I am so pissed off right now! I submitted entries to a writing challenge recently and I didn’t receive even an honorable mention for creativity. I read the other entries and they were fine and well-written, and sentimental and (dare I say it?) predictable! Needless to say, I feel as though I have been slighted due to my quirky and extremely unpredictable story twists and turns. I realize that my dark and slightly skewed sense of the world is not for everyone but seriously, I think that the element of surprise should compensate for something…or do we only exist as automatons in this world? Unless something is mushy, gushy, and has the potential to leave us with a lump in our neurologically-challenged throats, are we to dismiss it entirely?
Then there is the subject of niche. I don’t have one. I may not ever have a definite topic that is exclusively my own. I just roll in too many directions to state clearly and definitively that this (insert elusive topic here) is what I prefer to examine and expound. I simply cannot limit myself this way, which brings me to my next point: I believe that the contributions I have made on my blog may have also had something to do with the lack of encouragement and support. I was careful to take note that the facilitator of the challenge did check out my site and I am merely guessing but I do believe it hurt my chances. Could it be that there still exists a kind of snobbery and prejudice within the literary discipline? I would dare to venture a guess that if attention had been drawn to my blog, someone might be a tad uncomfortable…? I don’t know, it’s just a guess.
This brings me to another point: randy writing has been with us since humans began to carve images onto stone! Sensuous and erotic prose is as natural as sleeping, eating, and breathing, however, the Victorian bias is still alive and well when the Brontes (talented, though they were) fit our only conception of what is defined as literature. Any English major has read Chaucer, Lawrence, Wilde, Nabokov, and The Pearl. What about the Kama Sutra, an antique text which dared to commit to print the most sensuous and pleasurable acts to take place between two humans?
Indifference, not criticism, is the enemy of creativity and I would appreciate any feedback you would care to share. Now that I have gotten that off of my chest, here are two of my entries that I thought were pretty damn good:
The scenario is a blind date that starts off well until….
At exactly half-past eight, she appeared. Looking more striking than her description, my heart began to pound with excitement. Will she like me? Will she think I am as desirable as I find her? What can I say to her that will not betray my nervousness and faltering self-confidence? She spotted me with ease and walked directly over to me and without saying a word she grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor. Hips swaying to the loud sensuous beat, her dancing had me panting like a dog in heat. I dared to touch her by encircling her waist in my arms and suddenly we were flesh on flesh and I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She was so stunning and sexy that I realized she may not think that I am up to her standard but she seemed to be into me by responding to my lead on the floor. At one point, she turned and I could feel her soft, round bottom slightly pressing into my pelvis and I almost couldn’t control myself. Thankfully the music stopped and she grabbed me by the hand and led me outside to cool our sweating bodies within the embrace of the soft ocean breeze.
I looked at her and thought “What a perfect night…” And then she spoke for the first time, “You look so beautiful, wherever did you find that gorgeous red dress?!” It was then that I heard his deep, baritone voice and realized that to my dismay that she was a man.
The next scenario is a child who is talking in her sleep:
Tonight he would be prepared. Climbing into bed with a pencil and pad of paper, his plan was to have these items ready as soon as the child was asleep and her lips began to move. The child’s sleep-talking had begun a few weeks ago and he didn’t pay much attention to her gibberish at first but over the following weeks the noises had turned into an intelligible form of discourse. Her audible murmurings were beginning to reveal things that a child of four, his child of four, should not and could not know. Her mother had been equally disturbed.
“I don’t know when all of this started but I am not getting any rest since Daphne starting sleeping in our bed,” she had said. “First it was your insomnia and now it’s her talking and rolling around and I am exhausted.” She pointed to the bags under her eyes as confirmation.
“I know, honey,” said Paul. “Let’s start a new bedtime routine tomorrow and we will make sure to wear Daphne out at the park in the afternoon. It shouldn’t take but a few days and then we will be getting a good night’s rest again, OK, honey?” Paul secretly hoped that tonight he would be able to jot down what he was certain was an intelligence from another dimension. Somehow, someway, a transmission was occurring through his child and he could swear that he had been specifically chosen for this revelation. He just wished that his wife would not interfere until he could accurately transcribe the mysterious knowledge.
Paul reached to turn-out the light as his wife rolled over with a deep sigh and said goodnight. Setting the pad of paper and his pencil next to the bed, Paul made certain that his unopened refill of risperidone was still carefully concealed.
Enjoy! XO DWD