Writing Club – January 10, 2007

Write about one who has left and regretted their departure.

His Levi's always fit perfectly. Shaping the curve of his bottom the way God would surely have intended. I loved the way he would paint all afternoon on Sundays. I would help him wash the brushes. He was a starving artist living on love, but somehow, I always thought he would grow out of it. He would grow tired of never having cash to spare and mooching of the woman who loved him too much. It was this free spirit that I loved, and loathed. I was jealous of his ability to break away from social constraints and fulfill his passion. I was the rigid cardigan wearing freak from New Hampshire. I wanted to be him, but instead of changing my ways, I tried to control him and he ran. I awoke to find him gone, having left only a painting.....of a caged bird being released. The only clothes he left behind were the ones I had given him. The ones I forced on him. That was the day. That was the day that I decided to start painting and take off the cardigan that would strangle me if I wasn't careful. I painted every day. I wore my hair down. I started reading Robert Frost on summer nights and wearing flip flops as much as I could. My freely wiggling toes were always grateful. I would write about him in my journal and wonder if I would ever see him again. I walked past a gallery on a Monday evening, wearing my new found Bohemian uniform. A collage of a all the trappings of a typical preppie existence was surrounded by flames. He was there. He was staring at me as he walked up to the window. His sweater vest and perfect hair? He came outside to join me. This was the moment. He would regret his departure. He said he had changed; this was his gallery. His new life. His new life with sweater vests and golf and BMWs and those people who buy really expensive paintings. He professed his regret; his love for me made him change. His world was now 'perfect' and he longed to have me in it. My life had turned into so much more than that; I will never regret leaving him standing outside his gallery.....

Write about someone who misinterprets a compliment

Internal monologue, troubled female youth 1986

What a bitch! Horrid mistress of malcontent! My step mother paid 200 dollars for me to look this way and she says in her snide bitchy-McBitcherson tone “Nice hair”. Wench. But alas, she is the most popular girl in school. Her approval will make or break my existence. I need a solution. Fight back the tears. Suck it up you weakling. Jessica probably thinks I am fat too. Whore. She is a whore with no soul. She is the one with the bad hair; those perfect and grotesque waves that frame her face like a princess happily waving to throngs of supporters. I'll show her. A perm! Where is the box? I put the box under the sink? Where is my fucking box of home perm!!!??? Get it together. What would Molly Ringwald do?? She would get it the fuck together and get the guy with a sports car. Focus. God damnit. These tiny rollers. I wonder if I should call Jessica? Who the hell does she think she is judging my hair? Winged beast of Satan with a stupid hat that she bought at that new store. The Gap? The gap of what? I can't believe she thinks I am fat. Scalp is burning. Oh my god, how long has it been. I left it in too long!!!! My life is ending. What can I do with this ball of frizz? OMG. FUCK FUCK FUCK. 200 dollars. My hair was great and I had to screw it up? JESSICA IS SUCH A BITCH. I should call her and ask what she is wearing tomorrow. I have to wear my hat (obviously) If she is going to wear her hat then I can't wear mine. Oh my god...I look horrible. Scissors. That is the only way. God I can't choose: wrists ? Hair ? Wrists? Hair? Wrists. Dumb ass! Don't go for the wrists. How can you live a spiteful existence and make Jessica wish she was you if you are dead? Leave the hair alone. Harden the fuck up you weakling. Go to bed. She is the one that is fat. “Nice hair” I will show you 'nice hair' Where is my Seventeen magazine? How can I sleep without reading my horoscope? All I have is fried hair and a fat ass.

Next morning, wake up to phone ringing:

Jessica! Hi! Oh my god!

No, I am wearing the legwarmers and my hat.

See you at school.

I hate that bitch.

When I first told my family about ------- they didn't believe me.

When I first told my family I was a lesbian they didn't believe me. Why wouldn't they? I am an AR-TEEST. I am a vegetarian. I like Birkenstocks....ALOT. I shop at REI. Ani Defranco wrote the soundtrack of my tortured life. At 19, I truly believe that I have matured much past my years. Could that be why? Could I have matured past men? I remember that day in human sexuality. I was reflecting on my organic shade-grown coffee wondering if the cotton shirt I was wearing was really made with sustainable, organic cotton. The professor blathering on and on about alternative lifestyles in the background. I was thinking “What does she know about alternative lifestyles? I am a vegan born and raised in the heartland. That is what my family believes is an 'alternative lifestyle.” I sat and pondered about the Indigo Girls and wondered what I would wear to the Blue Fems – the cover band. The homework assignment was to go to a place where you felt sexually outside of yourself – perhaps a gay bar if strait or a Catholic church if you are a drag queen homosexual. Two birds with one stone. The concert would likely be a hot spot for lesbians, right? My vegan team and I decked ourselves out in our finest broomstick skirts and sandals. I picked out my best handmade earrings. They were handmade with bones harvested from a deer that had died of natural causes in the forrest. A tribute to nature. My boyfriend called to see what I was up to and ask if I wanted to hang out. I obviously said no and that I would not respond to his insipid male need to repress me. Although I love being naked underneath him, I have no desire to have some man feel he is above me. My girlfriends and I were all in our first year and this was our first real college concert and we wanted to make sure we would fit in with all of the really unique people that attended our cozy liberal arts school. We walked in, long skirts flowing, tousled hair 2 days from a shampoo.....all these unique lesbians. They look so happy. I am special like them. I must be a lesbian.

Creative Writing Club Meeting - January 10, 2008 - Topic #1

Ok. This is where my writing stuff would be if a could figure out why Blogger will not copy/past from NeoOffice. I will figure this out soon. 

