BREAK OUT THE PARADE: THERE'S BEEN AN ACCOMPLISHMENT!
Too bad the accomplishment is a selish one, and not for anyone elses benefit.
But in case you asked yourself, what could this crazybeautiful chicky be speaking of?!
I OFFICIALLY I HAVE TWO FANFUCKINGCHAPTERS IN MY NOVEL!
Please btw, if you're gonna post a comment about this entry, be kind. This novel is my baby. And has been in the works all summer and parts of last spring. It's not coming along speedily, but who cares. Its for me, and I love every second with it.
I wish I could spend all day on it, everyday. Nothing makes me feel happier than the clickTAPclack of satisfactory words putting out of my speedy fingers.
I might post a lil excerpt in here, just for posterities sake. ;)
In other news, today was a GREAT fucking day. Played bangin in practice, love my team...spanked the ERBs (though it doesn't matter) fucked around in Spanish today, math is pretty easy, and passed notes all Quakerism. HOLLER!
Homework is plaintively tugging at my puppet strings of type-A personality (see, i'm still in famous-bestselling-viper-driving-writer-mode)
Phew. Ok lets put in a little something:
[by the by, in my version, adrian's thoughts are italicized and easier to understand its a switch of narration but this thing is limited so you'll just get the basic idea.]
Chapter 2
If Adrian was beautiful she’d know. She’d pick up the phone, just like they did in those movies, and would dial feverishly as tears ripped away at make-up laid like spackle across cheeks trembling with fictitious fear. If Adrian had been (at any point in her life) capable of making meaningful ‘connections,’ now would be the time she’d use them. She’d pick up the grimy phone, slumping dramatically against the graffiti that read CUNT in large ugly letters around her small body, and would dial a long lost boyfriend. Brother. Great aunt. Friend from pre-school who now had AIDs but they could live together in a small apartment where they had to work night and day for every last cent of money-or at least that’s how the screenwriters would describe it. If Adrian was on a movie set, she’d know. And it would all be done feverishly-the dialing, that is.
Why do I think like this?! I’m fucking nuts. Christ on a fucking cracker. I don’t know anything that’ll help me get out of this shithole. And why’s that again? Oh right, because my M up and fucking died. Stupid whore.
But I guess she taught me a few things. Didn’t leave me without any practical skills in this ever-changing society. I know just how to roll over a 131 pound woman to the right side of the coach so she doesn’t suffocate or choke on her vomit. I know that Mr. Morgan fucks a hooker every Saturday night at Dew Drop Inn parking lot-and that if you write stories about your married English teacher fucking a minor’s brains out that you fail. But it’s ok, because I know Bas will sell me three acrylics for half price because he likes me. Seems to identify with the teen robbed of a childhood. Wonder where he came from. Funny, haven’t thought about anybody else in a while. Shit, another one of my problems. God I’m sucha selfish ass. There’s no fucking hope for me.
A lifeless limp cord hung from the receiver. There was no one to call and no where to go. It swung in the night, occasionally spinning and then colliding with the Greater Evanston Area phone book. Pages fluttered and snapped in an uncharacteristically cold breeze. Adrian matched her steps away from the gas station to the beat of the dial tone. Quick. Identical. As it stopped beeping it became one long tone.
Adrian ran. A long run. She steered her pounding steps to the side of the road. What road was it? She’ll never know, and didn’t from the day she moved there. Chicago city blocks were always more logical to her. At least when you screwed up, you could walk in a loop and end up where you started to try again. Ha. How fucking fitting.
But where was a grieving fifteen-year old girl with no family (other than the grandmother she just chose to abandon) and a wish to live, love and be the ‘normal’ her mother never gave her a chance to be. Unlike those who had been in situations like hers before, she had no death wish. It was not an option. People liked life, and had good ones on occasion, and she knew she had every right to that happiness as the next guy. Fuck the odds, this was gonna be about her starting over. Except, on a new a block this time. There was no going back to where she had started, so she was making up where she should have started.
