Today in my creative writing class, we were instructed to perform some free writing exercises. We had 30 seconds to make a list of the 10 most important things or events in our life, and then 15 seconds to cross out all of them with the exception of one. We were then instructed to free write for a couple of minutes about last thing on our list. Here’s where the fun comes in. I had two things left on my list. My professor said hurry strike out one more. The last two items were sex and being published. Mind you, I struck out my birth, marriage, falling in love and meeting my father (whole other blog topic). Shockingly, I struck out publishing for sex. I guess I can deal with not being published but no sex. What kind of life is that? So, I’m left with sex…except I can’t write for a couple minutes about sex in a classroom full of people. I find myself saying stuff like how can I write erotica if I can’t free write on sex for a couple freakin minutes.
Today I learned that I’m not comfortable writing about sex in a room full of people. What does that say about me? Am I an anti exhibitionist or something? I must say I’m a little surprised at me and a little pissed. I’m supposed to be a writer and I threw my livelihood away for some make believe nookie. Now I feel like I’m not serious about my craft and some sort of weird frigid. I figure I gotta do something to make this right. I’ve decided to write something really sexy, hell downright pornographic. Should it be a biographical piece or just some erotic fantasy of mine? Oh yeah, I got it now, there was this one time that I just …wait. I don’t think it’s the right time for me to blog something like that here. It’s too soon, you understand don’t you? Maybe next time when you come to my blog I’ll have something special for you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. Well, maybe I did, I’m a writer and a big old tease!
Sheff
Sheff
Monday, August 28, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
The Dali Mama
Women want to be wanted. Men need to be needed
Oh, so this is where the problem lies. I got home yesterday from a 4 day visit with my mother. Mothers can explain anything in the most simplistic terms and they are always right. At least mine is. Want to know the secrets of the universe, just ask my mother. My Mom is like the Dali Lama of all mothers. My great sin is that I never learned to ask the right questions at the right time. And like all great and mysterious oracles my Mom is not about to just volunteer this information. One must come to the mother on ones knees requiring enlightenment in a specific area of ones miserable life. Then all will be revealed. It’s a very Zen fucking moment. A too late to matter Zen fucking moment but a moment nonetheless. So tonight, I’m a bit in my cups, as a friend describes it, which means I’m drunk or working on it and writing. So women want to be wanted and men need to be needed. My problem according to Mom is that I don’t need a man I just want one.
You see daughter men don’t like educated, intelligent, self-sufficient women. They prefer semi retarded women like say Paris Hilton for example. You need a catch phrase like, “That’s hot” or you need to be overly concerned with what labels you are wearing and where you are being seen. Oh and don’t be afraid to fall face first, or any other available orifice, on any penis you may encounter. Nothing says needy like being an insecure fuck bunny. Now sweetie if you think that you can live with that then you go right ahead and be that kind of woman. Mama loves you either way, but I’m betting you have a problem with the lifestyle. You could stay the course and hope to one day find that rarity among men, a man who loves being wanted by a woman who does not necessarily need him.
Geez Ma thanks you’re a peach.
Anything else you’d like to ask dear.
No, the insight that I may have to pretend to have the IQ of fruit fly in order to get laid is plenty to digest right now. I was going to ask you about my troubled marriage but I’m depressed enough as it is. I’ll save those questions for Thanksgiving.
All right, have it your way honey. You know you can always call.
I’m sure of one thing right now. I both want and need another drink and that chilled bottle of Chardonnay does not care one way or another how I feel about it. So, if you folks will excuse me I’m about to go and have my way with it. Later.
Oh, so this is where the problem lies. I got home yesterday from a 4 day visit with my mother. Mothers can explain anything in the most simplistic terms and they are always right. At least mine is. Want to know the secrets of the universe, just ask my mother. My Mom is like the Dali Lama of all mothers. My great sin is that I never learned to ask the right questions at the right time. And like all great and mysterious oracles my Mom is not about to just volunteer this information. One must come to the mother on ones knees requiring enlightenment in a specific area of ones miserable life. Then all will be revealed. It’s a very Zen fucking moment. A too late to matter Zen fucking moment but a moment nonetheless. So tonight, I’m a bit in my cups, as a friend describes it, which means I’m drunk or working on it and writing. So women want to be wanted and men need to be needed. My problem according to Mom is that I don’t need a man I just want one.
You see daughter men don’t like educated, intelligent, self-sufficient women. They prefer semi retarded women like say Paris Hilton for example. You need a catch phrase like, “That’s hot” or you need to be overly concerned with what labels you are wearing and where you are being seen. Oh and don’t be afraid to fall face first, or any other available orifice, on any penis you may encounter. Nothing says needy like being an insecure fuck bunny. Now sweetie if you think that you can live with that then you go right ahead and be that kind of woman. Mama loves you either way, but I’m betting you have a problem with the lifestyle. You could stay the course and hope to one day find that rarity among men, a man who loves being wanted by a woman who does not necessarily need him.
Geez Ma thanks you’re a peach.
Anything else you’d like to ask dear.
No, the insight that I may have to pretend to have the IQ of fruit fly in order to get laid is plenty to digest right now. I was going to ask you about my troubled marriage but I’m depressed enough as it is. I’ll save those questions for Thanksgiving.
All right, have it your way honey. You know you can always call.
I’m sure of one thing right now. I both want and need another drink and that chilled bottle of Chardonnay does not care one way or another how I feel about it. So, if you folks will excuse me I’m about to go and have my way with it. Later.
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