Protein of Choice

*Interim while I have a new chapter ready, here’s a short story that will whet your appetite of what’s to come and everything I’m working on! Also, I haven’t edited this in awhile. It might be riddled with cliches and too much telling.

Josh and Ginger were in his bedroom, kissing. He slipped his hand under her shirt and squeezed her left breast – a little too hard.

“Ouch,” she said. “I like it rough but you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said through his breath. He loosened his grip.

They continued kissing as he squeezed it gently and squeezed again. He knew how far he could go before he got what he wanted.

“Ow,” she said again. “Stop.”

He smiled at her with a hint of malice and shoved her on her back. He grabbed the handcuffs in his back pocket and attached her hands to his bedpost.

Ginger relaxed. “That’s more like it.” She smiled seductively.

She has no idea why I like it this way.

The Southside Stories – Chapter 1

As promised, I have provided the first chapter of my attempt at writing about my native Williamsburg, Brooklyn neighborhood. Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

 

I can’t believe I’m back here. Los Sures in Brooklyn. I swore I’d never come back here unless I needed to. Well, here I am. Attending Mom’s funeral. I can’t believe she’s gone. I don’t even remember the last time I saw her.

I’m looking at my makeup in my tiny black compact mirror and add some extra blush to my caramel skinned cheeks. The pink blush makes them look rosy; sexy with a conservative touch, which is just right for this funeral. As I’m about to put away my mirror, my cousin, Jesse, approaches me.

“Prima,” he says, as he hugs me, tears in his eyes. He’s sadder than I am. I’m sad she’s gone but it ain’t that deep.

He looks me in the eyes, expecting to see some moisture. He sees none but hugs me again.

“Como ‘ta?”

“Bien,” I say. “I haven’t been here in years; it’s weird.”

“Bueno, mucho no ha cambiado. Solamente el vecindario.”

“Yo, se,” I say. “Tu vi’to a papi?”

“No lo vi’to,” he says.

There is silence as we look around at all the mourning faces inside Baez Funeral. He pats my back and kisses me on the cheek; he nods a “See ya later,” and walks toward his mother. She nods to me, tight-lipped as she stands 50 feet away from me, talking to some other relatives I’m not interested in interacting with at the moment. I want to see my dad. He told me he’d get here at 4:30 pm and it was already 5. I couldn’t stand being around these people any longer.

I sat down on one of the folder chairs, two rows from my mom’s open casket. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her corpse. She did this to herself; she could’ve gotten help. She could’ve saved herself but she drowned her sorrows in the drink.

As I was staring at her corpse from a distance, I felt myself trembling from anger and resentment. She was so absent from my life, I never knew who she was. She was sick; and it made me sick. The tears slowly slid down my cheeks, as I sat there breathing slowly.

I reached into my pocket book and dabbed at the sides of my eyes. I reached inside my purse again and checked my makeup. Not too much smearing. Good.

I put my mirror away again and I felt the familiar warm hand of my father on my back.

“Hi baby,” he said as I took him in a tight embrace. Sobs uncontrollably racked my body in his arms. He held me for as long as I needed him there.

I finally pulled away, sniffling, and wiping my nose like a little kid. What is it about being around your parents that makes you regress?

We sat down in the same spot I was sitting in.

“Hey, Pa,” I said, still wiping the moisture from my face with my hands. I took tissue out of my purse and gently wiped my nose.

“You’re late. Where were you?”

“Anna was running late the whole day which made me late,” he said. “But I’m here.”

He kissed me on the cheek. Then he looked around.

“I should make my rounds here,” he said, standing up. “Tu no va habla’ con nadie aqui?”

I shook my head no.  “I think I’m going to my hotel.”

“Where you staying? I thought you were going to be staying with Jesse?”

I made a “You’re crazy” face, with squinty eyes and a scrunched up mouth and said, “No.”

“I gotta get outta here, Dad. I can’t stand this.”

His body stiffened but his eyes softened. He knew I was funny at family functions because I didn’t really ever fit in.

“I’ll call you later,” he said, as he hugged me and walked toward Jesse’s mom.

My eyes swept around the room and I briskly walked out of the parlor. I sucked in the cool fall air like I was smoking a cigarette.

The funeral parlor was right by the Williamsburg Bridge, which was perfect for hailing a yellow taxicab. I couldn’t wait to get to my hotel room, take a warm bath, and order a romantic comedy to wash away the day.

With my fitting black suit, I was the best looking woman on Havenmeyer Street so the familiar catcalls and “Hola mami” greetings ensued as I stood on the corner, trying to hail a taxi.

As one taxi cab finally rolled up, Carlos Perez, waved to me with an inviting smile, less than five feet away from me. My feet started to tingle; my stomach did somersaults and I thought I’d flub a simple hello to him. I cursed myself for not looking at myself in the mirror before I left the parlor.

