Writing is a sneaky predator; almost, I'd argue, a parisitic one. It crawls into every lobe of my brain, resting ravenously and threatening anything that wants to take its place.
And the best part: I frankly don't want anything in its rightful place (a.k.a. everywhere).
I've surrendered. I'm in love.
It was bound to happen. The affair was going on for over a fucking decade.
Yes, it initially started at the malleable age of ten, when my mother was working at the bank. My mother was asking a customer a question and the customer, in turn, snarled at her for not knowing English. I proceeded to tell the customer that there was a difference between not knowing English and having an accent. My humiliated mother hushed me at once, but I knew, after the customer apologized, that I was in love.
I'm making good (according to my standards, which are um, pretty low) progress on the novel. Most of the time, I agonize over each sentence in a dramatic-tortured-artist type of way.
But every (miraculous) now and then, I'll concoct a rough draft of a paragraph that I'm happy with, that I'm excited to sculpt further. One that gives my main character depth and makes her relateable.
At least, I hope that's where these will go once I'm done with them:
"Suddenly, I feel scared at the thought of growing up, as though time and my twenties are running out too quickly. Things---final things, life defining things, permanent things--- that I used to daydream about feel so much nearer now. Too near. I stop myself from being submerged in cold feet---not towards marriage particularly, but more towards life. "
"He fiddles with the iPod, making fingerprints on the polygonal black box as I can see him debate whether or not to give me a white lie: It’s not a big deal; I just misunderstood her; She wasn’t trying to be judgmental. I can see his pregnant thoughts before they are born into words; many times, I can witness their existence before he can. "
"Neither of us spoke for the next few seconds, which felt more like an hour. I focused on toning down my nervous smile, which was now making my cheeks hurt. The last thing I wanted was to seem too eager.
I was in a moment that I thought was confined to episodes of Dawsons’s Creek or some other high school drama. I never knew that a guy could take me to the highest of highs, without even trying very much."