I had waaaaaaaaay too much fun with this.
Sometime ago, I used to browse the bookstores (and online sites, once I discovered the internet) for tips on writing. One of my favorite sources for essays and the like on not just writing, but the writing life was hollylisle.com. There I found the advice ‘Your book is not your baby.’ (Which went on to say that writing is not a pregnancy.)
All right fine, I can deal with that. At the time what did I know about babies, right?
So when I started Star-crossed, and got further along with it, I kept this in mind, even though I’d already had two babies. So I recalled the way one of my favorite author’s would describe writing as slaying a dragon. The end of the day would come and she would return to her castle and restock for the next day’s battle.
I liked that comparison, and utilized it, though with a few changes.
I am partial to dragons, and so dislike the idea of equating writing with slaying one. Instead I latched onto the idea of hunting, particularly since I consider myself of the wolfish persuasion. Then writing filled me with the fanciful thoughts that I was pursuing some prey through the woods, following some scent with my keen canine nose. That the smell would grow stronger as I thought I neared the end, but faded when I realized just how far off I was. That when I was writing the finale, the tan flanks flashed just in front of my eyes, and cloven hooves danced before my snout. Right now, I think I should feel the flesh in my teeth and the blood in my mouth, even though my prey is still alive, still fighting. That I should feel the lash of antlers and the sharp cut of delicate hooves, backed by powerful legs.
But I don’t.
Nope, I’m here to disagree with you, Ms. Lisle.
Right now I feel as though I’m delivering a baby, and I can trace it all the way back to the sex.
You know what I mean. That oh-so-good feeling that makes you want to come back again and again, not wanting to bother with protection cause it’s like showering with your clothes on, and you’re in the heat of the moment, who cares about the consequences. (Ch. 1-5) and then you realize you missed your period and you’re pregnant. (6-9). But, hey, that’s okay, you can deal with that. Babies are cute and cuddly, and you think you’ll look good with a little, round belly, right?
Then you get morning sickness for the first time, and you realize that this part isn't so fun as you stand over the toilet heaving up your breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and there’s how many more months of this left to go. Ugh, hope I don’t do this the whole time!(10-20).
Then you’re belly’s full of baby, and it’s sitting on that nerve! The one that makes it hurt to move. Oh yeah, and when the baby’s not sitting on that nerve, you’re back’s aching anyways because you’re belly’s poking out about two feet more than normal, and your breasts hurt cause they’re getting ready to provide your little parasite with food, (even if you personally plan on going straight to formula. Screw breast-feeding!). And oh-my-god my feet are hideous and swollen and hurt, and when is this shit going to be over!! (Ch. 21-22, fucking Springer.)
Then came the fluttering realization that it is almost over! Holy crap, and the nursery’s still not done. Do we have enough clothes for this thing? What if it’s not a boy/girl like we were told? What if something happens to the baby? Oh my god, I’m so nervous, cause it’s going to hurt so much! But maybe I’m letting my imagination run away with me, it can’t be all that bad, right? How many other women have gone through this same thing? Oh my god, but this could happen and this and this and what about So-and-so that had this happen, and my mom told me how it was. God I’m just such a nervous wreck, and don’t you try to tell me to calm down! What the hell do you think know, dear? You’re not the one carrying a goddamn watermelon over your bladder! (23-27 + Finale)
Oh yeah, can’t forget about those Braxton-Hicks contractions either? The practice sessions that make you sit down and time how far apart they are and oh my god is it going to happen tonight?? You know, maybe this isn’t so bad. I can deal with this! (Twin Ties)
Then there’s also the horniness that seems to be a part of pregnancy. Probably to make it up to the spouse for when you won’t want him to put his dick anywhere near your crotch anytime soon. (Nowhere To Turn, and every other fic I am working on and have worked on during Star-crossed).
And this current chapter! (With only two-supposedly-left to go) This is fucking labor! And Tuesday! Tuesday was the worst part of it! (so far) It was like… like I’d rather have tried taking Carol Burnett’s suggestion and pulled my lower lip over my head and that wouldn't have been nearly as painful as actually getting this goddamned thing together and organized. Oh, and fuck writing anything on it because my brain was straining to even figure out where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. I seriously felt like one of those women you see on the comedies that are raging and screaming at their spouse that this was ALL THEIR FAULT AND IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING ANY ANYTIME WITHIN THE NEXT CENTURY THEN YOU GOT ANOTHER FUCKING THING COMING, YOU GODDAMNED BASTARD! YOU HEAR ME? YOUR PARENTS WERE NEVER MARRIED!!
And right now I just don't wanna push no more. I don't even want to think about pushing at all cuase I'm so freaking tired and frustrated and irritated at the fucking thing. And it's really just one line that's sticking me, cause I have no idea what to do with it, but it's also the idea that, having come so far, it feels like there's still so much more to go. Can you see the head yet, doctor??
Cause then I gotta finish the next two chapters (finish cause they’re started at least) and hope that it stays just two more chapters, and be grateful that they’re so much more straightforward than this one is. Then I gotta decide just how much I'm gonna nurture this baby, or if once it's out in the world, I'm gonna wave it around and call it done.
Goddammit, Jazz, you ever fucking touch me again and I'll rip out you ventilators and stuff them down your intakes.