Post by azzie on Apr 27, 2009 20:52:39 GMT -5
I've been writing this since September, but it's still only 22k right now. Yah, it's a novel and if I still like it when it's done I might try to get it published or something. .-.
Anyways, if it's okay I'm going to put up random parts that I don't like for comments/critique.
The backstory is, the main character, a girl called Kayla, told her friend Melanie to run away because her life sucks. She didn't expect Melanie to actually do it, but she did. Kayla, feeling super guilty, went after her to try to get her back. Along the way she met Irving, who she befriended and has been travelling with ever since.
The parts are not in order.
one. (PG)
At three in the morning
I’m exploring Tina’s apartment.
The only window is in her kitchen
and there’s a miniature Jesus above it.
The TV is behind me so the whole room
is sort of eerie and blue.
I’m so tired that I go, “Hey, Jesus,”
and almost expect him to answer.
I pull up a chair and sit down
and look up at the tiny Jesus on the wall
and I ask him how it’s going
and if he ever thought that
maybe he didn’t want to be
a prophet for the greater good.
“Like, did you ever want to be...
I don’t know. A blacksmith or a farmer?”
The Holy Lord memorabilia tells me,
“No. I’m God’s son. I’m perfect.”
“Yah, well, does always doing
what daddy tells you to,
is that really perfection?
What is perfection, really?”
“In the Lord, you are perfect.
In His eyes all your sins are cleaned
and you are pure.”
The thing about Gods, I think,
is that they think they’re so damn omnipotent.
Like their Perfect is the Perfect.
“Fine,” says Jesus. “If I’m so wrong,
then tell me,
what is perfection?”
Perfection is nothing concrete
or even anything really big.
Perfection is in the little things
like waking up early
in a shitty hotel room
and sitting on the bed
and seeing the sun rise through the window
and a second ago the room was dark
and shabby and disgusting
and then it’s lit up around you
and the sky is all these colors
and somehow, suddenly
this is the most beautiful room you’ve ever been in.
Perfection is the Car Crash School of Music
and how Riley Cash pushed you up
against the passenger’s side door
and kissed you and kissed you
and you held him close
with your fingers through the loops in his jeans
and then he stopped
and looked into your eyes
and kissed you on the forehead
and looked into your eyes
and was all out of breath
and whispered “fuck me sideways.”
Jesus likes the first one a lot.
He says yah, God made the world
and the world is beautiful.
He doesn’t mention Riley Cash.
Or the Car Crash School of Music.
I tell him that perfection is also
writing balloon messages with Irving.
Perfection is a lot of things
and it’s not as rare or divine
or as anything as you might think.
And nothing is all perfect
because if you stare at the sunrise too much
then you’ll go blind
and Riley Cash broke up with me
and Irving hates me.
And Jesus laughs at me and goes,
“I was just fucking with you.
I knew all that already.
Everyone knows that.
Go to sleep.”
“I hate you, Jesus.”
“No you don’t.
You don’t even believe in me.”
two
When Irving gets the door
he’s wearing jeans and socks
and is shaving his face off.
“You could’ve gotten dressed.”
“I thought you’d leave again.”
“Were you worried about me?”
He doesn’t answer me,
probably because he didn’t hear
but I take that as a no anyways.
But I ask again anyways.
You know you’re an optimist when...
Irving closes the bathroom door.
I sit down on the bed and wait.
When he comes out I don’t ask anything
and he tells me that while I was gone
his mom called and she wants to see him.
He got me another shirt
since he wants me in clean clothes
when we meet her.
The shirt he got me
is one of those plaid ones I hate.
But I’m lucky he’s not telling me
to just hide in the trunk
and even luckier
that he’s even talking to me.
So I put on the shirt
and my coat-vest
and we get in the truck and drive.
I don’t tell him I’m hungry.
I don’t tell him I’m sorry.
I don’t tell him I almost found her.
I don’t tell him I overdosed.
I don’t tell him I was in the hospital.
He doesn’t ask anyways.
He doesn’t say anything,
even when I do tell him
that I didn’t miss him.
I so tell him that I didn’t even think about him
and that it’s stupid that he’s still here,
that he’s still driving me around
just because he’s so lonely
because his wife left him
because of his lame-ass midlife crisis
and seriously, if he’s going to have one of those
he should at least get a new truck
since this one is a total pile of crap.
I do tell him that most men like him
would pick up a half-plastic twenty-some chick
and just sleep with her and whatever
instead of picking up an all-natural
eighteen year old and then playing chauffeur
for her while she searches for her missing friend.
I do tell him that he shouldn’t be trying to impress me
with his blood pact and buying me new clothes
because he’s still an old man
and we’re not really friends
and did he ever even have any friends?
He turns on the Arch Enemy CD
when I start telling him it’s a good thing he has no kids
because I’d feel really fucking sorry for them.
He turns it up so loud I can’t even hear myself.