Tonight I went to my first creative writing club meeting (yes, I know, I am in a book club and a writing club. Means I am cool as hell right?) at the waffle house. Ham and cheese waffle, hot cocoa, and creative writing exercises. Perfect. It will double as blog content.  The method is that we pick a starter topic from a workbook and write for 20 minutes. Then, we read out loud.  It was really good fun. Enjoy. I will be posting this stuff after each meeting. 

A Whole New Way to Protect Your Valuables

I have been waiting for a new calculator at work for a month. I was delighted to see my new HP graphing calculator arrive on my desk....no zippy case, but I won't even go into that.  I wanted to use my new calculating friend ASAP. Someone, somewhere, had a different plan. I had to cut, tear, and pull the damn packaging until I broke a sweat. WTF. What are they protecting the calculator from? Terrorists? Geez. After much a way too much effort, I finally managed to pry my toy out of the packaging. I got the disk, the manual and the USB cord. Damn. The batteries were safely nestled in the opposite end of the package. At this point, I really had to use my ninja skills. The sharp edges almost ripped my flesh off, but eventually I was able to get the damn things out. A mere 20 minutes after its arrival, I was able to turn it on and take it for a test run. WTF. It was like some stupid game. Even now, I am sure some A-hole that calls himself the Package Master is sitting around thinking how a little fun thing called Number 3 plastic can be used to give innocent victims near-strokes and temper tantrums. Just take a valuable object, use the #3, and devise some space age method of sealing it together and you have got yourself a frustration device. Can't they just use some freaking cardboard?!?

Revolutionary Road by Yates (Fiction)

This was the October selection for the bookclub I am in. I thought hmmm....looked hokey, but this book was not what I thought. It turned out to be a highly relevant social commentary. 

Set in the 1950s it chronicles the marriage of April and Frank Wheeler. He works in "The City" (New York) and they reside in the country on Revolutionary Road. The central focus of the book is to create an "us and them". Both April and Frank once resided in The City and considered themselves thinkers, doers and idealists. Above all, they were not suburbanites. They were better. No one sat around having the intellectual conversations like they did-especially not those who live on Revolutionary Road. It was this supposed separation that plants the idea in April's head. She believes that uprooting the husband and kids and getting a new start in Europe is the only hope to truly separate themselves from them and that way of living; to get away from the gossip, topiaries, and the general trappings of the silly American Suburbanites. The Europeans would say "You are not like other Americans, you are so progressive and intellectual".  The delusion of uniqueness enables the true form of their life and marriage to be hidden away in a dark corner; only the reader is the wiser. Frank is catastrophically (yes, I mean catastrophically) manipulative and they are both the the type of people they claim to despise. The intimacy of their marriage is, in large part, based on the constant manipulation of the other person.  It is their delusions that bring about the tragic conclusion. (which I cannot tell you!)

This book highlights the lies that we tell ourselves to make us feel unique and special. (Or more correctly, the lies that you tell yourselves. I am not like that.....I am special. ) It is about the double standards, the manipulations, and the delusions of superiority that plague so many minds.  

Eat Pray Love

Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (Non-fiction)
Humor-filled review (read on for something more serious):
This book is about a woman searching for her soul. (This is where the men-folk decide to check out a blog about something else, anything else.) The book is divided into three parts (see title). The first, she is in Italy gaining 25 pounds, next she is in India getting transcendent in an Ashram, and last, she checks out Bali for some unexpected lovin'. (I expect her intent for the latter was not carnal fulfillment, but more allowing herself to love again-blah blah blah.)
This book peaked early. I was completely into the story when she was in Italy surrounded by men and delicious food. She was going through the post-breakup, crazy woman, cry on the bathroom floor situation....she was in that place we have all been. I was thinking how close I felt to this writer. She found peace in learning Italian and indulging herself (my kind of healing).
Next she goes to an Ashram in India and begins 4 am meditations, a meat-free existence, and yoga. She does this for FOUR months. I am not that fond of 4 am. I would be more eager to be transcendent past 7 am. This book started to delve into hokey at this point. I was still hopeful I would get some sort of climax in the Love portion (pun intended), but mostly it was just on the downhill. The leading lady finally finds her inner love and is able to flirt again....I imagine after the eight months of celibacy she was quite frisky. It is in this last section that the proof of her healing is truly revealed.
A more serious look:
Liz was a serial monogamist who always morphed into whomever she was dating. She truly gave herself up. After a nasty divorce (while in a serious relationship with another man) she went through a nasty breakup. She decided to heal herself in an all encompassing way; by finding pleasure (Italy), experiencing God (India), and learning to find balance between the two (Bali). The book was well written and humorous. Liz is easy to find a piece of yourself in (even if it is just when she is gorging on Italian food or being crazy). She took a courageous journey into her mind to get herself past all the crazy. (most of us never get past it, we just get through an episode) She learned how to love without losing herself. I would recommend this book if you have recently been through a tragic breakup, enjoy long baths, or use the Alaska State Ferry as a method of travel.

MY NEW GOAL!

As you may have notices from my extremely lazy blogging technique, I can't commit well to this thing. I think I might have a solution! I need a purpose. I am going to do literature reviews! I use this term very loosely. I run the gamut of books, but mostly stick to non-fiction. Although, I have read a few novels this summer. (A cast will do that do you) Feel free to comment...you can even disagree with me. This is not advisable as I will SPAM you for the rest of your natural life. Kidding. :) I love it when people disagree with me.