Someone remarked that I write a lot of my characters as mothers. Like writing mothers was my thing. I was confused by this because, surely not? Of all the characters I've written I could only think of a few off the top of my head.
But this seemed to be a widely held notion, so, being very confused and having nothing else to do with 20 minutes of my afternoon aside from have a migraine, I decided to grab a pencil and see if maybe *I* was wrong. The stats are thus:
Of 17 female characters written...
4 were mothers or had the desire to become such
13 were not mothers and had no desire to become such
1 was gay
4 were bisexual
9 were asexual, sex-repulsed, prude, or chaste
Turns out writing asexuals (or women who are otherwise chaste) is more my thing. An equally unexpected result, honestly.
Some further stats for curiosity's sake:
Of 17 female characters written...
10 were physically strong
7 were physically weak
13 had above average intellect
4 had average or below intellect
4 were married or in long term relationships
13 were not married or in long term relationships
6 wanted to conquer the world
11 did not want to conquer the world
2 of the 6 who wanted to conquer the world succeeded
9 were leaders
8 were followers
7 were WOC
7 were not WOC
5 had disabilities that impacted their lives significantly
12 did not have disabilities
So my thing is to write intellectually and physically superior women who have no interest in motherhood or men and positive life goals. LOL. Welp, the more you know.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Brussel, Bro Russel
While drunkenly discussing the origin of the name Brussel Sprouts
(sometimes seen as Brussel’s Sprouts), I suggested maybe the guy who
discovered them was named Brussel. “Bro Russel,” I further explain,
trying to stifle my own laughter. “The brother of Russel.” I don’t know
why I find this so hilarious, but I’m shaking with laughter and no one
else is laughing.
I go on to declare my next born son shall be named Brussel, because he'll technically be a bro Russel (though his brother's name would be Jude not Russel). To which Aaron disagrees, "Only if you had twins. Then you could name one Russel and the other one Brussel. That's the only way he can be Bro Russel."
I go on to declare my next born son shall be named Brussel, because he'll technically be a bro Russel (though his brother's name would be Jude not Russel). To which Aaron disagrees, "Only if you had twins. Then you could name one Russel and the other one Brussel. That's the only way he can be Bro Russel."
I laugh until I'm crying at this, mostly because I've gotten Aaron to
oblige my ridiculousness. It was only half a glass of wine, I'm just a
light weight who'd forgotten to eat lunch.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Inappropriate Love Letter
In high school , my BFF and I used to hang out at this local cafe called Bradey's in
Kent near the university. On Fridays they'd have open mic poetry night and we'd all write poetry right at the table to recite.
These days it's a Starbucks, but to us it'll always be Bradey's.
One time an older gentleman approached our table and left me an
envelope. He must have been at least 30. I was 16. It was a love letter
waxing poetic about the gentleness of my smile and my youthful beauty
and how in a prefect world he could tell me these things face tho face and it'd be okay, but since it wasn't the letter would have to do. Throughout he called me nothing but Dearest.
One time an older gentleman approached our table and left me an
envelope. He must have been at least 30. I was 16. It was a love letter
waxing poetic about the gentleness of my smile and my youthful beauty
and how in a prefect world he could tell me these things face tho face and it'd be okay, but since it wasn't the letter would have to do. Throughout he called me nothing but Dearest.
After giving me the envelope he paid his bill and left. We never saw
the man again. Which is probably for the best, honestly, because it was
wildly inappropriate. I definitely did not look "older" than my age. But
for the longest time thereafter my BFF jokingly referred to me as
Dearest. It was an inside joke that I nearly forgot about until this
shirt arrived from her yesterday and I'm not even sure she herself
remembered before sending it.
I wonder what ever became of that man?
I wonder what ever became of that man?
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Joining the X-Files
Dreamt I got the weekend off, but for whatever reason Aaron didn't. So Emil took me to his family's cabin in the mountains. Then we immediately had a misadventure.
While collecting fire wood, we found a body in the river. I realize the guy is still alive but trapped, so Emil frees him. No sooner than he does, the stranger tries to kill us, so we run back to the cabin with him chasing us.
Once inside I pull out what is possibly the world's oldest functioning gun from an old WW2 crate and shoot the guy dead. Emil then, without question or hesitation, dissects the body in the basin tub so that we can hide it.
While collecting fire wood, we found a body in the river. I realize the guy is still alive but trapped, so Emil frees him. No sooner than he does, the stranger tries to kill us, so we run back to the cabin with him chasing us.
Once inside I pull out what is possibly the world's oldest functioning gun from an old WW2 crate and shoot the guy dead. Emil then, without question or hesitation, dissects the body in the basin tub so that we can hide it.
