Rough hands grab my skin, tearing it from my body. I groan as it is ripped away. As calluses abrade each new strip, I shudder, trying to hold myself together. There is life inside me. I must not give in to the pain, the pain, the pain. All is pain.
One nail is slowly pried off and I cry, loud, noisy, no pride left, please, no! Inside me, my heart flinches as I vibrate from the grasping hands flaying me, yanking my nails away, and all I can think of is the life I keep safe within despite the pain. All is pain. Everything, everywhere, is pain.
The night is cold, so cold. Skinned as I am, the cold penetrates me. I am weakened, vulnerable. Within me, the life I strain to protect shivers and dreams of peace, of a time without the cold and the pain, but all that is not cold is pain. There is nothing anywhere but cold, and pain. Pounding shakes me as pieces of new skin are forced onto me, nailed into place. With each blow, I tremble. My skeleton shakes as each nail is forced into me, but I stand.
At last, new hands spread cool, soothing salve over my bruised body. My new skin is not yet so comfortable as it will be, but the pain gives way and I settle, wearily. From within, the life I guard creeps out to examine every inch of my new, wet skin.
The four-legged lives sniff me. One lifts his leg but I understand he is telling the world that I am his own.
“They did a good job,” one of the two-legged ones says.
“For that amount of money, they should,” says another.
“Still,” muses the first, “should last for years.” He pats me, gently, as if he were the one who was big and I the one who was small. “The house is good and solid again. I’m glad we got the new siding on and painted before it rains.”
That is the moment I understand. I have not been tortured. I have been reborn.
We made the quarterfinals of the ScreenCraft Cinematic Book Competition! (Update… we made the semifinals!)
Just got the word that we made the semifinals of ScreenCraft’s competition for “cinematic” books, which means script readers could see this as a movie.
There are a lot of great books that wouldn’t make good movies. To be made into a movie, a book needs a visual language. Long ago, we took a series of classes from Dale Wasserman, who wrote the play “Man of La Mancha.” He wrote the “book” of the play (as opposed to the music and lyrics — although he maintained some of the lyrics were lifted from his text). He also wrote for film and tv as well as theater.
He said that books are the most literate art form, then plays, then film, then tv. It wasn’t an insult — it’s just that film and tv are more dependent on visuals than language. Language matters in film and tv, but first, you have to have pictures.
Mark and I have placed in screenwriting contests, and Mark writes in pictures. He’s good about prodding me to look at what I’m writing and think about what it looks like. “It’s a movie in the reader’s head,” he told me one time. “When I read, I see it and hear it.” Plus, he trained me in producing for radio, where creating mental pictures is what it’s all about. It’s something I still work on… as you can tell, I tend to be verbal.
Lots of writing is you alone with your thoughts and your computer (or notebook, or…). I talk to myself when I’m writing, wondering if anyone but me will understand what I’m trying to convey. There’s no way to tell until someone reads it. First we had beta readers, then did live readings, then got feedback from a reviewer, and at every stage, examined what was working and what wasn’t. Every time a reader says they enjoyed it, and tells me what connected with them, I want to cheer. Now we’re querying it. It’s a terrifying process.
I overwrite, then have to cut like the villain in a slasher film. There’s always a struggle to cut what is “extra” without taking all the juice out of it.
To know that the ScreenCraft readers, who have never met me and don’t know what I sound like, “hear” and “see” this novel is a joy. Congratulations to my fellow semifinalists, and to everyone who completed a novel they were proud enough of to enter it in a competition — that’s a big achievement right there.
I am honored to speak to you, at the request of absolutely nobody. The sight of your shiny blue faces, illuminated by your phone screens, fills me with the feeling that I am, at last, starring in a science fiction movie. Hopefully it’s more of a “cute and cuddly aliens” than a dystopian apocalypse, but I won’t know until I try to make it to my car.
Old people droning unsolicited advice is a time-honored tradition of graduation. What makes this different is that it isn’t being given at an official graduation. Life is a continual test. You will always be graduating in some way. So here is the best advice I can offer you. It’s not much, but it’s what I’ve got.
First, don’t try to see how much the toilet can take in and still flush. Either you will have to clean up the results or someone else will. People don’t forget, or forgive, having to clean up big messes they didn’t create. Try not to leave trash and wreckage in your wake, in case you have to walk back that way.
Don’t blow in the dog’s face. Just trust me. It’s a good idea to be aware of how the recipient of your attention is enjoying, or not enjoying, it. Everyone has a snapping point and finding it will not be fun. Also, don’t pull the cat’s tail. If you cause someone pain, he tends to want to share that feeling with you, so you can appreciate what it’s like.
If you’re so bored the answer seems to be pulling on the cat’s tail, learn to knit. You might still be bored, but you’ll end up with a sweater.
Don’t bet against gravity. Learn the rules for anything you really want to do. You may be the rare exception to whom the rules don’t apply, but probably not. That’s how they became rules. Even if you don’t follow them, know them — or you’ll look like an amateur. Why make life harder than it has to be? Some of the rules even make sense.
Try not to be a jerk. You don’t treat other people kindly because they deserve it. You do it because you deserve to be that person. It isn’t necessary to approve of people to treat them well. You need to be able to approve of you. That way, if someone calls you names, you can shrug it off, because you know you’re a good person.
