I Promised

I promised Gooster more Tracy James. So today’s humpday hotness is… Tracy James. Also, I want to thank everyone who has already commented on my Halloween story. Even if I’m not one of the five stories with the most comments, I appreciate the support of everyone who took the time to go there.

I wonder sometimes if anyone other than myself really understands this urge that drives me to write and see it published. With my birthday only a few weeks away, I can honestly say that I feel really paranoid. I have this frenetic drive to make it happen. I feel like I’m running out of time. I can’t explain it, but I just have this feeling inside me that if I can’t make this happen now, it will all be too late.

I’ve spent the better part of my life with my dreams and desires just out of reach. I’ve always had to “settle.” This is like my last hurrah. I HAVE to make this happen or the core of what makes up “me” will have to settle for never having achieved a single dream. I know don’t if any of you can understand that, but it’s a huge feeling. Very frightening.

I’m not ready to let go of the dreams, as far fetched as they might be. To those of you who helped in what little way you could, thank you. I may be good with words, but I can’t articulate what it did to me to see your comments over there.

I have a couple more trailer videos HERE if anyone is interested. Karl and Marty should take a look at Never Been Bit. The story is coming along and Karl the Snarky Elf has become a major protagonist with his gossip column/videos. I hadn’t planned on him being in this story, but I needed someone to kick the hero in the ass a few times, and Karl the Elf does a great job of it!

Okay, enough babble from my brain. Here’s Gooster’s hottie:

Happy Humpday folks!

Solar Plexus

*sigh* My self esteem has taken a hit in the solar plexus. Lucky for me, I’m used to gasping for air. However, it’s left my mindset that of the poor kid staring in the window of FAO Schwarz at Christmas. Or Ebeneezer Scrooge looking in the window at the happiness of Bob Cratchit’s family despite their lack of money. So I’m a little disconnected, a little lost today. You’ll have to forgive me my moodiness.

One night ShinyBitch told me she needed a poem for her character Sascha. Sascha was going to write a poem to her mate. Shiny was looking for poetry on the internet. A few minutes later, I gave her this:

Winter breeze cold and chill
The screams of broken hearts so shrill
You stand before me so tall and real
But hold me always, let me feel.

The path to love is long and hard
The potholes linger, like your guard
Upon me always watching, ever there
Catch my stumbles with your care

You hold me up when I’m alone
When I can’t bear the river’s moan
The shrieks of pain from winter’s night
You always shield me from its fright

To me you are the only one
Who breathes and sighs and always comes
To my side in darkness free
And lives to love no one but me.

Another time, my friend Jen, who uses the name Opalgirl on message boards and IM, was bemoaning the fact that people were writing poems for each other on the Zanctuary board, but no one had written her a poem. A few minutes later I gave her this:

She glows with a regal light
Twists and turns give forth
Fire beneath the surface
Brilliance not as like the diamond
But instead a warmth felt
From the heart out to the skin
Her moonglow in muted hues
Outshines her sisters
With understated elegance
A genius caught within
The unknown, the mysterious
She is aglow with magic
Her fire banked always
But flashing brighter than the sun
To make those self same sisters
Pale in comparison
And kneel as supplicants
To the Opal.

I’m not into writing poetry these days, although on occasion I can just slap something together like those two poems. I’m sure that neither of them would survive a critique, but both made people I care about happy, and that was all that mattered to me. With the hit to my self esteem, I’ve been sort of bashing myself internally, wondering if all the things I write only matter to a few people. I’ve been questioning my creativity, my skills. I’m no literary genius, but I somehow thought I had it in me to be something more than a technically proficient cliche.

You expect to be critiqued and judged when you put the things you write out there in this electronic media world for others to read. Somehow I’ve come away from a few recent writing experiences with the sense that I’m not expressing myself very well. When I write a piece that is meant to give the reader a sense of the character’s quietly growing despair, a spiraling swirling darkness that is sucking them in, and the reader doesn’t feel that… I can tell myself that it’s just one person. When others chime in with a “meh” attitude about it, I begin to wonder what I could have done to make that sense of quiet despair more palpable. And the answer, of course, is nothing.

I yam what I yam. My creativeness has been honed over a lot of years, and if it’s just not there… then it’s not. I’m not going to drink some magic bean juice and wake up in the morning with a brilliantly creative bean stalk of ideas sprouting from my brain as if I was a JR Ward, Nora Roberts, or Charlaine Harris. (Harris’ books have spawned a new HBO series called True Blood.) I guess I have to admit that I’m just not that creative in an original sense.

I don’t have any trouble being run of the mill and cliche on most days. I was just a little more sensitive today what with the way things have been shaking out at home and work. Tomorrow I’ll probably wonder why I ever felt as if my self esteem had taken a hit to the gut. I’ll probably look at my writing and be happy with it again. Today, I’m just gonna sigh again.

Hope your Wednesday is sigh free!

Too Hot To Post

So I was looking for a piece of erotica that I wrote about something that happened twenty-ish years ago. It was a story about me and a black leather jacket clad guy named Paul. My first thought was that I would post it here and heat up your Sunday. Then I read it. I haven’t read it since last year, when I submitted it to the 2007 Zanctuary writing contest.

