Coming Out and Coming Home Chapter 10

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By 11:00, they had smoked an entire bowl, eaten all the bacon and drank all the orange juice. Julie’s bladder was full and so she decided to finally get out of bed. She used the bathroom as Logan stood in the doorway and recounted what he remembered from the night before.

 

He went to George’s with a group of people and they drank, a lot. There was kareokee…somebody got mad…yada…yada….yada….

 

The only thing Julie could think about was how great it felt to piss but she was glad to have Logan’s voice, filling the space in her empty apartment. Once she had finished peeing, wiped and pulled up her own Tomboy boxer briefs, she noticed Logan was staring at her, wordlessly.

 

“What?” She asked self-consciously.

 

Logan answered without cracking a smile. “I seriously thought you peed standing up. I guess you just proved me wrong.”

 

“You DICK!” Julie exclaimed and threw a roll of toilet paper at him.

 

They both laughed and Julie rolled her eyes in the mirror.

 

She yawned at her reflection and noticed that she looked like a pile of warm shit.

 

“How do you do it, man?” She asked. “You had a ROUGH night but you’re up early making breakfast and shit…and you look amazing?”

 

Logan thought about it. “I’m Irish,” he replied. Then he gave Julie her favorite, impish smile.  

Coming Home and Coming Out Chapter 9

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Back at her apartment, she stripped Logan down into nothing but his boxer briefs, laid him on the couch and placed an empty wastebasket next to his head. In all this, he said nothing. Julie wiped his auburn brown hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear with one finger. Then, she kissed him on the forehead and walked to her desk.

 

Mama Rosa’s pizza was still smiling at her from the screen. Behind her, she could hear Logan vomit in the wastebasket and then groan. Julie sighed, closed the lid on the laptop, fixed him a cup of water and then collapsed in her own bed. Within a moment, she was fast asleep and the weight that had collected on her melted away.

 

The next morning, Julie awoke to the smell of bacon and coffee. She glared at the clock on her bedside table. It was 9:00 am. She covered her head in her pillow, protesting the start of a new day. Just as she had decided she would spend the day in her bed, 10,000 Maniacs floated from the kitchen and crawled under her head pillow.

 

“Becuase the night belongs to lovers

Because the night belongs to us.”

 

Logan’s voice joined in on the second refrain and Julie couldn’t help it. She lowered the pillow from her head and joined in.

 

“Have I doubt when I’m alone

Love is a ring, the telephone

Love is an angel disguised as lust

Here in our bed until the morning comes.”

 

Logan was leaning on the frame of the doorway, still dressed in only his boxer briefs. He held a plate piled with bacon and a glass of orange juice. His blue eyes were squinted and his lips were pursed in a boyish grin. Julie envied his beauty.

 

He raised one eyebrow. “We have to stop meeting like this” he teased then walked to the bedside, placed the plate of bacon and orange juice on the bedside table, and sat down on the bed beside Julie.

 

Julie chuckled and took a piece of bacon off the plate. Between chews, she said “I hope this is turkey bacon”.

 

Logan huffed, reached in his pocket and produced a small glass pipe. “Wake and bake?” He asked. He did not wait for an answer before he lit the bowl and took the green hit….and so they smoked.

 

As they smoked, they talked. They talked about nothing in particular. He didn’t mention Tawny and she didn’t mention Michael. The pair just existed in the moment. It was so effortless to exist like this with Logan.

 

“If all boys were like you, Logan” Julie mumbled.

 

Logan was mid sentence in a rant about postmodern-something when Julie said these words. His sentence erupted in a deep laugh. When Julie didn’t laugh back, he tilted his head to the side, frowned and added, “What? You would make me your wife?”

 

Julie laughed too hard. When they both composed themselves, she added seriously. “If all boys were like you, it wouldn’t be so hard to at least pretend, you know?”

 

Logan rested his head on her chest and sighed. “I know, Jewel…I know.”

 

They lay like this for a while and the feeling hung between them. They were drawn to one another because of the commonality of their fears and regrets. They had both given up something to embrace their true selves and for this, they would always be bound.

 

“THIS is community.” Julie thought and she realized that Logan was more family to her than anyone back in *town name*. Then, she remembered the invitation, the phone call, and the wedding.

 

“I’m going home,” she said.

 

Logan huffed. It was a small gesture but Julie knew that she didn’t have to say any more. He got it and this is why she loved him so. She never had to explain herself to him.

 

After another moment, Logan sat up, put the pipe to Julie’s lip and lit it for her. She took a long hit from the pipe and as she did, she stared at Logan. His lip was busted, why hadn’t she noticed it the night before.

 

Once she had exhaled a thick plume of smoke, she said “Your lip.”

 

Logan raised his fingers to the busted spot, self consciously, lowered his eyes and muttered “Yeah.”

