I am better than some people.

I’m sorry, but it’s true.  Certainly not EVERYONE.  I’m probably not even better than a vast majority of people that I come into contact with, let alone in the world.  However, some people suck at being people.  And I wish they would leave me alone.

Some of you may or may not be aware that there is a young gentleman, we’ll call him Robert Heart, in my workshop class who is attempting to woo me into his soft chocolate arms.  He seems nice enough, but comes on a little strong.  I’ve told him repeatedly that writing is my life at the moment, writing and waitressing, and I literally have NO TIME for anything else.  Nope, not even lunch after class on Thursday.  Nope, certainly not dinner and a movie on my one night off of the week.  NO! NO NO NO!  He also whispers to me during class like we are in 8th grade.  I’m waiting for him to pass me a note asking me to check “yes” or “no”.

Yesterday he gave me his story.  Holy wackadoodle!  No, for reals.  The story is about 8.5 pages long, the latter 5.5 being a graphic description of the rape and murder of the protagonist.  Now, I realize this is probably horribly unethical to post this here, but I MUST have you read an excerpt from this story (I actually want to post a few, but the more I post the more unethical I feel).  Just to set things up, the protagonist is in her 40s and has recently lost her daughter, a baby at the time of her death.  We don’t know anything about the father or the daughter’s death.  What we do know is that in her younger years the protagonist was a beautiful blonde, thin, the life of the party.  Everyone loved her.  Now she is in her 40s and her hormones are all messed up and her body is like, withered and nasty.  Then her daughter dies.  She wants to kill herself, but she doesn’t get the chance

When the paralyzation(sic) began to subside, a new complication started to erupt within her.  She felt herself quiver, then moisten.  Her body was reacting to his quick thrusting, involuntarily receiving him with pleasure.  She tried to hold it back, but couldn’t.  The feeling slowly elevated to near climax. Her tears turned into loud sobs, for she hated her body for reacting positively to such a vile act.

That’s right, folks.  This chick totally digs BEING RAPED.  Are you kidding me? I mean, I get the whole “creative license” thing, but CHRIST ALMIGHTY.  I’m not trying to get all “hairy feminist” on you, but I find this seriously inappropriate.  The piece as a whole lacks any sort of evolution or revelation.  It does nothing a story is supposed to do.  It’s gratuitous and offensive.

Okay, now all three of you hurry up and read that because I’m going to have to take it down.  I feel like it might be illegal for me to post it.  Someone correct me, or let me know what “copyright” even is.

Needless to say I will NOT being going on a date with Rog.  He also says: “There had been despair in her abyss of life lately” which is not even a thing.  Isn’t the whole point of an abyss that there is NOTHING in it…including despair??

ANYWAY.

So, FT has an official first draft.  The more I read it and tweak it the more that I like it.  So I feel good about that.  I’ve also done some brainstorming and taken some notes for RC, and even worked briefly on my grad school list today.  I need to start thinking about my personal statement also, but I think I ought to get the list together first and perhaps that will help me relax.  Though that might not even work.  We’ll see.

See? Now thinking about all of that is making me all tense and stressy.  I’m going to eat lunch.