When an old woman unexpectedly shows up having heard a commotion, we
explain away the blood we had yet a chance to clean up as a canning
accident. "We were making our own tomato paste, you see." She buys it.
We spend the weekend drinking away the fact we killed a man. By Monday people think we had an affair when really we were just closer because we almost died and then expertly concealed a murder together. Quite a bonding experience.
Later, because of these events, I go on to join the fbi working on the X-Files. ??? Emil becomes a mountain hermit and my greatest source of intel. ???
We spend the weekend drinking away the fact we killed a man. By Monday people think we had an affair when really we were just closer because we almost died and then expertly concealed a murder together. Quite a bonding experience.
Later, because of these events, I go on to join the fbi working on the X-Files. ??? Emil becomes a mountain hermit and my greatest source of intel. ???
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
The Big One
I
wish the news would stop saying that the Pacific Northwest is going to
have The Big One™ any day now, as if the entire state of California will
be sloughed off into the sea tomorrow by an earthquake so great we
can’t even measure it. The messages I’ve been getting from worried
people are out of hand (which to clarify is not their fault, it’s the
freaking media instigating panic for views).
First of all The Big One™ just means 8.0 or so. Which, let’s be clear, is a really big earthquake and nothing to laugh at but there are fault lines capable of much more powerful earthquakes. It would be bad, it would be less bad than Fukushima.
Furthermore scientists suspect ‘any day now’ will actually be 'sometime within the next 30 years.’ There’s no way to really know until right before it starts, so there’s no use living in constant fear of it. Be prepared, urge your loved ones to be prepared, but don’t dwell on it like you/they may not wake up tomorrow. People have survived much worse natural disasters.
Also? California isn’t going to fall into the ocean like America got butterfingers and couldn’t hold onto it anymore. Eventually the movement of the plates will probably slide the entirety of the west coast northwards, but it won’t simply cease to exist because of a single earthquake. Climate change stands a better chance of drowning the west coast (and wiping out Florida entirely), actually – so maybe less listening to the media and more investing in clean energy?
Lastly, just to be clear, where I live is nowhere near the epicenter of this quake. I do not live on the fault line. We’d probably feel it, if it was really big, but it wouldn’t be catastrophic here. So while I am absolutely terrified of earthquakes, I do not feel compelled to flee the state under the cloak of night tonight. I am in far more danger from wild fires exacerbated by the exceptional drought we’re experiencing. So… maybe also conserve water? Don’t buy bottled from California (Aquafina, Dasani, Arrowhead, Niagra)? Please?
The natural disaster we’re actually having RIGHT NOW is more important than one that might happen by 2045.
First of all The Big One™ just means 8.0 or so. Which, let’s be clear, is a really big earthquake and nothing to laugh at but there are fault lines capable of much more powerful earthquakes. It would be bad, it would be less bad than Fukushima.
Furthermore scientists suspect ‘any day now’ will actually be 'sometime within the next 30 years.’ There’s no way to really know until right before it starts, so there’s no use living in constant fear of it. Be prepared, urge your loved ones to be prepared, but don’t dwell on it like you/they may not wake up tomorrow. People have survived much worse natural disasters.
Also? California isn’t going to fall into the ocean like America got butterfingers and couldn’t hold onto it anymore. Eventually the movement of the plates will probably slide the entirety of the west coast northwards, but it won’t simply cease to exist because of a single earthquake. Climate change stands a better chance of drowning the west coast (and wiping out Florida entirely), actually – so maybe less listening to the media and more investing in clean energy?
Lastly, just to be clear, where I live is nowhere near the epicenter of this quake. I do not live on the fault line. We’d probably feel it, if it was really big, but it wouldn’t be catastrophic here. So while I am absolutely terrified of earthquakes, I do not feel compelled to flee the state under the cloak of night tonight. I am in far more danger from wild fires exacerbated by the exceptional drought we’re experiencing. So… maybe also conserve water? Don’t buy bottled from California (Aquafina, Dasani, Arrowhead, Niagra)? Please?
The natural disaster we’re actually having RIGHT NOW is more important than one that might happen by 2045.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Why I Am Compelled to Write
I have never met my grandmother. She died at a mere 26 years of age leaving behind 3 children too young to really remember her. Shortly before her unexpected death she had begun keeping a journal. It was small, written in pencil, her handwriting looked a lot like mine. Her entries were glimpses into her day-to-day thoughts. However, pencil doesn't stand up well to the passage of time.
