The Angels are Singing

I knew a man once who called me Angel but only while I was sleeping on the couch that had lost its color before I had lost my virginity more than a decade ago.

I would pretend to be asleep to listen to his nonsense.

"Angel", I'd hear him tell our coworkers, "worked hard today, let her sleep. She looks so innocent don't she, when she's asleep? Soon as she wakes up though. Lord that mouth. But she's cute ain't she, like a baby tiger. Never know it's gonna claw you or purr."

Our coworkers would laugh and nod, "Uh-uh, Uh-huh".

"She's strong", his voice full of approval, "Lord knows, this world you need to be strong."

The coworkers would all nod, "Uh-huh, Uh-huh".

He had seizures. They would hit him and his body would drop to the ground and his eyes would roll in his head like a cheap carnival doll. They got progressively worse, lasting longer, happening more frequently - his own personal earthquakes that were gradually shaking his brain into smaller and smaller pieces. There was nothing the doctors could do.

I asked him what it was like to have a seizure, he told me that the heavenly choir was pouring over him like the flood, all he could do was try to swim cause all there was, was the singing of angels surrounding him as far as he could see, and all he could do was try not to slide under it because it held him like water, and tossed him around like a thought and he knew he could drown in it and there was nothing he could do but try to swim.

"Every time I get thrown farther. Sometime, it's gonna happen. I won't come back." I could hear the fear in his voice and all I could think was, what do you say when someone knows they're gonna die?

I asked him once for fun, what color is heaven? He threw his head back, his eyebrows rose, his face squeezed shut like a slammed door, and he nodded his head as if he was agreeing with some voice. "Heaven is the color of God's love".

I couldn't laugh at the thoughts of a dying man.

I figured if angels existed he would know.

Fucking Mother Nature

You bitch!

You didn't tell me that when you came the dinosaurs would die - the world tilted on its axis. We froze our asses off for an eon!

I liked the dinosaurs. They had majesty before the lost tombs of the pharoahs even existed. The giants of the earth were beholden to none.

Do you know what the inheritors of the earth are beholden to?

One day they came to me and told me that I owed them money. I asked them what for?
"You are living on our land, you owe us rent", they said.

"How can you own the land", I asked.
"I watched as this land was created and you didn't make it".
They yelled at me, "Here is the paper saying we own it. It is ours from there to here and if you want to step on it you have to pay us".

I walked away but they chased me, they hunted me down til I had nowhere to go but this cave, where I sit in the cold and the dark and ask myself why you did this to me.

Last, but not fucking least, you gave me an STD and I can't get rid of it. I took three rounds of antibiotics but this thing, the doctor called it "hatred", just won't go away.

I loved you, why did you break my heart?
- The Goddess

Distraction

I'm sorry.

Sometimes, there is only space for my thoughts.

I'm wrapped up in them, tied with beautifully impossible bondage knots.

I am safely contained and free to jerk and twist in a pre-orgasm fight.

They won't let me go until I come and then, and then.. you can tell me what you need at the grocery store.

I will offer to buy you everything that I am not.

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Revising Short Stories: Building a Tree Branch by Branch

I used to find myself revising until my initial story had morphed - usually into a completely different story and one that wasn't coherent or well.. good. Frustrated and disappointed I would toss it in a pile and hide it away. I felt like I hadn't remained true to my initial idea for what I was trying to say and I had lost the threads that held the story together in the first place.

Many writers love revising - they think of it as the phase of writing in which the story really comes alive and manifests itself; where the story begins to breathe and interact with the reader. I'm learning to love revision as well although, it's a tempestuous relationship and I don't like her mother (she whines about my punctuation).

I've gotten a lot better at revising - practice creates improvement. I often wonder if I am killing good darlings in revision and I'm still figuring out when and why to axe things that aren't working towards making a strong story.

One of the exercises that I've been working on is one in which I revise a layer of craft at a time. If you consider each aspect of craft as a branch, as you revise and rework each one, you are creating a tree that is your story. Your branches will intertwine supporting each other. This builds a strong tree comprised of the different elements of craft growing together. All elements of craft should work together to make your story. Voice, characterization, setting, etc. are tools that work in service of the story and if one of them is not working you need to cut it off and revise that branch.

Many writers that I respect use this revision method so that they a) don't get confused and b) finish that aspect of craft to their satisfaction. I've done at least 20 drafts of one of the stories I'm working on trying this method out to see if it improves my writing. I did revision passes for voice, dialogue, plot, pacing, setting, characterization, and show vs tell. I feel like I'm forgetting some revisions in that list but hopefully you get what I mean.
I'd say overall this has been a very successful experiment. It allowed me to create a level of consistency that I hadn't experienced before in my stories. While it's been hard trying to control my desire for instant gratification (I want the story done NOW!), I've been really pleased and plan on doing this for every story going forward.

I'd love to hear about other writer's processes. Care to share some tips?

Brand New Windows

My kid will grow up on the other side of double pane glass.
Two layers of see through protection between her and the world.

Can two panes of glass keep out those who will dismiss her for being a girl?
Can two panes of glass of glass keep out hate?

Aren't two panes of glass harder to break than one?
Because one pane of glass breaks so easily and they tell me I can't afford triple pane glass.

this is awesome...

No clue on the story behind this but, it's Freddie..and Vader!