Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Practicing a little vocabulary expansion, one cock at a time

What is it about writer’s blocks that can get us down? Is it because we have so much going on in our day-to-day activities? Maybe I’d rather sit on the couch watching New Girl or the ladies from the OC than actually make my brain function by creating properly formed sentences. Whatever it is, it’s a serious force to be reckoned with.

This fiery beast weaseled its way into my creative mind and curdled all thoughts for months, it wouldn’t hurt that there was a whole lot going on, but even so works got put on hold.

Could there be a better way to get out of this little ‘hurdle’ than to push the limits on something. A while back I wrote a short story for a very near and dear friend of mine. That story that was originally only meant to be seen by few has been seen by many. It’s currently getting published in an arena I never thought it would, but it is. It cracked the door of possibility, for a genre that was I was never really concerned about venturing in before as a writer.

Like a girl who broke the seal after the first drink at a bar, that bitch got broken fast.

To knock out this little writer’s block I dusted off the laptop--forgot it in the back of my car on numerous occasions, and started outlining. The first story for my friend was carefully constructed and thought out to fit her perfectly. But I have my own fantasy too dammit! A phrase that was repressed during this little block; writing lost its edge and after an anonymous email from a reader that was filled with encouragement, thanks and of course the endless request for more. It was never intended to write anything more for that series, only because it was a gift for a friend. If anything I could write a fresh stand-alone story. The guilty conscience kicked in. I started writing a follow-up story. This one surely could break through the writer’s block.

For an entire weekend, I holed myself up and re-mapped an outline. I am one of those annoying writers who makes an outline for everything. Even for a grocery list. Creates characters and outlines their lives, the city, the sub-plot…it’s repetitious but it’s how I work to keep a constant flow that is somewhat seamless and real.

By the end of the weekend the outline was completed as well as fifty pages already in the bag. It was strange and like an out of body experience, my hands were possessed and a plot came together. For the following week, work was secondary until I finished that story. It seemed all too important, much too necessary. By that Friday I sent an email to my editor and gave him the heads up. A new story was coming, get ready. Sunday rolled around and as the edits went out, I sighed with relief just before cracking the bottle of prosecco open. The writer’s block was officially kicked to the curb. The first draft of a novel I started was half-way written and could get picked up for an early summer push date should it get through editing on time. It could happen. Confidence fully restored….

Until the edits came back for the short. After reading through the first sections, I agreed with the changes and made the necessary revisions. When I got to a chapter where the two leads come together and get it on … ooh … there was a misstep. They were so not gettin’ it on. Reading through the edits and my own writing, I sat back from the computer and laughed so hard until I cried.

Placing her palm against his neck, Hadley looked into Marcus’ eyes as he started to lose control. It was When he his cock hit her hard, did they fluttered shut. Wailing out to him, “Marcus!”., she came so hard she nearly fainted.

My poor, poor editor for this short. He is used and abused but knows I love him so. There was a dirty, nasty little coupling of words. One of them, I love more than the F word itself, but cannot ever write it in professional works. It’s like saying ‘bitch’ aloud or outside of a bedroom. It.Will.Never.Happen. Never say never, it really can (and does) happen but not in that context. I immediately emailed him, and what did I get in return: ‘I could tell you were laboring….”

Yikes! Laboring is right…so you push ‘cock’ into my vocabulary to stir up the pot? Go figure, because it worked. Somewhere in that laughing haze and going over the first draft, something inside snapped. So I re-read, re-grouped and re-sexed that story the hell back into shape. It’s completed and getting published chapter by chapter. The editor … approves. Halle-fucking-lujah. Something learned from all of this was even during a dry spell or a ‘writer’s block’, getting back into the full swing of things takes time. You can’t rush yourself, otherwise you appear rushed and frenzied.

My writing, is none of the above. It’s skilled and planned. This story, and God love him--my Editor, reminded me that I may move or type fast, but writing and actual stories take time to mature.

So it’s back to San Antonio we go. I’m over this writer’s block and fully set to finish the ‘Summons’ novel, and get it out the door. I have been talking to more than enough people, so the support is there to get it off of the ground and up and running. Who knew that in order to break through this annoying hurdle, was an itsy bitsy word that is no stranger from my mouth. All it took was a little cock.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Scorned much

Never one am I to sit and bawl my eyes out for an extended amount of time. Given the specific occasion and amount of Xanax, it’s all under control… I cry, mull whatever needs to be mulled over and move on for bigger and better things. The talk of men is a constant topic of conversation because I am single and mingle more than I care to admit. Dating is a natural part of my life right now. It may get run to the ground or laughed to high hell in conversations, but the stories of so many jackass (s) guys are others’ way of living through my embarrassment. Or laughter … we don’t have to put it down too harshly today!

