i feel i have been ghostwriting myself. like i walk my body through the world and let none of it in. the other day my teacher asked us “are you happy with who you are?” and i couldn’t think of what words to fill in. the good girl i’m supposed to be would laugh lightly, of course i’m happy, i’m always happy. but some little part of me wonders how long it’s been since i was really behind the wheel. since i did anything that actually made me feel.
i thought about death last on a tuesday. i thought about how decay is supposed to smell sweet and i wondered what that meant for its taste. i have no intention to find out, though i know curiosity, like cat to mouse, has a way of digging her claws in.
i thought about life last night. not just the sunrise, or the stars. not just the way the world goes dizzy at the edges when you hold your breath, but the way that the air feels in the aftermath of a storm. particles lightning-charged with the same kind of life that lingers in the synapses of a brain at the edge of discovery.
this morning i thought about you. you. you are hard to fold into words. i find that your curves do not like the way sentences feel when i try to hold them up against you, to see if i caught your image within them. the comparison is as weak as i was when i saw you last tuesday, or when you smiled at me last night.
tonight? who knows. the thing is, i think these days i laugh more than i cry, but i still think about death. i haven’t looked at the stars in a while but i still see them, and i will always watch for storms. you do not complete me as i was a person before you, but i like that we could live alone. it means we choose not to.
“You’re what?” Valerie spluttered, almost dropping the white china teacup cradled in her hands.
“I’m a ghost?” It came out as less of a statement of fact and more of a question, and Danny peered at Val over the rim of his coffee. “I have been since freshman year of high school.”
Val set her hot chocolate down. “You’re messing with me.”
The hum of a winter afternoon in the small coffee shop buzzed pleasantly. A couple of baristas chatted behind the counter as the hot milk steamed, and the clacking of keyboards drifted from the armchairs at the corner of the room. It was an incredibly public place, and Val was half-convinced that Sam and Tucker were going to pop up from behind the counter any second, revealing that this was all some kind of crazy practical joke. But Sam and Tucker were off at college by now. She glanced back at Danny, who seemed to be studying her very carefully.
“I’m not pulling your leg.” He took another cautious sip of his sugary drink. “Unfortunately. Or, I guess, fortunately. Depends on where you’re sitting.”
Val shook her head. “Okay. So let’s pretend that I believe that you’re a ghost, which you’re obviously not.”
“How? If you’re a ghost, why don’t you look like a ghost? And how did you even die in the first place?” Danny’s body posture changed and he straightened, looking directly into Val’s eyes.
“Lab accident.” He said, and in that moment, sincere and sad look in his eyes, Val believed him. She broke eye contact and looked back down at her hot chocolate. The two sat in silence for a moment, contemplating the other and the weight of their own conversation.
“Well,” Danny finally broke the silence, “mostly.”
“What?” Val started, looking up.
“I mostly died in a lab accident, almost, not quite, uh… half. Whatever you want to call it.”
“That’s absurd.” She scoffed. “How do you–” But she knew. That girl, the one from their sophomore year of high school, the one that she’d seen hanging around with Phantom a couple of times since. “Like the ghost girl.” She breathed, and the full force of Danny’s admission came crashing down on her, shoulders slumping with the weight. “You’re a half-ghost.”
Danny simply leaned back in his chair and stared out the window as snow swirled through the air.
There’s something about the Smooth Talkers that worry me. The way they slide their perfect words into conversation, like a hot knife through butter: slick and smart. Your words are soft right now, but I worry they’ll turn sharp. I worry that one day I’ll be the butter you’re slicing apart.
for all of my poc kpop fans, lets make a list on what non poc kpop fans need to leave back in 2016, shall we?
- silencing poc kpop fans when a idol appropriates or slanders our cultures
- using the excuse of “they didn’t know because of where they grew up” when a kpop idol messes up
- using hashtags such as #justicefor_ that are made for serious issues in other cultures to support a kpop group
- getting mad at poc kpop pages because for once, you’re not included
- trying to speak for other pocs when you aren’t of that ethnicity
UPDATE: aye 2017 started only 2 and a half weeks ago and there’s already more to add.
- getting offended when called out about the behaviors stated above
- saying “poc kpop fans get triggered over everything!!1!1!” when these idols will literally shame, slander, and then romanticize the struggles of our cultures for their own pleasure and they do it cause they can. not cause “they didn’t know”
- make pages for wwam (white women, asian male) because of the uprising of poc kpop pages and feeling as if “white women aren’t praised enough” when literally every fanfic, scenario, reaction, and even idols themselves praise white features and use them in everything which makes the reading material in kpop not relatable to most poc’s
this is all I came up with but I’m probably missing some. feel free to reblog and continue.
Set up a sanctuary for your writing, don’t let anyone interrupt you. Listen to music, get a ceremonial drink. And write write write
Don’t edit until the end, if you’re writing a novel. Seriously, you’ll just go back through again and again. Within a years time, you’ll realize you need to edit the entire thing. Just keep writing.
This one is a bit odd, but I don’t believe in keeping a notepad. Stephen King says, “Keeping a notepad with you is a good way, to immortalize bad ideas. If the idea is good enough, it will stick”. (Note* the only thing I put in notes on my phone is character names, I’m bad at remembering long names.)
Every first draft is absolute shit. Ideas will be jumbled, mixed up; not consistent. Don’t fret, it doesn’t matter how rough a rough draft is.
If you can’t figure out the mood you want for a certain scene, get up, take a breath. Call a friend, walk your dog, read a book, play a video game. Do something to clear your head, don’t worry. Harry Potter wasn’t written in one sitting.
That’s all for today guys, thanks for all the support on this blog. Let me know if you have any ideas about other writing tips, I’ll try to do this as often as possible. I hope everyone has a great holiday season!