So I shut up and spend the rest of the drive
wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Irving’s mom lives a few hours away
and the Arch Enemy CD ends before we get there.
When it does there’s one of those heavy silences,
the kind that makes you truly scared to even move.
I wish I was the kind of person
who enjoys breaking those silences
but I’m really, really not.
Other silences, I can do that.
These ones are different.
Irving starts the CD again.
I want to roll down the window and scream.
I don’t know what, but I want to.
I just want to look back and scream
like that’ll let all the angst and weight out of the truck.
But I don’t.
Because.
I know why.
I turn off the music
which takes more willpower
than anyone would guess
and I say really fast,
so maybe he doesn’t even hear me,
“I’m scared of losing you.”
and then I turn the music back on.
three (PG)
We get drunk instead.
We didn’t plan to,
but Irving bought beer.
Then we played a drinking game.
The Mine Versus Irving’s Ex Drinking Game.
Get a movie.
Any movie.
A documentary about the Beatles.
Get someone to watch it with.
Any someone.
Irving.
Interrupt the movie every few minutes
with questions or comments
or ignorant statements
about your someone’s ex.
If the words get to you take a drink.
If you’ve been on the road for the past few days
alone together in an old beaten up truck
then you’re going to be drinking a lot
and if you’re drunk and thinking
about the someone you don’t want to still love
then you’re going to be drinking a lot more.
four
“What are you waiting for?”
Irving is asking me that.
He’s standing in the grass behind me
and looking very starving-artist.
In a good way.
I think it’s the glasses.
He wasn’t wearing them yesterday.
“Why are famous people never hot?”
“They are.”
“No, like old famous people.
Edgar Allan Poe famous people.”
Irving shrugs. “They’re dead. Who cares.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted
to get a time machine
and be a famous poet or something?”
He hesitates for a moment
and I worry that maybe he realized
that I just called him hot.
But then he just says,
“Emily Dickinson wasn’t bad.”
“Really?”
“No. She was.
Now let’s look for your friend.”
I put my hand on the pebbles
and turn and get up
and the vampire squishes
between my finger and the ground.
I tell Irving to close his eyes
and give me his hand.
He’s so compliant.
Stupidly compliant.
“What if I was a drug dealer,”
I ask as I trace my finger
over his skin.
“Or a gangster,”
I squeeze the finger and keep going.
“Why would you let me in your car?”
Squeeze again. Paint again.
“Do you have any open wounds?”
He opens his eyes just as I finish.
There’s a heart on the back of his hand.
Painted with vampire-bite blood.
“I think we should make a blood pact.
Go get a leech
hurry
before mine scabs.”
Anyways, if it's okay I'm going to put up random parts that I don't like for comments/critique.
The backstory is, the main character, a girl called Kayla, told her friend Melanie to run away because her life sucks. She didn't expect Melanie to actually do it, but she did. Kayla, feeling super guilty, went after her to try to get her back. Along the way she met Irving, who she befriended and has been travelling with ever since.
The parts are not in order.
one. (PG)
At three in the morning
I’m exploring Tina’s apartment.
The only window is in her kitchen
and there’s a miniature Jesus above it.
The TV is behind me so the whole room
is sort of eerie and blue.
I’m so tired that I go, “Hey, Jesus,”
and almost expect him to answer.
I pull up a chair and sit down
and look up at the tiny Jesus on the wall
and I ask him how it’s going
and if he ever thought that
maybe he didn’t want to be
a prophet for the greater good.
“Like, did you ever want to be...
I don’t know. A blacksmith or a farmer?”
The Holy Lord memorabilia tells me,
“No. I’m God’s son. I’m perfect.”
“Yah, well, does always doing
what daddy tells you to,
is that really perfection?
What is perfection, really?”
“In the Lord, you are perfect.
In His eyes all your sins are cleaned
and you are pure.”
The thing about Gods, I think,
is that they think they’re so damn omnipotent.
Like their Perfect is the Perfect.
“Fine,” says Jesus. “If I’m so wrong,
then tell me,
what is perfection?”
Perfection is nothing concrete
or even anything really big.
Perfection is in the little things
like waking up early
in a shitty hotel room
and sitting on the bed
and seeing the sun rise through the window
and a second ago the room was dark
and shabby and disgusting
and then it’s lit up around you
and the sky is all these colors
and somehow, suddenly
this is the most beautiful room you’ve ever been in.
Perfection is the Car Crash School of Music
and how Riley Cash pushed you up
against the passenger’s side door
and kissed you and kissed you
and you held him close
with your fingers through the loops in his jeans
and then he stopped
and looked into your eyes
and kissed you on the forehead
and looked into your eyes
and was all out of breath
and whispered “fuck me sideways.”
Jesus likes the first one a lot.
He says yah, God made the world
and the world is beautiful.
He doesn’t mention Riley Cash.
Or the Car Crash School of Music.
I tell him that perfection is also
writing balloon messages with Irving.
