I know that the above song is by Sam Smith, but I feel the need to share my belief that Lana Del Rey is my power animal.
I have a sore on the inside of my left cheek, right near the corner of my lips. The sensitive area keeps getting pierced by my braces and pinched by the rubber bands. Whenever I have a sore in my mouth, I am always reminded of one of my favorite lines from the novel FIGHT CLUB. The narrator compares the character Marla Singer to a small but irritating cut on the roof of one’s mouth that would go away if only he could stop tonguing it. I love that analogy; it’s so original. That’s the kind of woman I aspire to be.
I want to drive west and race the sun, perpetuate daylight and keep the night at bay, to meet the far coast victorious.
I’m on chapter nine of the first draft of my new novel, MOODY BLUE. I should finish before the school year ends. I would love to have some advanced readers to offer some constructive criticism. Anyone interested? Feel free to comment.
I just finished teaching PRIDE & PREJUDICE. I’ve decided that I’m going to learn to play the piano. But then again, maybe it’d be easier to stop being so easily and heavily influenced by historical romances.
WRITING PROMPT #20: “‘Weird little things remind me of her. I don’t even know why. Cabbage, for instance.'”
Danielle dropped her gaze and flicked the cap of the lid on her Styrofoam cup filled with coffee open and shut, open and shut. She was fishing, seeming preoccupied with troubling thoughts and consumed with an overall air of sadness because she wanted Ellen to ask what was wrong. Danielle wanted Ellen to engage her in a discussion about everything that was bothering her in her mediocre life because, in Danielle’s mind, accepting an invitation to a pity party was better than accepting one, no matter how contrived said invitation may be. Ellen understood this about her best friend, and accepted this about her best friend. She took a hearty bite of her blueberry muffin for sustenance and strength, and then she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Danielle shrugged, half-halfheartedly battling against her friend’s inquisition. She still didn’t look up, but refrained from flicking the lid. She said, “Weird little things remind me of her. I don’t even know why. Cabbage, for instance.”
“Bullshit,” Ellen immediately countered, a small smile upon her lips.
Danielle looked scandalized and somewhat offended. “What?”
“I call bullshit,” Ellen patiently repeated. “There’s no way cabbage reminds you of her. Frankie doesn’t even like cabbage. You’re lying because you want to talk about her, but don’t want to admit it because you’re afraid of being label obsessed.”
“Of course I’m not obsessed. Frankie’s my sister, Ellen.”
“I know,” Ellen agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t be obsessed with her. You haven’t been able to speak with her for months. You have all this unresolved anger, unanswered questions and unavoidable guilt for how everything happened and how everything went down. You need to talk about it, but she’s not here, so anyone else will do.” Ellen reached out and tenderly squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. If you want to talk about Frankie, let’s talk about Frankie.”
Danielle colored, blushing with embarrassment from being so easily read. “But aren’t you bored with it? Talking about it gets me nowhere. At least, it hasn’t helped so far.”
“You’re not here to entertain me. Besides, it doesn’t bore me because it matters to you, and that’s all that matters.”
Gratefully, Danielle smiled and rehashed the story about Frankie, her younger sister who was currently in rehab for a number of reasons. She listed all of her sister’s offenses, blindly defended her parents’ actions but openly criticized her own. She was worried, feeling guilty, missing her sister, and all of that was emotionally messy and certainly draining, but it was also all normal. Ellen patiently listened, marveling at how human beings could be so preoccupied with the perception of others that they would deny themselves what they need.