 

This was the entire exchange on the matter. She didn’t press for any more information. She knew him too. Instead, she took the pipe, pressed it to his lips and lit it for him. As he inhaled, she vowed to kill Michael next time she saw him.

Coming Out and Coming Home Chapter 8

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Back at her apartment, she stripped Logan down into nothing but his boxer briefs, laid him on the couch and placed an empty wastebasket next to his head. In all this, he said nothing. Julie wiped his auburn brown hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear with one finger. Then, she kissed him on the forehead and walked to her desk.

 

Mama Rosa’s pizza was still smiling at her from the screen. Behind her, she could hear Logan vomit in the wastebasket and then groan. Julie sighed, closed the lid on the laptop, fixed him a cup of water and then collapsed in her own bed. Within a moment, she was fast asleep and the weight that had collected on her melted away.

Coming Out and Coming Home Chapter 7

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When Julie woke up, she had 15 new missed calls. She was groggy when she picked up her cell phone and checked the call log. Tawny had called 4 times. The other 11 missed calls were from Logan.

 

“Shit” she muttered and she fought her eyes awake enough to find the clock in her living room. It was 1:45am.

 

“FUCK!”

 

She dialed the phone with shaky hands and paced while it rang 1…2….3 times…Voicemail…

 

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

 

She tried again. This time, Logan answered on the first ring.

 

“Where are you, is everything okay?”

 

The voice on the other line was slow and slurred. The only words she could make out were “Michael’s” and “Locked out” followed by a string of obscenities and what she thought sounded like pounding fists on the door.

 

“Logan!” She spoke sternly into the phone. “Stay there. I’m coming. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere and DON’T pound on the door anymore. Just sit there quietly. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Silence….”Logan, I’m serious. You don’t want to make him mad.”

 

“Okay” Logan muttered.

 

‘Click”

Coming Home and Coming Out Chapter 6

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When Julie woke up, she had 15 new missed calls. She was groggy when she picked up her cell phone and checked the call log. Tawny had called 4 times. The other 11 missed calls were from Logan.

 

“Shit” she muttered and she fought her eyes awake enough to find the clock in her living room. It was 1:45am.

 

“FUCK!”

 

She dialed the phone with shaky hands and paced while it rang 1…2….3 times…Voicemail…

 

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

 

She tried again. This time, Logan answered on the first ring.

 

“Where are you, is everything okay?”

 

The voice on the other line was slow and slurred. The only words she could make out were “Michael’s” and “Locked out” followed by a string of obscenities and what she thought sounded like pounding fists on the door.

 

“Logan!” She spoke sternly into the phone. “Stay there. I’m coming. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere and DON’T pound on the door anymore. Just sit there quietly. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Silence….”Logan, I’m serious. You don’t want to make him mad.”

 

“Okay” Logan muttered.

 

‘Click”

Coming Out and Coming Home Chapter 5

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She hadn’t really thought about home in a while. Not like this. Home was a weird concept to Julie. She had made a life in the city but it never felt like home. Home was a distant thing, like the love her mother had for her.

 

But now, as she lay on her couch in her empty condo staring at the ceiling, her mother’s words echoed in her head. “I can’t wait to see you, you know” and then “I’ll see you soon”. Julie felt nauseous.

 

How long had it been since she had been to that place?

 

“3 years” a small voice answered in her head.

 

“3 years” Julie repeated aloud. Then she fell quietly asleep.

Why Can’t I….

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Why can’t I dictate text? I often daydream about how easy my writing would be if I could. While I was doing dishes, I could be writing….While I was driving, I could be writing….While I was in the shower, I could be writing. I wouldn’t have to put my life on hold and retreat to the dark corner in my office or hide in the bathroom with my phone to get the story out of my head.

I’ve tried, many times, to dictate text…as the thoughts are flowing, I have tried to speak them but I can’t….I just can’t.

It’s almost like there is a corner of my brain; a quiet still place that I go to when I write. Like I must retreat within myself and retrieve the story that’s dying to get out. For me, writing is very internal. Is this weird?

Or maybe, my writing comes from someplace else…or something else. Maybe I draw my stories from the same place I draw my energy and that place isn’t accessible unless I stop and listen. Maybe writing is a meditative practice for me.

Whatever the answer, it is sure that writing is not exactly a science, for any of us. As authors, we all have limitations and quirks that make our writing style our own. What are your little writing quirks or what limitations do you have, as an author? Am I the only one who finds it impossible to dictate text?

 

I is for Ideology…Finding Your Writing “Voice”…#atozchallenge

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As a writer, it feels like I am always looking for “my voice”. Maybe that’s just the journey I’m on right now and sooner than later, that will be over and I will move on to a new career challenge. Of all the research I have done about finding your writer’s voice, one of the best I have found comes from Goins, Writer.

