Hey Look! A Poem!

I'd feel bad about posting twice in one day . . . if we posted more. But we don't, so I don't. E and I went to a poetry reading today which was great. I actually wrote this a couple of days ago, but it's been on my mind and I want to share. Please enjoy.

Not Quite Moriarty

Villains, in real life,

are completely boring.

I was prepared for dastardly plans,

Mustache twirling highbrow egomaniacs-

their goals lofty, their devices fowl, yes, but with a kind of

deadly elegance.

Real life villains employ manipulation

To get out of parking tickets,

they play with the lives of others

by planning the work schedules in a way

that favor some more than others.

Devious energy I can handle,

But not neediness,

and contempt,

and blatant, blatant stupidity that I am

forced to endure while their

clumsy machinations fail to enchant me with their

complete transparency.

I never thought I would be so disappointed

in the nature of evil.

Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part II, Our National Nightmare Ends

In my defense, the last movie I saw before this was Life of Pie which is an excellent movie and which I recommend you see right away and in 3D. Maybe I'll write a review of that another time because it's definitely worthy of one.

Until then, I have to share this experience with all of you because I think you'll appreciate it.

I convinced my friend M to go see this with me. She hadn't seen any of the movies or read the books and I had only seen Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse because, well, Redbox exists, so neither of us really knew what was going on. Before the movie started, M turned to me and, in jest, said, "This better be good or I want my money back." I turned back and said, "Oh, it won't be. Did I not make that clear?"

Though I was disappointed to learn that I had missed all the good baby-attempting-to-eat-Bella-during-her-pregnancy-and-then-ripping-out-of-her-v-jay-jay action, there was still plenty of bad to go around in this convoluted conclusion to our nationally revered abstinence porn.

The plot of this movie is stupid, but here's quick recap, Edward and Bella have their darling baby Renesmee (snicker, snicker) and Bella has just turned into a vampire but doesn't have problems with munching on humans because she's awesome like that. Then some random, blonde vampire chick from another movie that I don't know sees Edward, Bella, Renesmee, and Jacob (Renesmee's babysitter/future husband because wtf?) frolicking in a meadow. Random blonde chick immediately jumps to the conclusion that Bedward turned a random girl into a vampire and rushes to the Voltari (because that's a crime). The Voltari say they'll kill her right away, but then wait like five months because, I don't know, maybe there's more of a legislative process to the Voltari then we get to see? Like they have to filibuster the idea and get it passed through the Voltari house and senate or something?

In the end, Bedward gathers all these random vampires to share the story that Renesmee isn't immortal, she's just like half vampire and has some powers that we don't really know about because no one bothers to explain it and makes no sense anyway. But then the Voltari show up anyway and then they . . . talk a lot. And then they have a fight which didn't really happen because it was just Alice's vision. And then the movie ends.

What struck me most about this movie, other than the surprising amount of beheadings from this previously tame cinematic romp, and other than a line where Bella screams, "You nicknamed my daughter after the Loch Ness monsters!" which made a hilarious amount of NO SENSE to anyone who didn't see the previous movie, is just how much it sounds like everything I wrote when I was twelve.

Let's do a check list, shall we?

1. Stupid character names that have no relation to each other. (Carlisle? Jasper? Renesmee? Does Smeyer use babynames.com too?)
2. Giving the main character too many powers to make them super awesome to the point of ridiculousness. (Bella can control her hunger and she's a "Shield" which means she can cancel out all other vampire powers.)
3. Taking a genre with a long history and making up stupid rules. (Vampires can only die from fire/beheading? They don't have laws about killing random people all the time but freak out when you turn one baby? Half vampire babies age until they're seven and then stop forever? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?)
4. Stupid love story with other love interest that obviously was never going to get the girl.

Seriously, number one kills me. There aren't enough synonyms in the English language, or in any language, to properly quantify the stupidity of the name Renesmee. I once wrote a story set in the magical medieval ages with a character named named Julie who went by "Dagger", so I know stupid character names when I see them.

But, the absolute worst part of this movie is the end. I mean, we finally FINALLY get a decent fight scene in this vampire trilogy (quadrology?) that I sort of cared about a little bit. I mean, Carlisle gets his head ripped off, Dakota Fanning gets all killed and stuff, and some werewolves that I didn't know because they stayed in wolf form the entire damn time died. That was kind of sad and emotionally affecting  Then, after it's all over, we zoom in to Alice touching the lead Voltari's face and realize it was all a vision. It's the worst narrative technique ever, it really is. You don't want to make a portion of your story null and trick your audience in the same breath.

