She was the type of girl that made men stumble into love. She walked in front of them full of confidence, only to slow her pace to watch men trip over their own feet to prevent themselves from running over her. Before men knew it they were falling into everything she was, the confidence, the whispered way she spoke, the halfway discrete tattoos that picked out from under her clothes to tease the rest of the picture. Yes, Jessica was no stranger to men loving her. She encouraged the attention till she had enough, till she could speed up and leave men behind trying to catch a hold of her coat tails.
As a lot of you know we are coming up on Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) in November. I attempted to take part two years ago but as I was in school and behind in all my classes I had to give up pretty early in order to concentrate on my studies. Last year I did not even attempt to participate having learned my lesson about trying to write a novel and focus on school work. Well guess what? I have no school to hinder me from writing this year and I have been looking forward to attempting to complete Nanowrimo this year. I had begun to worry because November was fast approaching without me having any ideas as what to write. That plus I have been in kind of a funk with my fiction writing. Well worry no more. I have an idea! I am going to do an almost anthology style novel that takes place in a fictional town. Stylistically I would like for it to resemble Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson. I think this will best serve my tendency of falling in love with side characters and going off on tangents. As a matter of fact with the switching narrators and POVs this will be encouraged. So anyway good luck to those who are planning to try to undertake Nanowrimo. I may or may not be posting parts of the novel as I go here. Depends on if any of you would be interested in reading it?
I am tired. My feet have grown heavy from wearing concrete shoes trying to kick up enough dust to make a mess. All I want is to be noticed or at least to not have to standstill. I’ve put myself behind a million eight ball and now I’m just waiting for my cue. When do I get to shine? When is my time?
I like Carrie because of the way she sways in high heels without falling. I wonder what it is this time that has drunk off the world. I know it can’t be this piss yellow watered down beer that’s done the job, I’m drinking the same thing and I’m sober as a morning alarm clock staring at a pretty blond pretending I don’t give a damn about anything she could say to me. I give a damn about everything she could say to me. I think about pulling out my notebook jotting her words down for inspiration, wondering if I could write a new poem with each sentence she says. She’s talking about the weather and surely that’s not good enough to fill the role of muse but it will have to do. I don’t want to tell her that her eyes are like the sun so I tell her that her eyes are the color of the bottoms of clouds on fall evenings. I tell her I had to say fall because it works on two levels and I’m falling for her. She won’t care and maybe she’ll walk away but before she goes I’ll yell, “The bags under your eyes look like mothers cradling babies and you probably should get more sleep than you do.