night-time opens with, "It was seven minutes after midnight." Short, sweet, simple, and immediately sets a scene.
Shantaram opens with, "It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured." Just... wow.
"Unusual ways to dispose of a body" she typed into the search bar, hesitating only slightly before hitting enter.
It's amazing how much clarity one finds hiding under the bed.
"Looks good to me," the young Sailor called up the ladder, blatantly overlooking the rapidly developing cracks in the shaft seal.
In her opinion, the conversation had been over for fifteen minutes; he clearly hadn't noticed.
There comes a time in everyone's life when you find yourself sitting in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel, debating driving to the airport to fly away and never come back; or at least, I hope that happens to everyone because this was the fourth time it was happening to me.
17 janvier 2018
She hummed a few notes of the black swan's solo as she superglued over a blister, missing only one note as she winced.
The red phone was on the right hand side of the desk which seemed illogical as I needed my right hand for the mouse.
The man smiled at me revealing bleeding gums and rotting teeth.
It is impossible to accurately convey just how commanding and confident a woman in a chador can actually be.
It's odd how calming it can be to paint make up on one's face until you begin to border on looking garish and rather like a whore.
16 janvier 2018
How to Get and Keep a Reader - write a good first line.
I will probably try to write 1-5 opening lines every day. First lines are important. My first attempt is as follows:
It was not dark nor stormy, neither, in fact, was it night.
He came through the shop door soaking wet and smelling of rotting vanilla cupcakes.
They were all looking at me expectantly and I could no longer read the words jotted on my notecard.
Ms. Cresher was dressed impeccably, as always, save that one of her diamond earrings was set in white gold and one set in yellow gold.
The atmosphere in the conference room reminded John of the sound gelatin makes when it suddenly slides free of its mould.
14 octobre 2015
19 janvier 2014
01 décembre 2013
Glitter falling all around
glistening like my smile.
Music notes tumble,
Rocking in the corner,
sparkles stream from my eyes.
Shirking and shrinking,
laugh laugh laugh.
So happy for you.
29 novembre 2013
So zealous for this life,
yet anxiously troubled
as though fervent happiness
must be quelled,
lest it be overwhelmed by
Brimming with idealism,
concerned by encroaching dejection --
life ever bemusing.
Optimism battles the xanthous fears,
while joyous elation concedes to
worries, mindful of disappointment.
kind and loving,
resigned to a perplexed quiet.
20 novembre 2013
What goes up must come down
down down down...
Fight it and cling,
claw and dig deep.
The fall is delayed,
drags on... and on...
Reaching up but
it's no use.
It never is.
Slide down -
bleeding along the way.
The bottom - disconsolate,
Shaken despairing sobs.
03 novembre 2013
01 novembre 2013
Curious Contentment (working title)
It began so carefully,
To pinpoint an origin
Enshrouded in primaveral joy,
enraptured by this new curiosity.
All good things must end.
Trading in the gleeful swivet,
expecting a tumble into despondence.
Comfortable resignation tinged with
residuum of frivolity.
Nigh confusing this
No falderal sense of being jilted;
rather, peculiar satisfaction in this
02 mars 2013
You are prohibited
in the face of
To proscribe regulation –
Forcibly en regle,
straining resistance –
Quell the flush --
coveting the verboten.
A hypnopompic state…
an anguish to relish.
Off limits –
painful brush with the
28 décembre 2012
30 mars 2012
Stand at the bottom of the staircase,
No banister – tiptoe up trying not to make a sound.
Exhale at the top sounds like a hurricane; breath catches.
Standing at the bridgehead,
No railings – sneak across, don’t look down.
Collapse at the other side; making this journey alone.
Look up at the snowy peak.
No sherpa – scale this rocky face, heart pounds.
Behold, consider this journey; these accomplishments.
Trust or solitude? Questions remain unanswered.
16 janvier 2012
Talking in Circles
Another conversation – we talk.
I tell you so many things,
inside myself, while
little is said aloud.
Smiling, I reach out to touch your arm,
a simple gesture,
devoid of ulterior motive, but
My hand rests on your side and
the disquietude inside me –
But I remain steadfast,
nigh drowning in hidden consternation.
Blinded by this clashing of
trepidation and desire,
I can’t tell if you figured it out.
A hug goodbye bordering on aggressive,
alone again – no relief from the
apprehensive proclivity to you.
11 janvier 2012
Grasping at sand and clinging to shadows,
living in a dream.
Wishing and hoping on stars that
have already died.
Living in a ghost town, deserted but
still wait at the window.
Wrapped up in bed, knowing
sleep will never come.
[shadow, mist, hallucination]
A dawning sense of clarity.
Let go of hopes and dreams,
set them free.
This grey is life – it is time to stop
pulling tails of Cheshire cats.
05 janvier 2012
Enveloped in a cloud...
lean back -- anticipating soft.
Falling through cold, damp --
chills from brushing through the mist.
Wrapped in a blanket... snuggle down -- expecting warmth.
Struggling for air, smothered --
stifled in this entrapment.
Relaxed under the sun...
float on the water -- awaiting warmth.
Sinking in the dark, cold --
drowned in disorientation.
30 décembre 2011
craving the vibration that tells me
you want to reach me.
Checking text messages,
yearning for validation of my emotions,
feeling barren, stark.
Brush away a single tear,
this languishing is ridiculous I know;
I deteriorate into a vacant ache.
Compose a message to tell you, but
eloquence is just out of reach,
I cannot send you amassed brooding.
Devoid of coherent thought,
I am hollowed out and cannot communicate.
Put the phone away.