THEN we have a random half-vampire baby from the Arctic or some shit show up and say that he aged until he was seven and is currently 150 years old. WTF? Do the Voltari really have that limited control and knowledge of their world? Shouldn't they have known that Renesmee wasn't a turned child? Shouldn't they have acted before like ten months passed? Goddamn! Why isn't this called Deus Ex Machina: The Movie.

Anyway, this movie sucks, but it's fun to see with someone whose as lost and baffled by it as you. I recommend waiting until it gets to the cheap seats. (There's a cheap seat theater near where I live that sells beer. That would be ideal.)

However, if they ever decide to make a spin off series called The Voltari Doing Badass Evil Things, I hope the creative team will give me a call because I would like to write them a screenplay. No kidding, the Voltari are my favorite characters. Watching them behead people is less puke inducing then Bedward's bizarrely chaste sex scenes. (Oo, Bella's face, Edward's thighs, and feet at the end of the bed. Hott.)

My 12-year-old self gives this movie 3 stars. Only three though, because I've never written a lead female character that was that useless . . . or that boring.

Quick.

It happened quickly.  That’s what would be said.  After it was over.  It happened so quickly. 

Quick.  Too bad those quick moments won’t ever leave.  Too bad they keep replaying.  But they do.  Quickly.

It was raining.  Pouring, really.  And there was lighting.  In the dark of a sky just past twilight, it looked like the strobe light at a dance party.  Except more erratic. 

Driving in the rain is like asking for something to go wrong.  Especially when driving up a windy hill on a road that’s too narrow.  Already know what’s gonna happen, right?

Sure.

But there’s something to be said of accidents.  People just can’t look away.

Work ran late today.  Hurry home.  In the rain.  Tried to beat the rain.  But outrunning weather is like trying not to hit roadkill.  Pointless.  Messy.  And really bad for the car.

So close to home.  But there’s this section of road that goes up the bluff.  That was never designed for the recent influx of traffic.  That’s dangerous enough when only one car is on it.

This part of the drive is always dreaded.  But it’s so close to home, it hardly matters.  Already thoughts of what’s going on at home.  Dinner cooking.  Favorite TV shows to watch after.  A glass of wine and a cozy blanket. 

The song on the radio lulls senses into false security.  The car turns and begins the ascent it won’t finish.  Singing along loudly to the radio.  Drowning out the patter of rain.  Ignoring the bright flashes of the storm.  And trying to ignore the stark light of the oncoming cars. 

Then there’s a pair of lights that’s coming too close.  That’s in the wrong lane.  That’s-

When this part replays, it’s still fuzzy.  Except for the churning stomach.  And the shock that courses through every nerve ending.

There’s a rushing feeling.  And hardness. That’s the glass and steering wheel.  But is the rushing rain or blood?   It’s hard to tell. 

Lights are still flashing.  They soon become red and blue. 

It happened so quickly.

Spit-take

I've been working with this advertising agency and it's been harder than I thought. I'm not an ad copy writer or even a PR writer and it's going to take longer than I thought to adjust. The good news is the guy I'm working for is really sweet and willing to work with me because he really wants to have content creators he can rely on. Okay, it does make me feel like a twelve year old at times (especially because I got this gig because my mom knew him, but I did submit a portfolio and shit, so I deserve it, right?), but I should just take it.

Anyway, we were talking about payment for my first piece. Earlier he had mentioned that their on staff writer makes $40/hour and that another one of their regulars makes $30/hour. They're all older than me and have been in the business longer, so I was kind of hoping to make like $20/hour or something. We had a kind of roundabout discussion about payment today and finally he asked.

Is $30 an hour okay for?

Followed by.

How about I pay you a $200 flat rate for your first piece. (Because with the hourly rate it was less than that.)

Is that okay with me? Is that OKAY with me? Motherfucker, last time I got paid for an article I had to hound the magazine for three months and they sent me a check for $60 in a blank card from Hallmark with a WOLF on the front. A motherfucking wolf. Yeah, that's okay with me.

I realize that I'm woefully under-informed about what freelancers get paid and maybe I'm still being taken advantage of. (Should probably do some research or whatever.) I knew that $60 for my last gig was low, but hot damn.