I think it’s important, however, to examine exactly what the writer’s voice is and possibly discover where it comes from before actually attempting to find it. After all, the thought of “having a voice” seems to be such an intangible thing. It’s something that, if you do a little work towards getting published or read the comments on any author’s amazon page, you will find mentioned a lot. It seems that everyone is looking for an author with a unique voice….but what exactly is a writing voice? Where does such a voice come from.

The writing voice seems to be, on the surface, all about style. How does an author describe things? How does he/she define characters? What is the author’s pacing like? These things are often deemed to be an expression of the writer’s voice. This explanation doesn’t really work for me. I think it comes from growing up in the Appalachian mountains. In those lands, one can’t really take a person’s choice of words to be a correct assumption of their level of intelligence or an expression of their true thought.

The writer’s voice is much deeper than a simple choice of words or the structure of the author’s sentences. It is a literal expression of the writer’s soul. Of course, a clear stylistic approach to this expression is important but when it comes down to it, an author’s personal ideology is more related to the writer’s voice than anything else.

Ideology is defined as “a system of ideas and ideals”. Even the most primitive individuals posses a sense of this. It is the ideology of the author which will peak out beneath the system of writing that the author tries to use. The biases of the author, the subtle systems of ideology that exist within the author, and the basic beliefs that the authors hold will always come through in syntax. Finding your writing voice becomes a matter of embracing this ideology and finding a way to fuse it into the very fiber of your written word.

Haiku…#atozchallenge

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Spring-Is-My-Love-Rain-Wallpaper

Spring rain trickling on skin—

Guilt in my stomach,

The end Begins again.

I write Haiku Poetry from time to time…It can be quite a challenge because my writing tends to be very, very wordy….sometimes, it’s TOO wordy. The haiku stands to teach us that we can communicate emotion with just a few words. It teaches us that writing can be effective on a smaller scale…that words can be powerful, if the correct ones are chosen.

So, this is what I do when I feel like my writing is taking a deep dive into the abyss of rambling and my descriptions lengthen to unnecessary sizes. I focus on the emotion I’m trying to convey and I write a haiku for it. The Haiku isn’t always great…okay, they’re almost never great but they serve a purpose. In addition to working on concise language, it really helps to pinpoint descriptive language that works best with the emotion or subject matter that I’m trying to describe.

What writing techniques do you use to improve your descriptive language? Am I the only one who uses a form of poetry as a writing tool?

 

F is for….F*$&….oh yeah, I went there….#atozchallenge

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Let me start out by saying that I’m no stranger to vulgar language. When I was just a small child (before my mother found the Lord and changed her ways), there was nothing unusual about the F word flying out her mouth which was wrapped around a cigarette. Not surprisingly, I inherited both of these traits. By the time I was a teenager, I had moved well past the awkward cursing phase…where every time you cursed, it was just like the first time. Now, cursing is just a natural part of my language and while I try hard to curb my cursing around the more sensitive members of our society, I see absolutely no reason why I should ever quit.

I mean, there are a lot worse words in our language than S&*^ or D@$M. There is a long list of words that you will never hear me use. I will not use derogative language of any kind…this ranges from harsh ratially or sexually motivated cut-downs to the simpler terms such as “idiot” or “moron”. I will not use the “gd” word (often)…Let’s just say that I try not to use it…Now, if my face is getting chewed off by rabid hyenas or something like that, I might waiver in this…All of this is to say that I believe there are certain words in our language which are taboo….certain words that do nothing but regress the human race and those are the words that you will never hear me utter. But, let’s face it, most of your average, run of the mill curse words just don’t fit that bill. I can’t for the life of me understand what is so offensive about the word @$$ for instance.

With all this being said, I have noticed lately that I never really curse in my writing. I noticed, mainly, because I wrote a character that needed to curse and when he did, it felt odd. It is one thing to use vulgar language in your day to day life but an entirely different thing to intentionally write them down on paper. Something about it seems foreign to me…like I’m breaking an ominous rule of writing. I can’t really reconcile where this is coming from because I’m definitely not from the school of thought that vulgarity cheapens the English language.

In fact, a well place curse word can strengthen the impact of a character or plot event. Whether you like them or not, curse words create a strong sense of emotion and the writer who uses this as a tool (and uses it well) is wise and resourceful. Maybe I’m just not that writer…I would like to think I’m a Neil Gaiman but maybe I’m not….but I want to be…*sigh*…Maybe one day. For now, I’ll settle for being me.

Confused about whether or not you should “color” your writing language?

When To Use Swear Words in your Writing 

A Goodreads Discussion about Foul Language in Writing

and the best of all…An Ode to Using Profanity in Literature.