Blogging from Coachella!

I'm not actually at Coachella. I lied.

Time to catch up.

A few days ago I kind of hit my maximum depression threshold. Things got really, really bad and it spilled out of my head and caused some problems in my life. I realized I’ve been slipping into an old version of myself I’m not proud to be and I’ve been acting like a stranger because of it. My thoughts and patterns and reactions and habits all feel foreign. So I did some reflecting and I started writing in my diary again—it's been helping. I’ve been trying to clean up my diet and lifestyle and spend a lot of time in the sun, now that it's returned. I think the biggest contributor is not getting to socialize due to school. I have felt extremely lonely and it's wearing on me. Alas—I don’t have any time or money to invest in socializing and I need to be alone to focus on things such as writing, art, and studying. I haven’t had a clear image of the world or myself and where I fit into it...it's been making me feel very sad. The persistent hollowness I carried when I was younger has returned. I have to force myself to work through it and change things until life feels natural again. My mom suggested I do theatre again. It sounds really fun, even though I haven’t seriously acted in 9 years. I don’t have time, sadly. Recently, I committed as a volunteer to a very small newspaper, so hopefully that will be a fun opportunity to socialize. 

I had a severe bout of writer's block, but as of two days ago, I managed to push through it. I now feel confident that This Bites will need a third rewrite, although it's been obvious for a while. Although it's straying further from its original image, it is becoming more and more something I can be proud of. I love it. I think this is what parenthood may feel like. Its all coming together. I feel so antsy—I want to write the second book! Alas, one of my beta readers is coming to town in May and I want to get her a copy as soon as possible. Also, I need to hammer out some of the finer details in the first part to ensure consistency. 

I finished reading Exquisite Corpse. I loved it so, so incredibly much—mostly. I love how Poppy describes things, especially New Orleans; it made me ache to be there and I’m hoping to visit after I graduate...I just need to find a companion. Oh, his depictions of food were also fantastic, reflecting an obvious passion of his. I was a bit disappointed by the ending, to be honest, but I feel I shouldn’t be, because the story synopsis is very clear about what will happen. There were just some moments where I thought we were being set up for a slightly more optimistic ending. More specifically, I thought Tran would come out alive and the book would mark the end of Andrew and Jay’s antics (due to being arrested). However, Tran would develop HIV after the events of the finale and he would reunite with Luke just long enough for both of them to get the closure they needed before their eventual deaths. The actual ending isn’t bad, but I do feel it lacks poetic and thematic justice. Honestly, I was much more invested in Luke/Tran’s relationship, the radio station, and all the happenings of the AIDs storyline than that of the main plot. I think I could have done without all of the serial killer happenings. I felt so much anger and pain as I read the character’s stories, and the ache was deepened when thinking of all the queer people who had actually lived and suffered during the epidemic. I wasn’t very familiar with it prior to this book, but I’ve been doing more research on it since and have been left devastated. 

But, of course, the graphic violence is why I picked up Exquisite Corpse. Partially out of morbid curiousity—how bad could it be? Part was also out of necessity, as I have mentioned in previous blogs. Genre research. I love a good blood-splattered narrative. I also need to say: the first three (ish) paragraphs of Exquisite Corpse...*chefs kiss*. That was one of the best, most haunting introductions I have ever read. Holy fuck. I dog-earred a few pages I wanted to reference when it came to my own writing. Poppy Z. Brite has been very influential over This Bites and I will be returning to Drawing Blood after my current read. 

I have recently taken a step back and began to connect the dots between my favorite reads. Many are highly atmospheric or character driven, shying away from too much movement and action. I don’t want something grand—I want something very, very small that could be happening right under my nose. I want it to be so real, it occasionally lacks appeal. It is not romantic or filtered. I suppose this is why transgressive stories are my favorite. 

In this reflection, I have discovered another thing: most all of these stories I have consumed and enjoyed are fronted by men. Of course, that could be my own fault, as I’m just not looking hard enough for these types of narratives featuring women. I don’t want to read stories about quirky women who resemble fairies. I don’t want to read stories about women who are slighted by men and become feminist vigilantes. I don’t want to read stories about seductive, intelligent, manipulative women. I don’t want to read stories about barely legal sex kittens with round eyes and coy smiles stepping into “sexual liberation”. I want to read a story about a horrible, wicked, unjustifiably and unredeemably evil woman. A woman just as bad or worse than evil men. A very strange woman who finds her personal power in the taboo. Abusive women. Sadistic, dictatorial women. I want to crawl inside her head and inspect her gadgets of terror. I don't want her to be pretty or forgivable. I want her to evoke violent disgust. Unfortunately, not even fear of women is free of sexualization. So be it.

H. Salt