Perfection is a lot of things
and it’s not as rare or divine
or as anything as you might think.
And nothing is all perfect
because if you stare at the sunrise too much
then you’ll go blind
and Riley Cash broke up with me
and Irving hates me.
And Jesus laughs at me and goes,
“I was just fucking with you.
I knew all that already.
Everyone knows that.
Go to sleep.”
“I hate you, Jesus.”
“No you don’t.
You don’t even believe in me.”
two
When Irving gets the door
he’s wearing jeans and socks
and is shaving his face off.
“You could’ve gotten dressed.”
“I thought you’d leave again.”
“Were you worried about me?”
He doesn’t answer me,
probably because he didn’t hear
but I take that as a no anyways.
But I ask again anyways.
You know you’re an optimist when...
Irving closes the bathroom door.
I sit down on the bed and wait.
When he comes out I don’t ask anything
and he tells me that while I was gone
his mom called and she wants to see him.
He got me another shirt
since he wants me in clean clothes
when we meet her.
The shirt he got me
is one of those plaid ones I hate.
But I’m lucky he’s not telling me
to just hide in the trunk
and even luckier
that he’s even talking to me.
So I put on the shirt
and my coat-vest
and we get in the truck and drive.
I don’t tell him I’m hungry.
I don’t tell him I’m sorry.
I don’t tell him I almost found her.
I don’t tell him I overdosed.
I don’t tell him I was in the hospital.
He doesn’t ask anyways.
He doesn’t say anything,
even when I do tell him
that I didn’t miss him.
I so tell him that I didn’t even think about him
and that it’s stupid that he’s still here,
that he’s still driving me around
just because he’s so lonely
because his wife left him
because of his lame-ass midlife crisis
and seriously, if he’s going to have one of those
he should at least get a new truck
since this one is a total pile of crap.
I do tell him that most men like him
would pick up a half-plastic twenty-some chick
and just sleep with her and whatever
instead of picking up an all-natural
eighteen year old and then playing chauffeur
for her while she searches for her missing friend.
I do tell him that he shouldn’t be trying to impress me
with his blood pact and buying me new clothes
because he’s still an old man
and we’re not really friends
and did he ever even have any friends?
He turns on the Arch Enemy CD
when I start telling him it’s a good thing he has no kids
because I’d feel really fucking sorry for them.
He turns it up so loud I can’t even hear myself.
So I shut up and spend the rest of the drive
wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Irving’s mom lives a few hours away
and the Arch Enemy CD ends before we get there.
When it does there’s one of those heavy silences,
the kind that makes you truly scared to even move.
I wish I was the kind of person
who enjoys breaking those silences
but I’m really, really not.
Other silences, I can do that.
These ones are different.
Irving starts the CD again.
I want to roll down the window and scream.
I don’t know what, but I want to.
I just want to look back and scream
like that’ll let all the angst and weight out of the truck.
But I don’t.
Because.
I know why.
I turn off the music
which takes more willpower
than anyone would guess
and I say really fast,
so maybe he doesn’t even hear me,
“I’m scared of losing you.”
and then I turn the music back on.
three (PG)
We get drunk instead.
We didn’t plan to,
but Irving bought beer.
Then we played a drinking game.
The Mine Versus Irving’s Ex Drinking Game.
Get a movie.
Any movie.
A documentary about the Beatles.
Get someone to watch it with.
Any someone.
Irving.
Interrupt the movie every few minutes
with questions or comments
or ignorant statements
about your someone’s ex.
If the words get to you take a drink.
If you’ve been on the road for the past few days
alone together in an old beaten up truck
then you’re going to be drinking a lot
and if you’re drunk and thinking
about the someone you don’t want to still love
then you’re going to be drinking a lot more.
four
“What are you waiting for?”
Irving is asking me that.
He’s standing in the grass behind me
and looking very starving-artist.
In a good way.
I think it’s the glasses.
He wasn’t wearing them yesterday.
“Why are famous people never hot?”
“They are.”
“No, like old famous people.
Edgar Allan Poe famous people.”
Irving shrugs. “They’re dead. Who cares.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted
to get a time machine
and be a famous poet or something?”
He hesitates for a moment
and I worry that maybe he realized
that I just called him hot.
But then he just says,
“Emily Dickinson wasn’t bad.”
“Really?”
“No. She was.
Now let’s look for your friend.”
I put my hand on the pebbles
and turn and get up
and the vampire squishes
between my finger and the ground.
I tell Irving to close his eyes
and give me his hand.
He’s so compliant.
Stupidly compliant.
“What if I was a drug dealer,”
I ask as I trace my finger
over his skin.
“Or a gangster,”
I squeeze the finger and keep going.
“Why would you let me in your car?”
Squeeze again. Paint again.
“Do you have any open wounds?”
He opens his eyes just as I finish.
There’s a heart on the back of his hand.
Painted with vampire-bite blood.
“I think we should make a blood pact.
Go get a leech
hurry
before mine scabs.”