By the time my mother and her siblings were old enough to really understand the journal entries, to get a glimpse of who their mother had been, much of the writing had faded and been smudged. Those parts of her would never be recovered. Entire pages were illegible. Despite how much she must have written, no one could read it. Had she been happy? Sad? Frustrated? My grandfather was a handful back then, I can only imagine her opinions about him sometimes.
From other people's memories of her I knew she was a kind, forgiving woman who never held a grudge. I knew she was beautiful and a stay at home mom. That she was the love of my grandfather's life, and he'd never remarry because of that. But that's honestly about it. Usually people's stories of her were centered around them, as is to be expected.
I read the journal in my 20's, wondering if I would outlive her, much as I'm sure my mother had wondered in her 20's. The more pages I couldn't decipher, the more I worried that if I were to die there' would be little to remember who I had been. I've long been content with the fact that life is finite, that I too would someday die. The thought, however, that I may put others in the same position my mother and uncles had been in though? That sat like a heavy stone in my stomach.
I refused to be reduced to anecdotal stories told from other people's perspectives. I wanted people to be able to look back and read about my life through my own words. Even if they were frivolous at times. I wrote my first blog post just days after finishing my grandmother's journal. Though it was written elsewhere, many moons ago, you can find that post here. I was 22. I made sure to transfer it over, whenever I moved to a new host for my writing, regardless of how well it was written or whether or not I had said anything embarrassing or worthwhile.
Because your life isn't all about exciting adventures or coming off as perfect/accomplished. Sometimes it's about family dinners on Sunday, waiting in line, having the flu, and losing socks in the wash; and embarrassment is a big part of life. The sooner you realize these things and truly accept them, the happier you'll be. All of this is why I write, to be remembered on my own terms. Should anything happen to me, I'd love for my son to one day read all of this and get to know me as I had been.
By the time my mother and her siblings were old enough to really understand the journal entries, to get a glimpse of who their mother had been, much of the writing had faded and been smudged. Those parts of her would never be recovered. Entire pages were illegible. Despite how much she must have written, no one could read it. Had she been happy? Sad? Frustrated? My grandfather was a handful back then, I can only imagine her opinions about him sometimes.
From other people's memories of her I knew she was a kind, forgiving woman who never held a grudge. I knew she was beautiful and a stay at home mom. That she was the love of my grandfather's life, and he'd never remarry because of that. But that's honestly about it. Usually people's stories of her were centered around them, as is to be expected.
I read the journal in my 20's, wondering if I would outlive her, much as I'm sure my mother had wondered in her 20's. The more pages I couldn't decipher, the more I worried that if I were to die there' would be little to remember who I had been. I've long been content with the fact that life is finite, that I too would someday die. The thought, however, that I may put others in the same position my mother and uncles had been in though? That sat like a heavy stone in my stomach.
I refused to be reduced to anecdotal stories told from other people's perspectives. I wanted people to be able to look back and read about my life through my own words. Even if they were frivolous at times. I wrote my first blog post just days after finishing my grandmother's journal. Though it was written elsewhere, many moons ago, you can find that post here. I was 22. I made sure to transfer it over, whenever I moved to a new host for my writing, regardless of how well it was written or whether or not I had said anything embarrassing or worthwhile.
Because your life isn't all about exciting adventures or coming off as perfect/accomplished. Sometimes it's about family dinners on Sunday, waiting in line, having the flu, and losing socks in the wash; and embarrassment is a big part of life. The sooner you realize these things and truly accept them, the happier you'll be. All of this is why I write, to be remembered on my own terms. Should anything happen to me, I'd love for my son to one day read all of this and get to know me as I had been.
Heavy Content
I know my funny writing has been missed lately and I'm sorry there isn't more of it being churned out for your viewing pleasure. I just want to assure you it's not a sign of the end times or anything. I simply don't have a lot of time to write, so when I do it has been about more important topics I need to get off my chest. Because as much as I enjoy knowing you guys like reading my stuff -- writing, first and foremost, is therapeutic to me.
I promise I still laugh and smile and do hyper-embarrassing nonsense daily and that stuff will return when I find myself with more time to write about it. In the meanwhile, if reading my more personal, deeper stuff isn't your cup of tea, check out my tumblr. Lots of tomfoolery gets channeled into it because of its ease of use (read: quickness). I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, though perhaps not. All work and no play make Inari a something-something.
I promise I still laugh and smile and do hyper-embarrassing nonsense daily and that stuff will return when I find myself with more time to write about it. In the meanwhile, if reading my more personal, deeper stuff isn't your cup of tea, check out my tumblr. Lots of tomfoolery gets channeled into it because of its ease of use (read: quickness). I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before, though perhaps not. All work and no play make Inari a something-something.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)