Joe
Summers in Memphis were sweet. Honeysuckle and azalea blooms lined the park paths in frilly rows, and each time she walked through Romeo she thought she should lean and pat each bloom in appreciation. She seemed unable to perform this task, though, and knew it signified her inability to appreciate any free pleasure or lagniappe in life. Unless there was a serious something to be gained, a reward, most tasks were useless. She hated herself.
Mostly, she missed the ocean.
The streets by the salty bed had been warm, and on Fridays she’d strolled down the walk, into the heart of the city and down to the water. The sea had smelled gentle and playful and she’d been glad to live near to it. From her flat, she’d been able to see the water and would often spy on people lounging on the peer, idly considering throwing on her rubbers and approaching them, encroaching on their space as they had on her field of vision.
Tennessee was not so bad, though. The music was good, if you pulled yourself down the right streets, and she did. In heavy boots she sent shivers through the sidewalk, hovering between looking for something and desperately not wanting to find it.
As a child she would sit on the kitchen counter, eating the sugar her father used for his coffee out of its little glass jar. Sometimes it tasted like coffee still from the double dipping of his spoon, which sat next to the jar with a puddle of beige liquid in its recess. If he walked in on her his hand would swing before she could even catch his eye, firmly shoving her off the granite into a free fall. She insisted on enjoying her spinning departure from the crunchy, grainy sweetness, relishing the taste between her tongue and the roof of her mouth until the sting from hitting the tile made her eyes water.
Looking for Joe was the same, a sweetness, a pinch she almost liked but knew she had to be rid of at the same time. She would find him and flick him from her life like an insect, quick and simple.
December 20th, 2008 at 8:47 am
Pardon my confusion but what did I just read here?
And a note…I think you only get to use the word “lagniappe” once in your writing career. Kind of a speed bump in this case.
December 20th, 2008 at 9:04 am
Ha! Just the beginning of a thought… I figured posting would inspire me to do something more with it. And damn it, I’m keeping lagniappe!! It adds to the effect of not making any sense.
December 20th, 2008 at 1:39 pm
The streets by the salty bed had been warm….nice. Don’t listen to Jon. At least you’re writing something…it’s sort of how we write music. We strum a guitar, we finger some notes and chords, we hum…and soon something starts to develop. Maybe not much, but one thing leads to another to another…
You’re writing style is going to pay off. You have to keep writing and develop a leaner approach. You’ll also have to start looking, defining your market.
Some people write because they write. Others write for their writers’ groups. Some dream. Some do.
Personally, I think the way to the market is through genre. Okay, that doesn’t mean horror necessarily, although right now that’s working for me, but it can also be romance, spy, western, mystery, paranormal, urban fantasy, high fantasy, eroticism, science fiction, etc…etc…etc…..
I think people tend to look down their noses at people who write for the market. But writing for the market teaches you to meet deadline, it helps you get a handle on how to work with editors and what people read.
People who try and write ‘literature’…should be aware that we usually don’t know if something is ART until years and years after that person is dead and gone. And with the way the publishing industry is, that literature will be off on a harddrive somewhere, or in a vault, and that work will be lost to history.
At least the genre writer knows his or her work is being read here and now. I acknowledge that there are many people out there who have fine literary voices who publish regularly…but most of those people know marketing and understand the business of publishing.
I’m being verbose.
Take care.
December 20th, 2008 at 4:33 pm
Stewart, I do want to try to publish and I agree with you about writing for a market. Since you first mentioned it I’ve been trying to pinpoint what market I could try to write for, and also trying to understand what really inspires me to write. I think when I find my niche, the pressure of contributing to it will get my a** in gear.
Of course, someday, something I write being considered ‘literature’ or ‘art’ would be nice too. But anything being ‘in print’ would be just fine now!!
December 22nd, 2008 at 11:53 am
To me, the last two paragraphs felt like the beginning of something. . . until then, I was confused by the stream of consciousness. I know what you mean about posting with the hope of further inspiration, though - sometimes putting something on paper (or on a blog) is all you need to jump start an idea.
December 28th, 2008 at 7:15 pm
Cool title.
It does seem like the beginning of something, but as Jon said, a bit confusing for the moment. I hope you continue the effort. Stewart’s comments make me think we should hold a group discussion on the state of the markets . . . might be beneficial.
December 29th, 2008 at 9:24 am
I would love to hit on the topic of market and what’s out there. Maybe I’ll suggest to Gwen.
Glad you like the title.
January 6th, 2009 at 10:06 pm
Oy. “In heavy boots she sent shivers through the sidewalk…” it’s just a whole lot of lovely. I don’t know how you couldn’t market this style you have. You so have your very own style, and it is art. It is artistic. We are going to discuss marketing yourself at the next meeting. Stewart makes a couple of good points, and we absolutely will go for what’s out there. I suggest that you start with authors that you admire and see yourself in… then work to define yourself from there.