...thats not the end of chapter 2, and im sorry for those of you who never read chapter 1, but today, thas what i feel like posting.
But in case you asked yourself, what could this crazybeautiful chicky be speaking of?!
I OFFICIALLY I HAVE TWO FANFUCKINGCHAPTERS IN MY NOVEL!
Please btw, if you're gonna post a comment about this entry, be kind. This novel is my baby. And has been in the works all summer and parts of last spring. It's not coming along speedily, but who cares. Its for me, and I love every second with it.
I wish I could spend all day on it, everyday. Nothing makes me feel happier than the clickTAPclack of satisfactory words putting out of my speedy fingers.
I might post a lil excerpt in here, just for posterities sake. ;)
In other news, today was a GREAT fucking day. Played bangin in practice, love my team...spanked the ERBs (though it doesn't matter) fucked around in Spanish today, math is pretty easy, and passed notes all Quakerism. HOLLER!
Homework is plaintively tugging at my puppet strings of type-A personality (see, i'm still in famous-bestselling-viper-driving-writer-mode)
Phew. Ok lets put in a little something:
[by the by, in my version, adrian's thoughts are italicized and easier to understand its a switch of narration but this thing is limited so you'll just get the basic idea.]
Chapter 2
If Adrian was beautiful she’d know. She’d pick up the phone, just like they did in those movies, and would dial feverishly as tears ripped away at make-up laid like spackle across cheeks trembling with fictitious fear. If Adrian had been (at any point in her life) capable of making meaningful ‘connections,’ now would be the time she’d use them. She’d pick up the grimy phone, slumping dramatically against the graffiti that read CUNT in large ugly letters around her small body, and would dial a long lost boyfriend. Brother. Great aunt. Friend from pre-school who now had AIDs but they could live together in a small apartment where they had to work night and day for every last cent of money-or at least that’s how the screenwriters would describe it. If Adrian was on a movie set, she’d know. And it would all be done feverishly-the dialing, that is.
Why do I think like this?! I’m fucking nuts. Christ on a fucking cracker. I don’t know anything that’ll help me get out of this shithole. And why’s that again? Oh right, because my M up and fucking died. Stupid whore.
But I guess she taught me a few things. Didn’t leave me without any practical skills in this ever-changing society. I know just how to roll over a 131 pound woman to the right side of the coach so she doesn’t suffocate or choke on her vomit. I know that Mr. Morgan fucks a hooker every Saturday night at Dew Drop Inn parking lot-and that if you write stories about your married English teacher fucking a minor’s brains out that you fail. But it’s ok, because I know Bas will sell me three acrylics for half price because he likes me. Seems to identify with the teen robbed of a childhood. Wonder where he came from. Funny, haven’t thought about anybody else in a while. Shit, another one of my problems. God I’m sucha selfish ass. There’s no fucking hope for me.
A lifeless limp cord hung from the receiver. There was no one to call and no where to go. It swung in the night, occasionally spinning and then colliding with the Greater Evanston Area phone book. Pages fluttered and snapped in an uncharacteristically cold breeze. Adrian matched her steps away from the gas station to the beat of the dial tone. Quick. Identical. As it stopped beeping it became one long tone.
Adrian ran. A long run. She steered her pounding steps to the side of the road. What road was it? She’ll never know, and didn’t from the day she moved there. Chicago city blocks were always more logical to her. At least when you screwed up, you could walk in a loop and end up where you started to try again. Ha. How fucking fitting.
But where was a grieving fifteen-year old girl with no family (other than the grandmother she just chose to abandon) and a wish to live, love and be the ‘normal’ her mother never gave her a chance to be. Unlike those who had been in situations like hers before, she had no death wish. It was not an option. People liked life, and had good ones on occasion, and she knew she had every right to that happiness as the next guy. Fuck the odds, this was gonna be about her starting over. Except, on a new a block this time. There was no going back to where she had started, so she was making up where she should have started.
...thats not the end of chapter 2, and im sorry for those of you who never read chapter 1, but today, thas what i feel like posting.