The Blogtastic Blogfest That Is Getmeoutofthis.net!

I am doing my damnedest to edit my manuscript and get it in a working state. All the work I’m totally is totally helping, too: it’s been really useful. Things are improving. Man, if I did this kind of work every day, who knows what kind of poetry I’d be making! Maybe once everything settles down a bit I can try to set a schedule for myself that has some dedicated poem time.

The edits are taking awhile, though, because having gotten the thing out to a slightly larger group of people I trust, Dee’s character just wasn’t showing through. Of course, as the writer, I know exactly who Dee is. She’s a hardcore dominant who doesn’t believe in actual romance, but finds herself in one anyway. Okay, that’s really narrowing her down, but still. I get her. I love her. You have to love your characters.

However, Dee is a real bitch, to be quite honest. She’s selfish and violent. She treats Steven like shit while talking herself up. Steven is alright with it, but nobody could see the person behind Dee. Her motivations were not inherent in her actions. My poems from her perspective weren’t revealing her human qualities. You knew she was an evil bitch: that was clear from the Steven half of the book. I didn’t need to emphasize that. I needed to emphasize what makes her tick as a person.

I think I owe a lot to how I’m editing things now to Vriska from Homestuck. Vriska is a bluh bluh huge bitch, to use the Homestuck meme. She’s just a flat out terrible person, who screws over perspective friends just to prove her dominance, and does things like try to screw over all the living trolls just so she can have the honor of being the one to kill Bec Noir. If I met her in person, I would hate her, a lot, for not being a team player and for being so insanely selfish.

As a character, I love her to death.

Hussie has been smart enough to let us see a lot of the doubt and unsteadiness that comes from adopting a persona that’s so in-your-face my-way-is-always-right. Vriska doubts. She worries. She makes huge decisions on whims, such as helping John just to spite Terezi. Basically, she’s not an evil overlord bent on world destruction who makes mistakes because otherwise, how would the heroes win? She’s a terrible person who makes terrible mistakes by using her power so liberally. She’s nobody you’d want to be friends with, but she’s real.

Dee was lacking that, and as I go through, remove a lot of the super-cryptic language that I was using for her, and focus more on her desires and motivations, her character is becoming more clear. Having analyzed Homestuck to death, I could see where I was making some mistakes with a character I loved in sharing her with the world. Of course, I didn’t apply this immediately. It was mostly subconscious. But I was driving home, listening to Killed By BR8K Spider!!!!!!!! and it all kind of clicked for me. It was exactly what I was doing! It’s working out well.

I can’t count the doors, really,
as that would break the illusion,
but there are a lot of them,
hallways and connections and stairs,
and each is perfectly labelled
with the name of you, or you,
one who I know
(is a real person doing real things
somewhere out there, living a life
I’m not always aware of but,
frankly, glad to be a part of
through living screens,
beamed words,
shared pleasures)
like my many familiar fingertips
who bang away,
building plans,
architects of a place
where the world is right
and the people,
so many,
who are important,
sit down to dinner together each night
and toast to love
before making it a real.

In the glow, the clack, the hum,
I can touch it now.

I had nothing else to write about, so I ended up writing a poem.
Love is awesome. I think you’ll know if this is about you.
Have a good day.

Sun cracks through the window that we hastily covered
with a giggling fit
four hours before,
the perfect method for us
for anything
or so it seemed back then
as the alarm blared
soft irritation
and I hid against you
knowing I had to get out of bed
run away to my own room
put some clothes on, for fuck’s sake,
before our parents woke
and caught us

but your arms wanted me to stay

even as you squirmed,
uncomfortable as always with the nakedness
of a body I’d learn you hated
you still wanted me against you
your heart seemingly desperate to connect us
thin wire of flesh joining us into one
with electric pulses
but we joined in other ways
again
even though it was dangerous and awkward
or maybe because of it

Hours later,
I sat downstairs at the table,
staring at cereal
Mom asking me why we were always so tired
Dad saying it was because we were up all night
and we passed knowing glances
knowing the story they wouldn’t
and knowing,
as we got on the bus for school
and thoughts of love being made
turned to thoughts of the day ahead,
that these mornings would always be
glories of the past we cherished,
conquest of our bodies we shared only with each other
forever
and even now
with my fingers clacking in despair against plastic,
knowing how it’s changed for you,
I feel that way.

I never write poetry here, but my stupid paws and brain wouldn’t do anything else. Hopefully, that’s cool, and you can enjoy. This is, theoretically, from the currently untitled book of poetry to come after the one I’m working on for my thesis. It’s a lovely memoir from one character attempting to deal with her life and how her relationship with her sibling has affected it. And yes, just like Why I Am Here, Even Today has all the titles pointlessly pulled from Presidents of the United States of America songs, this one has titles all pulled from Oasis songs. Point is, it’s part of a longer work of storytelling, and so I apologize if it doesn’t make a lot of sense out of context. Come back tomorrow for something more relevant to this blog, hopefully.