Day five.

July 4, 2010 at 12:53 am (Uncategorized)

I’ve been sort of housesitting for my parents while they’re out of town. It’s nice having some time with just my better half & my genetic half…  [She’s laying on my chest now, listening to Year of the Black Rainbow with me; you gotta get ’em while they’re young.] We had our little psuedo-honeymoon: one night at an overpriced hotel, complete with really upbeat staff and overpriced room service. The two person bathtub had jets. We enjoyed it immensely. It almost turned into a divorcemoon- yeah, I made up a word- but we recovered, luckily. Seems like we’re doing that a lot these last few days… I don’t think the important thing in a relationship is how little you fight, just how often you make up. [Confucius says…]

But still no push.


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Oh no.

June 28, 2010 at 11:41 pm (Ebony)

Killing Ebony has given me the sort of writer’s block that can only be compared to erectile dysfunction… the inspiration is there, the muse is begging me, but I just… can’t… do… anything.

I just need that one little extra push today to get these pages done.

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June 13, 2010 at 12:48 am (Ebony)

Spent about an hour on notes for Ebony, just writing down everything as it popped up into my head without really paying much attention to what I wrote. When I read over it tonight to rework it I realized that I had just murdered Ebony.

I was very surprised and a little upset. In the three years we’ve worked on this story not once have we thought of killing him off, but it makes sense.

You’ll see. Just have faith that this isn’t going to be a repeat of my explosion ending. He doesn’t disappoint.

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June 5, 2010 at 3:19 pm (Uncategorized)

Draft one of the sex scene is complete and I am very unhappy with it, but we just brought baby home so I’m not sure how long it will take me to rewrite.

It’s funny. Seems like one minute you’re just minding your own business, shopping for delicious sugary fruit drinks at Wal-Mart, and the next you’re married to the cashier and up all night feeding his baby. I’m running on fumes. It’ll be done eventually though.

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Been a while.

May 7, 2010 at 5:23 pm (Blog, Ebony)

I got married three weeks ago. My family seems overall okay with it, and my friends are treating it with the same sense of wonderment and curiosity that they did me having a 9-to-5 desk job. They ask me constantly what married life is like- and to be perfectly honest, there isn’t much difference for us. My name is different, sure, and we both have pretty sparkly rings now, but everything is exactly the same. But that’s fine… I think everything with us is perfect. Even when he drives me fucking crazy.

So anyway. I’ve finally been pushed over the edge with this Ebony thing. You want to hear about it, Lessie? Fine, fine. I will give you the trashiest, dirtiest sex scene you’ve ever read… Once I get the hang on typing these words without blushing. I’m listening to Maroon 5 for a bit of inspiration; Songs About Jane has always just screamed “baby makin’ music” to me. Haven’t really heard much from them that isn’t on that album though. I’m attempting to listen to it on Myspace Music, but the site keeps freezing up. Everything on this goddamn laptop has suddenly decided to stop working.

Time to get this bullshit over with.

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This is it.

March 31, 2010 at 10:28 pm (Random stuffz, Untitled)

Hours of thought and this is all I have to show for it… A couple of edits from the original draft, a few added sentences, but no major change. I should maybe have started out with a completely new beginning. I’ve always thought it’s so hard to rewrite something. But I kind of liked this opening. I just want to draw it out a lot more before we get to the big conflict, and I’m not sure how. It’s very much a work in progress.

The bookstore was empty except for me. I liked it, being here alone, walking slowly past the shelves, running my finger along the spines of the books as I read the titles in hopes that one would peak my interest. There was no one here to interrupt me. I glanced towards the glass door and saw that the sun had not even begun to set yet. There was still a good hour left before the bookstore closed. I turned my attention back to the rows of volumes on the shelf before me, copies of everything from popular fiction to classical literature, all of them used and ragged, stained, coated with a thin layer of dust. Each one had a story to tell that ran deeper than the words printed upon its pages. But, all the while I spent roaming the narrow isles, I knew that I had not come here to find something so simple as a book.

Raising my eyes slowly to the space between the tops of the book and the bottom of the shelf above it I saw there, framed perfectly within, the sleek wooden counter and, more importantly, the young man who worked at the store standing behind it. His head was hanging down as he slowly flipped through the pages of a magazine, letting his thick black curls shield his face from view; but I knew the curve of his cheeks, the thickness of his lips, the shape of his wide dark eyes. I remembered it like a scene from a vivid nightmare that refused to disippate.

I wondered if he tasted like caramel. I wondered what I would have to do to find out. Watching his narrow shoulders rise and fall with a barely audible sigh, seeing the cloth of his faded navy shirt stretched teasingly across his torso, was enough to drive me mad. I wondered if his skin was as soft as it looked, if it smelled like cinnamon, if it tasted like cafe-au-lait. I wondered what was behind those glossy ebony eyes. Wondered what I would have to do to find all of it out. His fingers drifted to adjust the collar of his shirt, the top buttons of which were undone to reveal more smooth caramel skin, glowing hauntingly under the florescent lights.

I wished to god that he would button up that damn shirt.

He looked up suddenly as if I had spoken the thought aloud. His eyes met mine and he smiled. I felt the heat of the blood rushing to my face.

In a voice like velvet, he asked me, “Can I help you with anything?”