As much as we want to not open up about things in fear of a jinx, it happened; I started talking with someone. We had been talking for a while as friends and right in the middle of phone calls and ongoing text messages, a little bit of warmth cradled my icy heart. Not so much icy, but more of a detoxed and oh-so-chilled heart indeed. With the way things were progressing with this person, it was easy to get ahead of myself. I mean, for someone who is calling you on Christmas, throughout your day, calling at an ungodly hour because they feel like hell and just want to hear you talk. How could you not?

I got ahead of myself. A phrase in the back of my mind that always stays there regardless of the optimism, ‘He’s just not that into you’ was silenced with this one. Despite his annoying antics of going missing for a few days, a week or whatever without a peep. Excuses flew out of my mouth with those absences, defending his time as busy. I got ahead of myself big-time. This guy had gone on the typical ‘hectic week, so you won’t hear from me’ lapses. I called, nothing. Text; again with the no responses. It seemed odd because before he would pick up quickly, but something wasn’t right for those attempts. When I saw a random picture and posting on Facebook, I knew that he was at least alive so I decided enough was enough. I’d give the guy a month, a month of me doing absolutely nothing to reach out to him in order to know where I stood and then delete him from everything if I didn’t hear a sound. Maybelline says I’m worth it, so it must be true.

A few drinks later and a surge of liquid confidence fueling me, I cracked a few weeks in, calling him and got nowhere yet again. Pushing aside that I can typically take the hint of when to let go, but with him it was different—or so I thought. Finally after coming to grips that this was all for nothing and a waste of time, I deleted every form of contact with him, bawled my eyes out and sent a final text before removing his phone number for good. We all need some kind of closure, I mean, I may have gotten ahead of myself yes; with him it was easy to do. It wasn’t some pining and crazy message, but more of a simple way to saying goodbye. It’s the girl in me and the good soul who hates doing wrong by someone even if I didn’t do anything at all.

Come to find out that on the day of romance, Valentine’s Day of all days … I was duped. Played by the master manipulator.
That guy, had been talking to multiple ladies—and I was one of them. Some unknown devil prodded me, and I can’t believe I’m admitting to looking at his profile, but I did. Shameful, I know—it was not my finest hour. As it turns out, another scorned lady pulled a Glenn Close on him and posted something that resonated deep. The same words I considered saying in a cryptic text, but am far too nice to say aloud. Surprise, surprise right? Deep down another bad boy that tried to appear as one of the good ones. Oddly, I’m not even bothered. What goes around comes around ten-fold. I know and believe this with every ounce of my body. He was another unwanted pick in the litter and is going straight to the trash. And that is okay.

So then where does this take me? Back to the drawing board, and on to the prospect of meeting someone new. It’s a highly laughable situation, and God only knows why I keep putting myself through some of these dating triangles, but with utmost certainty—this guy completely pulled me in and I, like many, fell for the kill. Despite all of the bullshit whether it be good or insane we go through with the excitement, the lust and definitely the heartache… it’s still a battlefield to tread lightly over until you’ve found a good and very safe ground. Tired of meddling, but still living each day with a take no prisoners mentality … this was merely one more experience to take in. One more guy to avoid. So until the next one rolls around, I’m dabbing on the glittery eye shadow and keeping on … keeping on.

Love is a battlefield, I certainly guess so. Thanks Pat Benatar for reminding me!

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Leaving on a jet plane...or not, please smack me!

This morning I went out to drop off a piece of mail, overheard the low rumblings of a plane and cringed. My eyes rolled and I grumbled all of the way to Starbucks praying to God that someone would either pinch me, I’d find some kind of courage to quit my ‘job’ or hop on a plane myself.

It’s Fashion Week in New York, so the big question is, where are you? Stuck at home … me too. For the past week I have avoided Facebook because over the next couple of days I know it will be flooded. Dammit, I broke down and checked it. It’s beginning to blow up.

{Courtesy of...}

I got invited to spend a couple of days taking in the high fashions, view gorgeous and intricately made garments and see all of it glide down a runway. And I sit in Chicago…waiting for text messages, pictures, anything as if it were the damn Grammys. Who says no to that!?! Tonight a talented man who is probably one of the more humble people you will meet is having his works showcased. If you are not aware of Raul Penaranda, you are missing out. He is amazingly gifted, hopeful of his fashions and sense of elegant style and a true beauty with Latin charm.

In all fairness, I did not say no at first and basically said ‘I will MAKE it work.’ The tickets had just about been purchased for the flights to get to New York, but I hesitated. When in the hell do I ever hesitate? Something in the back of my mind said double check with work. The adult speaking. There was a conflict, someone needed coverage…. I could not go. My heart breaks for missing this opportunity, but everything happens for a reason. For the next several hours I’m living vicariously through everyone who is there, thanking them as the texts roll in and the updates go up. Sorry Facebook...but I am going to be 'liking' a lot of pictures today!

