Longing

In graduate school, there was a young man, beautiful and smart and blonde, that I longed for. Desired. Craved. Coveted. 

And for many reasons, chiefly, that he was beautiful, smart, and blonde, I never pursued him. Ever. I may have spoken to him twice throughout my three years in the program. I'm sure if he had but known the awful poetry and erotica so complementary that it bordered on fanfic, he would have smiled at me -- if only to persuade me to stop. 

I have a long, awful history of longing for things. Love. Lust. Jewelry. Redheads. Men with deep voices. Men with bad reputations. Shoes that will certainly hobble me within an hour. 

Certainly there is more to this than bad judgement? For all the bad things that can come of all these -- heartbreak, debt, heartbreak... I can't say that wanting is such a bad thing. Want inspires. Lust drives. What is fiction -- especially erotic fiction -- but the expression of desire? 

Call me selfish if you like, but do not call me satisfied. 

It's been a long time....I shouldn't have left you...

between School, reading 2 books (The Book of the Courtesans and The Judas Testament), trying to battle insomnia, and taking up running (Couch to 5k, I love/hate you!), I've been horrible at keeping up with my muse, much less this blog. 

Which is wrong-headed, and I should know better -- there's nothing better for inspriration than to write. 

Poetry (including one of my favorites by Matthew Arnold) has been seeing me to sleep lately, which my muse (unnamed) seems to enjoy. And running, for whatever reason, seems to help with the determination bit. 

So this is me, vowing to write more. And hoping my muse will show up, even unawares. I'll leave with the aforementioned poem by Arnold:

Longing

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)

Succulent....

Not bad, being a "bestselling author". (it does count, doesn't it, contributing to a NYT bestselling anthology?) A pity I couldn't have shared the fun and success of being in the anthology with more people, but really? It's a little fun having a secret. But perhaps one day it won't have to be.

day/nightdreaming

there were parts of the dream she couldn't remember: how she'd ended up in the meadow, where exactly she was, the scent in the air that, upon waking, had made her nostalgic for something that tickled the back of her mind and made her smile. The color of the man's eyes that sat with her on the blue and red plaid picnic blanket. What she wore that fell away so easily underneath his touch. The sex she knew they'd had: easy and slow, rhythmic strokes that she remembered as waves in her thighs and calves and breasts. She'd felt the sun, as warm as his skin, and looked through oak leaves up at a sea-blue sky as she came, the sky turning to blue-black ceiling when her contracting womb forced her awake.

Under her desk at work, she crosses her legs against the maddening ache between her thighs, the vacancy making her recall how well she'd been filled the night before. Seeking distraction, she rests her chin on her palm, unable to seek distraction in her work, and focuses on the bright summer green of trees across the street. The pines there are hazy dull, unlike the oaks in the dream. Only eleven more hours until she is in the meadow again.

Oysters & chocolate story is up!

I remember writing this, and setting it aside after letting "jon" have a look at it. It was a bit personal, but certainly taking leave with one's old apartment and friends is the writer's perrogative, non?

At any rate, the story is up at Oysters and Chocolate, which is a fun site (and a pity I can't peruse it at work!)

Do Enjoy,

A.