Anyway, when I found the piece, I highlighted it to copy it… and then I started reading. It was a little hard to stop once I’d started. And then I started remembering. Oh, yeah. Then I realized it’s a little over the top to post here. I’d forgotten how hot it really was. I looked it over trying to find just a teaser bit. Nope. It’s all way too hot.

So I mentioned it to ShinyBitch. She laughed at me. She said all my sex scenes are hot. That made me wonder. Why does this scene seem hotter to me? I read it again. Again, it seemed just too hot to post.

Then I started to wonder if it was too hot because it really happened. This isn’t a scene I made up between two characters. Nor is it a scene I dreamed. It actually happened. And that has to be the answer, of course.

Writing scenes between people who don’t exist is easy. Writing what I’ve dreamed isn’t that tough. I don’t remember exactly when I wrote this piece, but I know it wasn’t when I was still seeing Paul. It was years afterward, probably when I was in college.

I was pretty solitary in those years. School consumed me. I had a lover who used to come over and we’d enjoy each other and he’d go home. There wasn’t any dating or spending time together. I guess if we had, we probably wouldn’t have liked each other. He had a busy life, a busy job working for the American Film Institute. I was busy with school. No way did I have time for a relationship. However, I would often write about past relationships.

The piece about the man in the black leather jacket is too hot for me to post. Maybe some day I can or maybe I can figure out how to post a paragraph or two. Right now, when I read it, it’s just too erotic, too memorable. It’s just way over the top. Even for me. And that does surprise me a little. I guess there is a line I can’t cross when it comes to posting personal things on this blog.

Some of you *cough* Jen, Shiny, Mary, and the Other Jen *cough* may be itching to read this little sex scene now. I don’t mind if people read it privately, but I just can’t bring myself to post it in public. It would be as if Paul and I were performing the act in front of all of you. And there, my dear friends, is the boundary that I can’t bring myself to cross.

If anyone wants to read this ancient piece of erotica, email me. winter at winterheart dot com.

Vacation Not

I have a month’s worth of vacation stored up. I’m using 2 days this week though. However, after 9 years at my company, I still feel the need for that stockpile of vacation hours. I don’t think I’m gonna get fired, even on my most frustrated days. Yet, I still need the security blanket those hours provide. So, no vacation for me.

This weekend will feel like a vacation for me. Four whole days that I don’t have to go to the office. Four whole days where I can maybe spend a little money. Four days where I will get to spend some time with people I enjoy. Maybe that’s the big draw to these 2 days that I took off. I can relax and look forward to meeting people who make me laugh, make me cry, and make me feel alive. If not for these people, I would spend those 4 days in my house, at my computer, writing. Not going out. Not seeing people. Not laughing or having fun.

I’m getting old. I need more fun. I need to feel that my life wasn’t spent worrying and stressing and being miserable. These four days will be a ray of sunshine in the bleakness I usually inhabit. I’m soooo looking forward to it. So maybe it’s not a vacation. Somehow, in my heart, it still feels like one.

If you get a chance, stop by my bitch Mary’s blog to say Happy Birthday. She has some facts on there related to the day she was born. I like the Led Zeppelin fact. Only Mary would be born on a day John Bonham was arrested for getting in a fight. HEH. Hope you have a great day, Mare!

Oh, and just because UMB said he liked me for being a dirty girl… Happy Dirty Girl love to you all! MUAH!

No Roses

It seems like a day doesn’t go by that something doesn’t happen to make me fear my mortality. I’m sure one of the reasons I write about immortals is that I’m quite afraid of dying. Today, I got to work and discovered my co-worker’s husband had died in his sleep on Saturday. This is the second of my co-workers to lose a husband. It’s shocking. And heartbreaking.

With my mortality feeling very fresh and raw, I managed to get through the day. However, while others might feel that making sure someone has their “power of blog” is part of making arrangements, I know that’s not at all at the top of my list. I worry about Motley. I mean, the kid is already struggling. If something happens to me, she has no one. No parents. No grandparents. No family. I’m horribly afraid of what will happen to her if something happens to me.

I can’t even leave her much. 15K in an insurance policy from my work. That’s it. I own my car and some household appliances. Motley wouldn’t be able to stay in the condo we live in. She couldn’t pay for it, even if she had a roommate. This situation totally freaks me out.

I told her not to spend anything on me. If I’m still working for the cemetery, they will pay for everything except things like a burial permit, death certificates, and an alternative container to cremate me in. The only thing I wanted her to spend on was a nice urn that doubles as a jewelry box to keep me in. It should cost very little of the 15K to dispose of me. And I want it that way. She will need that money.

Fear drives a lot of the things I do. When I yell at her to clean up and stuff, I’m not just being pissy because there’s trash to go out and dust and dirt. As an asthmatic who can’t afford her meds because the co-pays are too much, my life often feels very fragile, especially when dirt and dust affect my breathing. All it would take is a virus or a bad asthma attack and Motley would be an orphan. And that totally scares me. Not for me so much, but for her.

Over the weekend, ShinyBitch went to CrueFest. She discovered Papa Roach. Rott and I have been fans for awhile, since the first CD. For my Tuesday Tune, I thought I’d play some Papa Roach. Since my theme today has been a sad one, I chose Roses On My Grave. I’m not going to be buried so there is no need for roses for me.

Papa Roach-Roses On My Grave

Go hug the people who matter to you today. You never know what you may wake up to. Or who may be gone when you open your eyes.