All in all, it’s really me being stubborn and saying—you should have just walked out of your job to go. But the far more responsible (and annoyingly sensible) adult in me says it is okay. There will be another season and another invite to go. So for this morning, I’ll save face. Truthfully I am taking a break from my desk during the lunch hour to down a perfectly cheap bottle of chardonnay, chase it with Trident and getting on craiglist to either sell my soul or get some additional freelance work so there is no worry over additional 'work coverage'! The next trip will not get put off.

Okay, maybe not craigslist!

Ways to catch up with Raul:

Official website; Facebook; Twitter

Monday, February 13, 2012

Spreading a little love….

...one heart at a time. A day early, but seeing as it will be a busy week, I will keep this one quiet where a picture can say more than words spoken aloud.

{Courtesy of...}

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours

Thursday, February 2, 2012

A splash of ass and bit of sass

With spring right around the corner, you can almost smell it in the air. That shift in pressure, the soil softening…the trees budding for new growth. To say that fall and winter were dull, would be an understatement. There have been get togethers, wine nights, shopping excursions, dates and detoxes, trips to unknown cities and a little bit of writing in between. That time fell together into a slight blur, but a miniature and very powerful message behind everything got forgotten.

A little bit of sass and a fresh dab of lip gloss needed to be taken out on the town. In more ways than one. No, that’s not just in terms of men. I’d like to think that, at this point, I’m living a free life and whatever happens--happens. Not just men at all. Hibernation mode fully kicked in this year; something that generally creeps up and finds a wonderful perch somewhere from October through January. Rather than ice skating around a park in the city, I sat bar-side sipping martinis with friends in town. Shopping in the city for flowers was turned to a local merchant around the corner from work. The all too familiar outgoing and go-to mentality was lessened and quieted.

Admitting this need to get out and blame only being cooped up would be a false statement. After trying to get over someone, we all do this. Vent to our friends, delete every message and every number. Cry our eyes out, avoid food because it took too much effort to eat, and then go out. We take an extra hour to get ready, blasting club hits while drinking bubbly champagne. Slap on the all too high heels that make us wobble, but make our legs look damn good. We go out, to get out. To get out and get back to feeling like our confident selves. Or maybe that’s just me.

Several friends were away for a weekend, or busy with their families. I figured, there was a rut and I needed to get out of it. So I dipped into the closet and looked at the oh-so-typical dresses to wear, and stumbled on something I forgot was even hanging in the sea of fabric. A knitted dress that had been purchased to wear--if and when I needed a splash of sass. Always thinking proactively.

That night called for more than a splash of sass; it required a wealthy vodka drink and a whole lot of tanned skin to get the job done. A job that is highly laughable now, but was needed to snap a smile in place and bring the ever present laugh back into my throat.

What started at one bar and a simple drink, turned into a full night out of networking and letting loose. At the first bar, a bartender and I talked about his girlfriend and my manly woes. Out of nowhere, or maybe it was the liquid haze, I bit the bullet and went to another place and that’s when it all happened. Put me next to someone, we will talk. It’s a given. Every wallflower must sing at some point in their lifetime. Fortunately, I am not a wallflower and just sing. In this case, talk to a group of people who are within a given industry that I am pursuing.

Random happening or magnetic pull? Nobody will ever know, nor do I want to analyze it. Turned out that one of the many groups I ended up talking with, in between sipping sparkling champagne, was indeed part of a marketing firm. For a local magazine. I had been sitting at the bar and overheard publishing and honed in. Awful, terrible; but in all seriousness who does not eaves drop? I turned and introduced myself casually, not mentioning anything about writing. I was merely someone meeting a group at a bar. After an hour of talking, we ended up chatting about writing, publishing, marketing; the works. By bar close, one of the men I had been talking to walked me out to my car several blocks away. He was sweet and nice, it was late.

As I drove home and the next morning, and even now I still shake my head at things. All it took was a snappy dress and a shift in my mind to get back to me and where does that lead? To writing. Here I thought that night was going to be a confidence booster over fully letting go of a guy, but it was so much more than that. It was a confidence booster in following exactly what everyone including a psychic has been saying for months and I have been shying away for unknown reasons.

We can run and hide from things for a short while, but in the end—everything always comes back to us. For this, it took an unexpected night out to restore that missed feeling. So with that, I am working on getting back into the swing of this blog that is way out of touch. It is a place where I can free-write the whatever (s) of a day or week. I’m wrapping a short story for a website and finalizing a publishing deal that isn’t much, but it is something.

I have started writing and publishing on the ups and downs of relationships, the single life of a thirty-something. God knows I’ve experienced enough of this, but will keep experiencing it because it’s life. Who knew all it took was stepping out and flashing a little ass to admit things are okay where they are and go with it. Documenting it all along the way.

So it's another round, only this one should be leading in a fun direction; and to that I say...I am ready, are you?