I shooed the taxi cab away and plastered on a smile, hoping my anxiety and nervousness didn’t show on my face.

He walked toward me and kissed me on the cheek. I inhaled his musk infused with Calvin Klein cologne (I recognized the fragrance because I bought the same one for an ex; I loved the smell on him!) as we engaged in a brief hug. I never thought I’d see Carlos Perez again in my life; my one and only school girl crush to the maximum.

New and Improved!

Re-visiting this blog, I realized how much I enjoyed it, even though there were a small portion of folks reading my posts. But I enjoyed it overall!

After two years, I’m going to be contributing once more but with more of a focus which will once again, include my MFA process (take 2 for real this year), posting my work (more on that later), posting play reviews, my experiences in SF (location change!), book reviews (I miss writing them for my blog), and so much more!

I made business cards with this address on them and I hadn’t contributed in two years. Feeling rejuvenated with having a steady writing schedule now, making time for writing and also being part of a writing workshop, I’m on a roll and I don’t want to lose that momentum!

A few weeks ago, I went to a Blog Your Book Panel which provided some helpful information on how to put my work out there. There have been a number of people who have been discovered on blogs (’cause many people have one now) so why not contribute to my writing blog that I so enjoyed before?

So, dear readers that are still with me – the beginning of April will have more of a steady agenda of upcoming posts and a bunch more fun activities for me to share with you! I can’t wait to talk about writing and books with you all once again!

The MFA Part Deux

The season for MFA applications are upon us. I have nothing suitable to send out (right now) but luckily for me, my preferred school (The University of San Francisco) receives their applications early next year.

I’m more confident about my writing even though the same issues keep cropping up (show, don’t tell; abrupt tense changes; subpar endings) but the fact that I’m aware of my weaknesses means I’m on the right track. The focus is to remedy those weaknesses and tighten my strengths in my work.

A few words of advice to the newcomers applying:

Don’t fret.

Applying to obtain your MFA is daunting. MFA programs are competitive and extremely hard to get into (I would know; I applied to seven schools the first time around and was rejected by all of them). If this is something your heart desires and is super passionate about, don’t waste time dillydallying. Shoot for your dreams! There will be frustrating days. There will be days where you will doubt every word you write. But if this is what you want, you’ll love every moment.

 

GRE, shme-re.

The great thing about the GRE is you only have to take it once. The worst thing about the GRE is having to take it for those schools who want it. The best thing about the GRE is even after you take it, there are a large group of universities that don’t even need it. Research the schools you want and gauge whether your choices – if more schools want the scores than not, take it. If only one school wants it and the others don’t, opt out. It’s not that deep at the end of the day.

Recommendations. Be proactive, B-E proactive!

Use what you got. You have ties to a writer or instructor? Send your work and then ask for a rec. Just had a writing workshop? Ask the instructor for a rec! However, if there wasn’t friendly chemistry and you didn’t respect how the instructor facilitated the class, then seek elsewhere. Be creative as well. Think about those old professors or instructors from high school or college you trusted. Send them your work and go from there. It never hurts to ask at the end of the day. If no one comes to mind, take a writing workshop or join a writing meetup group and go from there.

Community.

Do not be afraid to reach out to your fellow writers/potential reading audience. Some of these writers can be trusted people you took a workshop with or a friend who reads actively. For example, I’m part of a book club and when we discuss stories, we not only talk about the content but also the writing as well. In short, preferrably show your work to someone who reads often, not a friend who’s a casual reader.

In short, be prepared for the good, the bad, and the ugly of this process. Seth Abramson’s MFA book is an amazing resource through all this. It should be your MFA bible. Good luck!

Self-Doubt

After a successful first round (of my classmates’ work, not mine) in my writing workshop through Gotham Writers Workshop, trepidation, fear, and apprehension forced my stomach into knots. I thought, “My writing officially sucks. I’m never going to be published. I’ll never complete anything. No one will ever get a chance to read my work. Do I really have what it takes to be a writer? Am I really a writer? Do I matter? Does my work matter? Maybe I should throw in the towel and realize I don’t have talent like they do…” and the thoughts went further.

I was so impressed with the writing styles and imagination my colleagues/classmates possessed, my writing became subpar to me.

As I put the finishing touches on my story to be workshopped, I wasn’t nervous, I was in the zone. I revised and edited as much as I could; at 2 am on Friday night, I sent out my piece.

The Tuesday before class, as I re-read and commented on my classmates’ stories, the anxiety and doubt set in once again. “Who am I really kidding here? I should just give up this hobby for good. It’s not real.” Self-loathing and swirling in my own pit of self-pity, I gave myself some credit. “Okay, let’s read the piece and see if it’s really as awful as I think it is.” I exhaled. Slowly, I scanned the typed words on the white computer sheets and read the story from page one to page fifteen. The story had holes and there were places that could be expanded but it wasn’t an awful story.

