"Well, Well, Well."

The picture was incidental and easy, so it stays, despite its flippancy.  Well, well, well.  There have been a couple provisional blogs that lasted a post or two.  In my name.  Not in my name.  That seems to be the question.  Now that we are set to private here or perhaps it's that school is out, or any number of other things that boil down this burning itchiness to do this, I'll post here.

It seems that of all of the voices I have in writing, this is my favorite.  And, according to my newest obsessee, Joyce Carol Oates, blogging is a great place to develop one's voice.  Of course, if I say it you won't listen, but if she says it, you're all over it.  "You've never respected me."

Since I was last here, I'm sure some stuff happened.  (What up with that Big Bang Theory all the hep cats are recording in the DRV?)  And, I'm sure many things stayed the same (over worked/ undersexed).  Again... this. must. be. the. summer. I. write. a. book.  (Right)

I am in a yet to be determined period of intentional homelessness.  I house/ dog sat for the last 5 months.  Baby Bees (who are more adolescent than not now) are with the second ex Mr. Bee formerly known as Mr. Bee for two weeks, while I stay with my daughters at the first ex Mr. Bee's while he is out of town for work.  Then, the Newly Teen and Tween Bees and I will state park it up a while.  I've even contemplated writing. In a notebook.  Plus, there are always always always podcasts to listen to.  I'm sorry Joyce Carol Oates.  It's true.   A new place in July, then.

So, voice here is good.  According to someone tone, rhythm, ideas and grammar also matter.  Really, this blog has got it going on for me in all departments, but idea.  A story, the truth?  Which one?  What do I need to do (aside from having been the one to write Girls or write period)?  Write conversations.  Today's exercise: write a conversation.  I don't know who my characters are yet, but here they can be borne of a conversation.

Torn between wishing he would would shut up and wishing he would talk more, Freida decided to take the plunge-- "I've been wanting to talk to you." "Really?  About what?"  She never seemed to have a problem talking to him before, so this piqued his interest.  Maybe, for once, she meant talk "with" him rather than "at"  him.  (How's that for tone?  Snide.)  "I know I'm always complaining that my needs aren't being met, even as I am resistant to telling you what they are...."  Good start.  This was true.  "I'm just wondering if we might try and problem solve on this together."  "Problem solve on what?"  "Why is it always my role to be the one who says this?  You can't be happy, or you don't seem happy, at least."  "I'm happy, except for the fact that you never seem happy."

"I'm not gay, but neither am I straight."  "Fuck, not this again."  "This won't just go away by acting like we don't have a problem"  I've been thinking that maybe, it's not that.  Maybe, it's that I am gay and I'm straight.  I'm not trying to complain; it's just that I do want more, but I still want this."  "We've talked about this.  I know you want an open relationship or to have group sex or whatever it is that you want.  I'm not like that.  I'm just built the way I am."  "I know, but if there's any sort of compromise we could could make around this, I would love for us to come up with the solution together."  "I just don't see the problem.  Either you want to be with me, or you don't. Or, maybe it's that you just want to do whatever the fuck you want, and I'm not down with that."

"You can't be satisfied with our sex life.  You never want to have sex with me."  "Lately, I've just been really exhausted from work.  Then, I come home and there's all this stuff to do here, and then you go to work.  We never see each other."  "If I didn't think it would just be a set up for rejection, I'd ask if you wanted to schedule a date night."  "You know I don't respond to being put on the spot to have sex."  "It is so humiliating to have to beg you to have sex with me.  I knew I should have just kept my mouth shut."  (Talking to herself in that really disturbing, sneering way she does, "Just shut up and get back to work.  Don't complain.  The only reason you don't have what you want is that you can't be nice.  I'm so fucking sick of being told to be nice.")  Slamming the door, she was gone.  

Well, damn.  I don't really give a shit if it's good.  It's not just me pontificating.  It's dialog, and it spewed forth.  Not sure what the next part will be, but I had a few ideas.  It figures that with assessments, the yearbook and putting together class quilts that we raffled off, I'd be inspired.  I shall be back sooner than later, mutherfucker.


Lisa Golden said...

Life is nothing without some good dialog.

I will always respect you. (in the morning)

Freida Bee said...

Dialog is my weakness. The most recent New Yorker fiction podcast had Dave Eggers reading a Roddy Doyle story. There were comments about his sparse effectiveness with dialog. I think this passage slightly heavy-handed and still admire folks who can take us through a story with nearly dialog alone (like you).

Oh, rrarrr. Any shame is worth it.

Lisa Golden said...

Why, thank you for the compliments. Rrarr right back at you.

I failed to mention the photo you chose for this earlier. Ronald Colman stars in an inside joke MathMan and I share. He used to be in a bit on the Jack Benny radio show and had the best voice.

Utterly meaningless, but remarkable all the same.