Writings and Assholes

I have exactly two-thirds of summer left.  I was going to say that summer is now official one-third over, but Chad keeps getting onto me for counting down the days of summer that are gone.  So, here’s to being positive and saying the exact same thing.  Love ya, babe! 

This summer has been so productive thus far, which is one of the reasons I have not blogged at all.  I started the summer with around seventy some pages written in my book.  Today I hit page one hundred and fifty-two.  I figured it up yesterday and that equals about two hundred and forty some pages in book form (since books are normally not the size of typing paper).  Writing this book remains one of the scariest things I have ever done.  There are days were it takes everything I have to sit down and begin, it is just too frightening, and there are other days (albeit fewer) where I sit and it just flows from my fingers.  My favorite experience is when I sit down to write a specific scene and on my way to that section, something happens I didn’t see coming, a new character, a new event, something.  Yesterday one of my favorite supporting characters died.  I honestly had no idea she was going to.  I had plans for her in the future.  I was sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for Chad to get out of his check-up (all’s good), and I am starting to cry as I am writing.  I hope other people get as involved as I am with a few of my characters.  It’s funny.  I have discovered I have a thing for old women.  My favorite character, by far, is one of my supporting characters, an old woman.  She is completly over the top, probably too much, but I love her.  So fun to write her scenes.  In one way, the more I write the scarier it is.  I could spend all these hours, all these days and weeks, and sometimes tears, and then every publisher or reader could say that is nothing more that blabbering drivel.  I am not sure if I will get it finished by the end of summer, but that is still the goal.  The real goal, however is to have it completely finished, edited, perfect, by Christmas, so that I can spend the Spring trying to get it publish.  I wish I had even an inkling on where to start that process.

            On a completely unrelated note, I have to make one of my ever in depth social observations.  I have often given the gay community quite a bit of slack for being shallow and cruel to those who don’t fit our cutouts of perfection.  I have decided that the straight community is equally as bad, if not worse, to those who are different—especially the men.  Chad and I were downtown last weekend after seeing The Hulk (surprisingly really, really good).  While we were there, we were walking down Writer’s Square and then through Lairmer to get to the gelato shop my brother works at.  A foreign couple (maybe British, I couldn’t quite make out their accent) was in front of us the entire way.  The man was dressed up in a suit jacket and a kilt.  The woman was clothed in a slinky leopard print dress.  They obviously had money.  They were middle aged.  Now, not to put all the blame on the straighties, I thought some judgmental thoughts too.  For him, I thought, ‘wow, takes balls to wear that kilt down here, but I don’t really think he has balls that I want to see.’  For her, I thought, ‘A little old for that dress, sweetie, and really, that back fat doesn’t look so great hanging over your top.’  To be fair she had a great body, and I have tons more back (and other) fat than she will ever have.  It just wasn’t something you typically see.  In Writer’s Square a man, who was having dinner on a patio at a fancy restaurant, screams across the breezeway, “Should have left your bed sheets at home, sweetie.”  Me, being the paranoid faggot I am, thought he was yelling something towards Chad and me for being gay, because we wear a big neon sign above our heads say that we like cock.  Chad had to repeat what the man said so that I would calm down.  Yes, I am getting that old, and yes we are that couple at the movies.  Thank God, he can hear, movies would be very confusing for me.  A few minutes later, as we were crossing the street onto Larimer, another man yells at the woman, “Should’ve gone with the Zebra print.”  Now, I don’t know if she was really that classy or if she just couldn’t hear, but she played it perfectly, she kept her face with a smile on it and never paused, either time.  I was so upset.  On so many levels.  On the most basic, how can we treat each other in such a way?  On another, how has our society de-evolved to a place where common respect for women is not the norm?  Finally, what is wrong with straight people’s fashion taste when they would choose to ridicule a woman in a leopard print when there was a kilt wearing man right beside her (not that there’s anything wrong with that, who I am to judge—I just bought a new Ariel doll today, she's adorable, thank you very much!).