My faith in my writing was restored. The shift was so extreme I wonder if hormonal changes during that time of the month were churning here. I wrote out all my worries and misgivings about this “hobby” of mine and felt much better soon after.

The next day, my story was workshopped. Not only was I able to identify my writing weaknesses, but my strengths were highlighted and showcased to me in my classmates’ comments. I was redeemed once again. I wasn’t a failure in my writing community, I was actually a success!

My classmates’ comments filled me with joy, inspiration, and energy to improve the story I wrote and motivated me to make sure I took the same care with their work as they did with mine.

My writing world was no longer in disarray; everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

Script Reading

Remember when I interned at a literary agency last year? Now I’m a Script Reader (again). I did it awhile back when I first started in film production for Goldcrest Post Productions. What’s the difference? I’m still a gatekeeper in the creative world but in another medium. I’d say a difference is I’m a barrier in providing feedback on how words can translate on the big screen. However, the difference in what I’m doing isn’t necessarily a huge one.

Why am I script reader again after all these years? I was looking for a gig that allowed me to combine my two biggest passions: films and writing. I’ve always wanted to be a film critic (click here for reference) and haven’t completely abandoned that dream, so why not write about films? Granted, I’m writing coverage (review in screenplay speak) for screenplays not necessarily movies but it’s better than nothing.

Every time I read a new script, I’m reminded why I write and why I choose to express myself through words than another form of media (like painting). Each new script that arrives in my email is met with two emotions: excitement to read a possible script that can live on celluloid after I’m gone from this planet or dread of the trite material presented for me to read. Most often, I review the script with an open mind and at times, am pleasantly surprised. Most of the time, the execution is off, the writing is awful, and I don’t see the movie receiving the “OK” to be seen on the big screen. Some things should not be made into moving pictures. Other screenplays, if only for entertainment and monetary purposes, are permissible to live on celluloid for all of eternity. But not everything.

Some advice? Write a story that matters to you (similar to writing a short story or novel) and try not to write what’s in style. Sometimes, the trends work against your favor. Good luck!

Side note: Even though I am not paid to review scripts, I have good sense as to what works, the kind of budget movies need, and do not hold back. For those aspiring screenwriters, I am open to reading your work and providing useful feedback. I would never charge writers for feedback. If I get a significant amount of requests, then I’ll reconsider. For now, it’s free.

Bird by Bird

Author: Anne Lamott

Publisher: Anchor Books (1994)

Seventeen years ago, Anne Lamott published a book about writing in which she weaved her life experiences (reminiscent of Stephen King’s On Writing but of course, Lamott came first) being published, the aftermath, the reactions to negative and positive reviews, as well as putting pen to paper.

The Power of Writing

Being unemployed sucks. Especially when I have to make the time to look for work (instead of write). I feel guilty doing other things other than look for work!

However, I’m using creative visualization for my employment so I’m no longer stressing this teensy factor. I’m writing more often and reading loads (book reviews to come soon).

I’m definitely in a much different place this year than I was last year. I’m not planning a trip anywhere. I’m not taking a writing workshop. But I’m writing more.

New Year’s Writing Resolutions

I didn’t do as much writing as I would have preferred in 2010; 2011 is a new year with new goals. This time, I won’t create lofty goals that won’t be accomplished. It’s about baby steps, as I always say.

Goals:

1. Read 40 books in 2011. I have an account on 43things in which this was a goal that I tried to accomplish in 2010; only read 28.

2. Read a book written by Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, and Kurt Vonnegut.

3. Apply to Graduate School (2nd round!).

4. Write three times a week (even if it’s for twenty minutes).

5. Read literary magazines. I bought a bunch at the literary fair sometime in the summer, I believe, and I have not read them. I need to see what kind of writing the universities churn out. I won’t change my style but at least I’ll know what I’m going up against.

 

Short, simple, and sweet. Too many goals sometimes get thrown in the mix and then one feels overwhelmed. I’m ready to have another awesomely packed year! 2011 will be the year of many accomplishments.

Hiatus

December is halfway done (and the year is almost gone!) and I have not had many new posts. For any loyal followers, I apologize. Life gets in the way. And working six-day weeks doesn’t help either. I don’t even have the energy to hang out with my friends and I’m going to have the energy to write? If I had a desk job, that’d be easy. But this homegirl stands on her feet about ninety percent of the day with two breaks in between. Yeah, if you had my job, you wouldn’t want to do anything but sleep either.

The remaining posts of this year will most likely be book reviews (I didn’t reach my quota of forty books this year – not even thirty!) and then next year is about writing bootcamp! I don’t know what that even means yet but I’m creating something for myself to gear up for MFA applications and to make writing routine (even when I’m crazy busy).

As for right now, reading the books I’m reading (Scott Westerfeld’s series – Uglies, Pretties, Specials) and other random books on the side.

Cheers, folks!