Random Thoughts

I wrote and saved this post four months ago. Not sure why I never published it, but thought it might be fun to take a peek and see what’s happened since then.


1. Why is it so damn difficult to find a decent desk lamp? UMMM, YEAH. THIS IS STILL CAUSING ME FITS. EITHER I’M JUST BEING A PICKY BITCH OR IT REALLY IS DAMN NEAR IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND A DECENT DESK LAMP.

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2. I’m about to enter into my first, professional editing experience and am terrified and thrilled. I have no idea what’s coming my way, how Dutch will be ripped to shreds, but I’m looking forward to the experience and coming out the other side a better writer for it. SO THIS HAPPENED AND MY EDITOR, HELEN HARDT, IS THE SHIT AND YES, I CAME OUT OF THE EXPERIENCE A BETTER WRITER. I STILL THINK I’LL MAKE SOME OF THE SAME MISTAKES IN JUMA, BUT NOT AS OFTEN AND WHEN I DO, I THINK I’LL HEAR HELEN IN MY HEAD, WILL STOP WHAT I’M DOING WRONG AND DO IT RIGHT. INTERESTINGLY, AND WHAT I DIDN’T TAKE INTO ACCOUNT WAS THE FACT THAT ANOTHER EDITOR COULD COME ALONG, LOVE DUTCH, AND WANT DIFFERENT EDITS. WHICH IS BASICALLY THE PLACE I FIND MYSELF TODAY. AND WHY I’M HELLA GRUMPY ABOUT ALL THIS EDITING. FINGERS CROSSED IT PAYS OFF. 

3. The dog stinks. Oh man, like so bad. What a little smelly fucker. HE’S STILL A SMELLY FUCKER, BUT WE LOVE HIM.

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4. My current WIP is coming along quite well. Last night around 2:15 I looked up and found my word count near 8K – I have no idea how that happened, but I’ll take it. This is the story with no magic, just lots of romance between people – humans, in fact! – who have no special powers, don’t work for Death, or make a career of killing folks with nine lives. This is just the simple story of a girl and two guys, which I guess right there, that tiny detail that I tossed out like it’s nothing, makes it hardly simple, especially where love is concerned. But yeah, there are no dragons or poison swords or armies of Imps. Just a girl and two guys. OH YES – AMAL AND JACKSON AND ANDREW AND ALL OF THEIR SEXY. I LOVE THEM AND WHEN I WANT TO ESCAPE THE WORLD OF KEEPERS AND DEATH AND DUTCH AND JUMA, I FIND MYSELF LOST AMONG THE COMPLICATIONS OF MY VERY HUMAN, VERY MESSY THREESOME. NOT TOO SURE MY AGENT LIKES ME DABBLING IN THIS CREW, BUT I FIND THEM IRRESISTIBLE AND A FEW MINUTES OF WRITING SOME INSANELY HOT SEX AND WITTY BANTER ISN’T GOING TO KILL ANYONE. #famouslastwords

5. Here’s a little taste – it has no name and is very raw and unedited, so hold your tongue if you catch mistakes: NOT SURE THIS HAS CHANGED AND DON’T REALLY FEEL LIKE CHECKING, SO JUST READ IT BECAUSE CHANCES ARE, YOU’VE NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE. AND IF YOU HAVE SEEN IT, BE QUIET AND READ IT AGAIN. 

We were young, sexy, and happy. We were fresh, light, and in love. We fit together, everything about us complimented the other, we were everyone’s ideal. Jackson Rashard Davis and Amal Warrier Naipal. The perfect couple. Until we became a threesome.

“Every woman on this campus takes David Andersen’s course.”

Spoken with amused disdain, and a low growl of a whisper, masculine and deep, meant for my ears only, as if the fact I held Professor Andersen’s syllabus in my hand both bored and disappointed. Any other moment in my twenty-one years of living on this planet, a stranger getting so close, invading my space the way this one did, warm breath on my neck, heat at my back, would have resulted in all kinds of fuckery. But this stranger’s voice did things to me, making it difficult to put up my walls and lash out in irritation, and instead of stepping out of his orbit and away from his invasion, I found myself welcoming it with a slight curve of my mouth and a rasp in my voice.