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March 19, 2010 at 9:47 pm (Blog, Random stuffz, Untitled)

So a while ago I wrote a couple pages that didn’t fit into any of my projects at all… It was just something that popped into my head at work one day, and I scribbled it all out then typed it up later and sent it to a friend. He thought it was too risque to write about date rape. He said that to a certain extent people can deal with the senselessness of rape, but having the character raped by someone she’s intensely attracted to might confuse the reader. And when people get confused, they get angry. They lose interest. They stop reading and throw shit around instead. But the fact is, most crimes- murder, rape, you name it- are committed by individuals that the victim is very familiar with; date rape happens. I left it alone for a while, until yesterday when it suddenly popped back into my head.

If you think you can’t be raped by someone you find beautiful, someone you maybe love, or even by someone you’ve slept with mutually before, you’re ignorant and I don’t want your attention anyway.

The story isn’t really about rape, anyway. It’s really about the first time I slept with my boyfriend, and it wasn’t rape at all; but the parallels are there within the characters. You can’t be offended by a metaphor, can you?

Maybe I’ll downplay it a bit, take away the actual rape and just turn it into something else uncertain, to play it safe, because I think this is a story that has real potential. Not as a long term project, just something for fun. I don’t see it being more than fifty pages long because there isn’t THAT much to say about it. It’s going to be short and bittersweet. So I’ll start by revamping what I already posted on here, then work backwards, then jump back to the end. Word.

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This is why I hate sleep.

March 9, 2010 at 3:13 am (Blog)

I’ve never really had dreams about things that actually have happened. I usually dream about real people and sometimes we’re doing things that we normally do when we’re awake, but my dreams have never been the sort of memory sequence you see in movies. But the other night, it was one tiny conversation was playing over and over…

It was two years ago, at a nightclub. Where and when doesn’t really matter. I was sitting at a booth next to my boyfriend at the time, and he had his arm draped across my shoulders- it looked casual, but it was really possessive. The drinks kept coming and coming, until he was brave enough to lean in and kiss me roughly. He looked at me, his eyes bright and manic from the alcohol, and said, “I ought to love you, but I don’t.”

“What?” I asked, confused as I struggled to understand the real meaning of his words through my own inebriation.

“I think someday I might love you,” he explained. “I should love you right now. But I don’t.”

It seems insignificant, but after I woke up from the dream I realized that when he said that to me, he was setting a precedence for how I would view myself for years to come. I would always see myself as the girl who could be something more, but just wasn’t. I could be in a healthy relationship, I could be loved, I could even get married someday, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen. And the worst part? Because he never explained to me his reasoning, I had nothing particular about myself to blame for my apparent romantic shortcomings… and so I blamed everything about me. I was too short, too fat, my legs were too stubby, my feet were too wide, my skin color was just off, my nose was too big. I accepted it all as fact. All of those things were wrong, and that was why I was just girlfriend- or, in some cases, girl on the side- material, not someone who deserves to be loved.

There is a difference between simply telling someone that you don’t love them and telling them that someday, maybe, possibly you will love them, especially when that person cooked for you, cleaned up after you, helped you through alcoholism and addictions, forgave you when you were cruel. It’s adding insult to injury. He was saying that I just was not quite good enough, but I was lucky that he was still around and indulging me anyway.

I wake up from the dream and feel broken for the rest of the day. I am reminded of those words every time I see my reflection, every time my boyfriend looks or speaks to me. Because I think he feels the same way.

He told me tonight that anyone else would have told me to “fuck off” when I told him that I was pregnant, but he didn’t. That anyone else would have kicked me out, but he didn’t. And those words aren’t much different than the ones in my dream. He’s telling me that I have something that I don’t deserve and that I should be thankful. Even if he’s saying it in other words than my ex, the message is still the same: that I’m not worth anything, and everyone knows it.

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Live in California? Like comedy?

March 5, 2010 at 10:42 pm (Plug)

If you live in California, KT Tatara is whoring himself out for his March 24th show at the Irvine Improv. Email for free tickets. It’s going to be recorded for his very first CD, which is awesome and we’re all thrilled for him… But he’s still not funny, although my boyfriend likes his dirtier jokes. And they get so dirty they make even me uncomfortable.

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Life’s a bitch.

February 17, 2010 at 10:00 pm (Blog)

That’s my beautiful little baby Cecilia Selena at 23 weeks. She looks just like her dad already, but I think she has my personality. She’s very uncooperative when someone is trying to hear her heartbeat or measure her on the ultrasound. Yesterday, the ultrasound tech was trying to get a picture of her face but she kept covering it with her arm so he shook my stomach a little to try to make her move; she just covered her face with both of her hands like she was playing peek-a-boo. She moves around a lot when I play music, especially something with a really good bass line like Michael Jackson. It’s funny how much I already love her.

But it’s sort of a sad love, because Cecilia was diagnosed with a rare and very severe case of spina bifida myelomeningocele. This basically means that there is a gap in her spine [between L2 and S1, for anyone who anatomically oriented] and a cyst filled with fluid, tissue, and a portion of her spinal cord has formed above that gap. As of right now, the doctors have no reason to think she will have any mental disabilities, but she will need surgery to remove the cyst and push her spinal cord back into her body immediately after she is born, and there is a very strong possibility that she will never be able to walk without leg braces, crutches, or maybe even a wheelchair.

Finding out that you’re having a baby with special needs is heartbreaking. Someone described it to me like taking a trip that ends in the wrong place: you spend weeks planning a vacation to somewhere beautiful like Greece, you buy all of the guidebooks and start making all of your reservations, but when you get off the plane you find that you’re somewhere less exotic, like Wyoming. But after you get over the initial disappointment, you start to find beautiful things about where you’ve ended up and realize that you’re happy to be there.

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