Maybe it is possible to make it as a writer. Maybe I can move out of my parents house in the next month. Maybe a lot of things. Despite the fact that this is not the kind of writing I wanted to do, and I really don't have the hang of it, but I'm hopeful this place is going to work out for me.

Yeah, baby, we can swing that.

Glee Drinking Game

No, this is nothing creative. I'll try to post something for the last day of FlaFiOcto. I had E and M over last night (it's been a while since I've used the single initial, god do I feel like I'm in  Gossip Girl), and we played a Glee Drinking Game. I thought I'd post it here for those Glee lovers/haters among us. (Sorry Ada, but you can play too if you want.) The bad thing about this game is I end up getting SO MAD at the writers and cursing at the TV with abandon. Oh well!


Glee Drinking Game

Take a drink when . . .

• Anyone starts singing.
• Sue Sylvester insults Will Schuster.
• Anyone fulfills their stereotype.
• Someone makes a bad decision.
• They use the word "sectionals" or "regionals."
• Santana says something mean.
• Will Schuster patronizes his girlfriend.

Watch Glee responsibly! We all know overexposure to Glee can lead to latent rage syndrome.

Zombie Apocalypse Plan - Part 3

Part 1
_ Incubation _
http://padawansofwriting.blogspot.com/2012/01/zombie-apocalypse-plan-revised.html

Part 2
_ Accumulation _
http://padawansofwriting.blogspot.com/2012/01/zombie-apocalypse-plan-accumulation.html


Part 3

_ Aggravation _

FFOct24 - Flash Fiction 7

Girl Meets Mess

There was this man, and that’s always how the trouble starts. There was this man, and I fell from the edge of space to the bad part of my mind where everything always gets so complicated. There was this man, and I didn’t love him.

Well, not exactly.

Love gives you strength. Love is your rock. Love stands by you when you break down at the grocery store and say that the soup aisle reminds you of everything your mother always said was wrong with you. This was not that.

It started innocently enough. He rear-ended my friend. On his motorcycle. Never seen anyone fly over the hood like that, but he got right back up.

“Fuck,” was the first word I ever heard him utter. “What the hell were you doing?”

Standing still at a red light was the answer to that question. It was mostly the head trauma.

My friend, who is good at this type of thing, calmly informed him that he was as bright as a baboon’s rear end and also offered to drive him to the hospital and asked would he please give us his insurance information. He declined, paying us out of pocket with a mysterious wad of twenties, and then speeding off. I would later run into him at the grocery store and then my anarchist book club. God, what’s a girl to do?

Soon it became obvious to me that he was a little unstable. At my anarchist book club (really we just read dystopian sci-fi that you’d find in any top 100 reading list for the American middle schooler) he got into ridiculous fights. He said that JFK was killed by Russian terrorists. He said that Diet Pepsi caused more cancer than cigarettes and that the FDA was a load of horseshit. He also said that car owners were the worst plague to every blight mankind.

Naturally, I was taken with him. That is until later. We started to go out together, my anarchist book club, and he got into three fist fights in less than a week. One was over a stolen parking spot and the second came at the end of a shouting match during a contentious dart game.

The last was with one of our fellow book club members over whether or not the idea of God could be proven true with empirical data. Telling you which side of the argument he was on will not give you a better idea of anything.

I started sneaking peeks at him. Then I started researching him on the internet. Then I started slowly inserting myself in his life, and it was all well and good until he started to notice my interest.

It turns out that the only thing worse than being spurned by an impossible crush is being intrigued by one. He started to ask me out to movies, shows, and bars. I cleverly dodged, but it was hard to keep it up for long.

Then, one night, I was describing the hardships of my ill-gotten amore to the same friend who was present at the time of the rear ending. She was smoking a joint at the time, but still gave me the single greatest insight I’d ever received.

“Do you think it’s possible that the reason you like him is because you don’t think you deserve any better?”

All that time I thought I was torturing myself for fun, but sometimes stabbing yourself in the thigh is just a way of avoiding the fact that your jeans no longer fit you properly.

There was this man, and that’s always how the trouble starts. Then there was this woman, and, for once, that was me. It was only when I realized how awful I was being to myself that I could finally stop staring at his thighs when we discussed 1984. Which was good, because his musings on A Brave New World were pedestrian at best.