Who knew that was going to happen.
also, posting directly in livejournal? So. Very. Retro.
(because all wordpress is mostly borked for various reasons right now)
I am not afraid of dying, not the part where things go-that-way to stop, more the part where it does. Stop. When the lights that were left to flicker finally go off.
I’m fine with the pain, whatever bone-snap, back-break, everything bleeding arc of white that seizes all of the things.
I’m afraid of death. Of the tears, of the late-night replay of home movies filmed with smartphones, played back under afghans three-times stitched to secure the holes.
Bigger than holes, some hurt goes on forever. It’s why there are dark marks on the fade of my tee-shirt and Haven’s mark on my wrist. I’m waiting, anyway. Bus is late and the fare needs ten more cents than I have. Day late, dollar short, and the cliche doesn’t matter.
But I’ve got his name, mark, sigil-twisted, there every time I look down. It’s memory, it’s guilt.
When your brother Falls,
it’s customary to catch him.
But I didn’t.
this is the beginning of what I thought might be “A Single Murder (Ballad)”, but is probably Gingerbread, instead, and I should probably figure that out soon (it is) and re-name the file, and pretend I’m not starting a YA novel loosely based on hansel/gretel (this case: Haven and Grace), and finish the 300 other things I am working on instead.
“With all the good it’s brought, technology is destroying our communication skills— especially the ability to listen. The older generation can still listen, but many of the youngsters can’t even look you in the eye while you speak. If they aren’t looking at their mobiles, they’re looking over your shoulder or glancing around the room.”
“Why is verbal communication more important than communication through a device?”
“Because there’s only so much you can learn from your Facebook friends.”
i do have them:
Mourning Wolves – (the werewolves are coming!): draft
And the Woods are Silent – (the fox is coming, except I think I need to change it to a wolf!): almost final edit
Ellis, Underground – (the memories are going, and why is that guy dead?): draft
A Single Murder (Ballad)- (what if, after they left the Witch’s house, Gretel did something and Hansel died?): only an idea
ASMB, because that’s easier than typing it out in full, is going to be a mixed around version of Hansel and Gretel, without stealing too much from Bill Willingham’s Fables (it’s good to know where our influences come from), in that Hansel won’t kill Gretel, but will, perhaps choose her own life over his, and somehow I think this is going to be YA, but maybe it won’t be?
what else have I done? Movies:
“12 Years a Slave”, “Dallas Buyers Club”, “Pacific Rim”, “Enders Game”. Right now I’m watching “To the Wonder”, a film in which I’m quite sure Ben Affleck (I know!) does not speak.
Getting started is always the hardest part; just walking up and saying ‘hello’. Once you start talking, it gets easier. Or, sitting down in front of that blank page — once you start writing, there’s plenty to say. Or… running your finger over that round, red record button, until just the right moment, when you hit it, and then you know. This is just the beginning.
i read books. I read so many books I came home one day and told my mom I needed to move to a new school because there was nothing left to read in the library. I was in elementary, so under 12.
I remember, when I first started writing seriously, going around and looking at all of my books because I thought I didn’t read speculative fiction.
“I read books!” I said, but there they were. Stories of vampires and witches and ghosts and I realized I’d been reading mystical, magical pages all along.
I found myself, in the last two months or so, missing books. Missing them in the way of paper, and the dusty smell of them, I missed looking at them, and organizing them and holding them in my hands. I went to the bookstore today, on this first day of this year, and although I didn’t buy everything I wanted, I added 3 books to my library and knowing they are there, standing tall on their spines, makes me so happy.
It’s engaged, it’s missing. It’s wanting to hold on and have an adventure you never would have had otherwise.
My bookish tumbler is here “So I have You“. Thank Cormac for that.
It was 30-zillion degrees in Bangkok. It was Sunday and the streets were dull, shops were closed and there was nothing to see but rows of storefronts and mannequins wrapped in ivory dresses, locked in sashes with veils over their blank-stare eyes.
Roots/Bangkok (photo via Roots)
We walked and Cameron’s stomach was topsy and we turned a corner, and beside a shop that looked like a props warehouse, we found Roots: Roots. Where the coffee + baked goods are on the honour system, and signs tell you life is better when you eat with your hands. It’s open precisely 2 days a week, and today, that empty Sunday full of wedding dresses, was one of those days.
Cam, Kevin and I sat on a tiny table in the back, nestled beside a shelf stuffed with paper, notebooks, beside what I think was a roasting machine. We were hot and we were tired and we were happy.
do you ever find yourself, while randomly toddling about the intergoogles, suddenly interested in your own Self. Not in the hey, I have fingers and toes, but – what can I build with these things.
I think there’s a reason I never gave my fibre stash away – I see it, almost daily and think “hrm”, and yet, have built nothing. Baubles, the same, but I know I am done with them, having sold my bits and bobs to a girl who also likes to Make.
I have been listening to spooky music. I watched Silver Linings Playbook and decided while J-Law is awesome in all things, I liked Dirty Dancing better. Spring Breakers is on netflix, and either I’m too old or it’s too you know, with it’s business and boring and also “ooo, guns”. Did I tell you we watched Byzantium? that was all mood and loss, and so, so much better.