“That is because every woman on this campus dreams of fucking David Andersen.”

For two beats of reality, I wasn’t living it. For two beats of reality, I stepped outside myself and became someone else. Those two beats became everything.

6. That moment when your reality is about to get turned on its head – I think I’m three steps away from it. I’M IN THE THICK OF THE SHIT STORM AND IT’S RAGING, WILD, AND UNPREDICTABLE. CROSS YOUR FINGERS FOR ME.

7. And this. Because I’m me and he is David and really, must you ask. #ohmyGandy NOTHING HAS CHANGED HERE. NOTHING WILL EVER CHANGE HERE. HE IS DAVID AND I AM ME AND HOLY SHIT, HE IS SEX PERSONIFIED AND I’M GOING TO ENJOY HIM EVERY DAMN TIME HE CROSSES MY SCREEN.

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And on that note, that insanely sexy and wicked note, I am out of here. YES, I’M OUT OF HERE BECAUSE I’VE NOW SPENT AT LEAST TWENTY MINUTES PROCRASTINATING AND IT’S TIME TO GET BACK TO DUTCH AND EDITING CHAPTER TEN.

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#Poesia -BEAUTIFUL ADVENTURE

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BEAUTIFUL ADVENTURE

When I’m alone
and missing you
I read through
random notes
and messages
back-and-forths
full of teasing and flirtation
and sometimes
just downright filth
and I get lost in our words
It’s a beautiful adventure


The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia – THESE BLUES

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THESE BLUES

These blues
begin in my toes
balanced on the edge of
forward movement
and yet

My legs ache
with a yearning
and need
for something new
light
and lovely
but now’s not the time
for good shit
now’s the time
for some dark fuckery

Moving through my hips
those sexy things
boys wrap their hands around
hold onto
love
is some gunk
a lingering bullshit
that stews and spits

My pussy
that gorgeous mystery
of sweetness
and honey
clamps down in ire
shouting a warning
“enough already!”
but no one’s listening

Churning
burning
smoke
a fire sparks
in my belly
ignition
but will it be enough
to scorch the sadness

Arms
sinew and muscle
wrapped around
a lover’s neck
can’t seem to shake
the feeling
of loss and confusion
anger
and mixed in
for good measure
a little grief

My throat
sensitive as fuck
aware of the slightest touch
feather-light kisses
breath-like caresses
constricts
closes
as if to ward off the dread
but it keeps
marching on

Lips
parted and full
sometimes in mischief
or maybe lust
but today
downturned
yet determined to smile
again
soon

That funk
that junk
that crap I can’t shake
it’s dark
dank
cloying

It reaches my eyes
those mirrors into the soul
and even though
I might laugh and crack a joke
smile
blow a kiss
look deep my lover
past the pseudo
joie de vivre
really get all up in there
and then you’ll see

My deep browns
fuuuuuuuuck
they’re blue as shit


A little note to anyone who reads this and knows me and is all like, holy shit, let me call her and make sure she’s all right – do not worry, I am totally fine. And do not call me because you KNOW I hate talking on the phone. Yeah, my poem is called These Blues and yeah, I know it talks about all kinds of funk and fuckery, but I’m a writer, this is what we do – we comment on our lives and the world around us. It’s as simple as that. Sure, I’m a little blue and shit’s not perfect, but aren’t we all in the same boat? I just put my crap down on paper. But thanks – I love y’all and your worrying asses.

The #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, spontaneous, super loose, and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#WednesdayFreeWrite – IMPERFECTION

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IMPERFECTION

“You should take your big lips and nose
and go back to the jungle
with the other monkeys”
said my fifth grade classmate
during lunch that day
in front of all the other white kids

I don’t remember if anyone laughed
or got quiet
or shifted uncomfortably
I just remember thinking
how much I hated my nose

By that young age
I was already kind of falling for my lips
full and dark and just kind of nice
when I smiled
but me and my nose
we weren’t on such friendly terms

My classmate wasn’t the only one
to take notice
My brother
loved to bring up my nose
his favorite weapon of choice
whenever we got to brawling
and a war of words broke out

[Lovable asshole that he is
has the same damn nose]

He never invoked my lips
because like I said
they’re kind of nice
and my smile is killer
but that fucking nose…

Years passed
of longing for a different nose
a more perfect specimen
something cute
like my sister’s
something thinner
like Lisa Bonet’s
something pretty
like the white girls

It got so bad
and I was so down about it
that my parents finally relented
and agreed
that if it was so important to me
and I really needed it
to feel good about myself
and see myself as pretty
then upon graduation
from high school
I could do it

I could get a nose job

Yea
my little ninth grade self
breathed in relief
Redemption at last
in the form of a scalpel
some scraping
and a whole lot of pain
but fuck it
because after all of that
I would have
what I always wanted

A perfect nose

Then a funny thing happened
life became a series
of voice lessons
horseback riding
soccer
swimming
learning to drive
sneaking out
partying
smoking weed
laughing
applying to college
traveling
studying
acting
dancing
kissing boys
crying
clubbing
LIVING

And suddenly my nose
stopped being my cross to bear
and evolved into
what it was always meant to be
just my nose

And yeah, it’s big
and has a funky bump
that an ex-boyfriend
who was a painter
used to love
mostly because he was an artist
and they love funky shit

And when I smile
it gets even bigger
which kind of drives me nuts
but so what?
I have a fucking killer smile
forget the damn nose

And it’s nothing
anyone would ever call pretty
but it’s got character
and soul
and hella crazy spunk

And after all these years
and all those moments
of kinda hating it
and all of its bigosity
[not a word, I know]
I have to say
these days I look at it
and think to myself

Big Nose
you’re kind of perfect
in all your imperfections


My #WednesdayFreeWrite series is based on what I write during the 10 minutes allotted my writing group’s Wednesday Prompt. As always, these pieces are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. They are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably my favorite ten minutes of the week. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia – STRANGE PILGRIMS

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STRANGE PILGRIMS

Strange pilgrims we are
forever butting heads
attempting to eclipse the other
with snark and sarcasm
building walls around our hearts
determined to erect a protective fort
when all we really want
is to curl up in the comfort
of each other


As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path, using the title of Marquez’s (brilliant) novel. These pieces are slightly edited, totally unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia – SWEET GIRLS

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SWEET GIRLS

These are not sweet girls I create
because I’m sick of reading about sweet girls
the types who need a man to define them
who tamp down their sexuality
to make everyone around them comfortable
who hide their intellect
so as not to seem too aggressive and demanding
Fuck Those Girls
It’s time for a paradigm shift


As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia – WARMTH

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WARMTH

He held my cold hands
in his own
and smirked
“I’ll be right back”
then disappeared
into the crowd
returning with a gleam in his eye
… and hand warmers
“You are a total freak”
I laughed
“Who knows just how to keep you warm”
he replied
then kissed me
And hours later
upon parting
I slipped my hands
into my pockets
and felt his heat


As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia – LOVE

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LOVE

Last night
I roamed the aisles of a bookstore
without a care in the world
touching spines
flipping pages
inhaling the sweetness of the written word
and amid all that divine beauty and wonder
I thought to myself
This
all of this
It is love


As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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#Poesia -DNFWM

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DNFWM

All that stood upon her
and was her world
understood she could not be defeated
would not be defeated
and so retreated and regressed
until she rose and shouted for all to hear
Do Not Fuck With Me


As always, these #Poesia pieces on this blog and Write Bitches are works of fiction, erupting from my incredibly over-active imagination. This piece in particular is inspired by the words and poetry of Rilke and was part of an exercise for my writing group, The Inky Path. These #Poesia pieces are unedited and unscripted, super loose and probably some of my favorite works. They are perfect in their imperfections and I hope you enjoy.

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