I am working on my book tumblr So I Have You, and planning to read more booms this year than in the last 3. Which should be very, very easy.
I am listening to Dexter, who I am calling the Leaning Tower of (Pisa, Birdo, Dexter, Cheep) because of his new right-head-lean. Thankful though, he’s happy as a clam, and cute as an m-f-ing button. Since Dexter is a senior, I have been thinking of pets, and decided I would like to get a bird again, but an older birdie, not from a breeder. I got Dexter from a breeder 14 years ago and didn’t really think about it much. I’m smarter, now.
best case, me and mr. cheepy have another 5 years of killer good times. I should make him some peas.
“You should date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.”
You’ve heard of this girl before, her name is Summer or Alaska or something else that sounds cutesy and different because she’s always trying to define herself as not being like ‘other girls’. The girl who reads doesn’t shop, watch sports, play video games or anything else that she deems to be beneath her. She buys books instead of clothes because who needs to be dressed, she is obviously lying if she says she understands Ulysses and doesn’t find a strange man sitting down beside her in a coffeeshop and buying her a drink even though she doesn’t want one to be predatory behavior. It’s okay to lie to or fail her because she confuses real life with fiction, wanting conflict right before the climax and then a sugar-coated happy ending.
She isn’t a girl at all. She’s an idealized portrait of the already idealized trope of the manic pixie dream girl who only exists to serve as a love interest and teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life’s many mysteries. Women do not exist to complete you or give your life meaning. It is not our job to get you to see the world with ‘renewed eyes’ and we certainly do not live just for you to project your half-baked obsessive fantasies on us and then call us foul names when we don’t fulfill them because excuse us if they’re your visions and not ours.
And the Girl who Reads is one of the more toxic incarnations of the MPDG because it tells girls that if we like clothes, boys, being around our friends , taking pride in our appearances or anything else that doesn’t seem ‘deep or intellectual’ that we’re catty and jealous. We’re constantly trying to tell ourselves that we’re not like the other girls as if there’s something wrong with them. We all want to seem special and different and quirky so that we’ll eventually find someone whose personality quirks align with ours and create a lasting love affair. The girls who are not like us are called horrible names and treated like they’re worthless as if what they choose to do with their life is our decision. And as girls we cannot help tearing each other down; we see another girl on the street and think ‘oh she’s prettier, skinnier, smarter, more popular, more athletic’.
With the Girl who Reads we measure a person’s worth based on how many John Green books are on their shelves or if they enjoy Bukowski. You do not have to be widely read or able to wax poetic about your favourite author for hours on end to be intelligent or interesting. But it is not the Girl who Reads who looks down on the girls who don’t and labels them as stupid, catty, vain, promiscuous or boring, it is the people who created the idea of her, they believe that because she is so deep and mysterious that her special snowflake syndrome will prevent judgments from being passed at her. Everybody wants to be different, everybody wants to be special but let me tell you something. You are exactly like those other girls; you all are made of the same atoms that make up the solar system but do not think that because you have nebulae in your bones that you are better than anyone else.
I am sick and tired of people romanticizing this belief that if you don’t read that you’re not worth being loved. There are countless people I know who don’t like reading and who are still worth being loved the same amount as the people who do. Tumblr users say that they want to live like the Girl who Reads and be suffocated by the amount of literature they own because clearly book hoarding is the best way to go. Great for you if you want to find someone who likes the same things as you to be in a relationship with, you should want that. But if being a hollowed out shell of a manic pixie dream girl is your ideal life then you need to think more about what it means. I refuse to be a blank canvas on which you draw out all your delusions of what life and love should feel like according to you. I do not exist to counterbalance you.
Stop looking for the Girl who Reads because you won’t find her. There are girls who read but they are not singularly formed archetypes constructed for your approval. Stop looking for someone who fits your 27 point idealized criteria of a person and find someone who’s real. Nobody ends a date by saying ‘wow I think you’re great and all but you’ve never read A Farewell to Arms so it’s not going to work out between us’. That’s just ridiculous. Date someone who makes you laugh so hard that you snort soda out of your nose and even when your shirt is soaked with carbonated bubbles they will still find you and your laugh cute when nobody else does. Date someone who understands when you’re upset with them that you are not just waiting for the plot to advance because the hero always fails at one point or another. Do not fail her, do not lie to her, because she won’t think ‘oh boy this is some conflict before the resolution’ she’ll just think you’re a jerk. Which you are. Date someone who you can love as a human and not as a fairytale. A Girl who Reads may be able to give you a world full of adventure and imagination but you know who could do that even better? A person who actually loves you .
And pardon if I’m more than a little irked by the fact that we can’t even love each other as humans anymore, pardon if I am a ‘raging feminist harpy’, pardon if I don’t want to be the dramatic backdrop to your trials and tribulations, pardon if I would rather people to see me as a person and not a walking, talking library . But I am 50 shades of done with the elitist belief that reading makes you worth more as a person and why is that? Because I am a girl who reads, I am a girl who writes but most importantly I am a girl.