Finally, know that if you try to be a good, responsible, kind person, that is all the world gets to ask of you. Anything more it gets is gravy. Don’t let other people decide who you will be. They don’t know. You don’t know. It’s a work in progress. If you don’t like you, work on it. Nobody’s got it all perfected yet. The smoothest glass has pits in it if you look at it closely enough, but it’s still beautiful. Demand a lot from yourself, but not perfection. Perfection is a goal, not a destination.
Often, extroverts (and there are far more of them than introverts, which makes sense — who is more likely to get out and find people to mate with?) think introverts don’t like people, or don’t like to go out. They don’t understand that being an introvert has nothing to do with liking (or not liking) people. It’s about energy — what charges you, and what drains you.
Extroverts are energized by being around people. They need to be around people as much as possible. This doesn’t mean they never like to be alone, but they don’t need to be alone.
Introverts? We like being around people, but it drains our batteries. To recharge, we need to be alone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been running on fumes and really needed some alone time, only to be asked what was wrong or who made me mad. Nothing. Nobody. I just need to fill that battery — and being an introvert, that means some alone time.
So how to cope with crowded events, like conferences and conventions? I’ve been going to more conferences lately, and having to think about how to get the most out of them (they’re expensive and you want to feel you got your money’s worth, which means identifying what take-away would be satisfying). How to not drain my batteries to the point where I can’t take in any more input, or worse, Dr. Bruce Banner becomes The Incredible Hulk.
The first step sounds obvious, but when you try it, you realize it isn’t. Accepting that you are an introvert, what you need to be at your best, and that it’s okay not to be an extrovert. Extroverts make up more of the population. The world is thus geared toward them. Like being left-handed in a right-handed world, introverts bump up against expectations that they want and need what extroverts do, and operate the way extroverts do. Nope.
Where extroverts might look see, “6:30 PM: Cocktail Mixer” and think, “Hey! People! Fun! Drinks!,” your average introvert thinks, “Ooh. More people after a whole day of people. Trying to make conversation with strangers. Standing around feeling awkward. Meh.” This is because extroverts will get charged up and introverts will get more drained. And if you say you just want to go to your room and watch tv, prepare to be asked if you’re okay. Several times. It takes self-knowledge and self-acceptance to withstand well-meaning pressure to conform. If you want to go and it sounds good, go and enjoy, and leave whenever you feel like it. If not? Don’t go, and enjoy, and hear the stories about what went on the next day.
If you’ve met a few interesting people, you can also see if anyone wants to have dinner together, just a few of you. Then see them off to the mixer with your blessings. Best of both worlds. You get to really talk to a few people instead of making small talk with a lot of people, and then get your alone on. Getting coffee is also good.
Personally, I’d rather really enjoy and make a connection with a few people than try to paper a crowd with my business cards. The people I do chat with remember me, and I remember them. Introverts tend to be good listeners. I can’t give 50 people my full attention at the same time — but I can give 50 people my full attention one, two or three at a time.
The next step is to plan a bit. Have those ear buds available. Have a book on you. Look at the schedule for a few minutes you can retreat from the crowd. The classes are usually too close together to give you a break. Get the feel of the event. Is it okay to be a few minutes late for something? Is there one you really can skip? It’s often not necessary to do every single thing available to you — and better to be really present for what you do attend.
Really, the secret seems to be doing it your own way, in whatever way works for you and most promises that you’ll be able to get the most from the event. My mom and I had a saying, “Better to be a really good donkey than a sub-par fake horse.” We’re all weird. Be weird in your own way and rather than trying to be a fake extrovert, be a really good introvert.
You might want to go relieve yourself before you start reading this dispatch.
Of all the things I’ve observed about humans, the most perplexing is their attitude toward their own bodies and natural processes. Honest to Dog, it’s confounding. I’ll see if I can make even minimal sense of it, but some of this you will just have to accept on faith. I swear on my favorite squeaky toy, what I’m about to tell you is true.
They are embarrassed by the fact that they poop.
I’m not talking about someone seeing them poop. When someone watches you go, it’s awkward and weird, no doubt about it. I’m talking about simply acknowledging that you do poop, or pee, at some point in your day.
I think it’s some sort of sacred ritual for them. They even have special rooms in which to relieve themselves. They also wash themselves in that same room, which is odd unless you consider it as part of a ritual. You have the shameful elimination, then the ritual cleansing. This might explain why it’s considered such a private event.
Outside of the Altar of Elimination, though, they try hard to pretend they don’t have to go. Some humans use special code words for elimination. Piddle, which sounds like an endearment for a puppy, is actually a code word for peeing. There are many others. One is “tinkle.” I met a dog named Tinkerbelle and she said her name was very confusing as nobody ever rang a bell when she tinkled. I theorized that maybe they were saying it sounded like a bell when she tinkled. Human hearing is quite limited, after all. This seemed to satisfy her and make her far more happy with the situation.
There are also many words for defecation, including “doody.” My humans like to watch historic recordings of the stories that appear on the glowing boxes. One featured a man in a cowboy suit who talked to a wooden toy he called “Howdy Doody.” I do not believe he would have greeted even a toy by saying, “Hello, Turd,” but “Howdy, Doody” seemed to be not only acceptable but much admired, to judge by the humans slapping their front paws together (known as “applause,” the equivalent of a happy tail wag).
They have a great many words for peeing and for pooping, from those supposed to be rebellious (“shit”) to those meant to be euphemisms (“do your business,” for example. This one confused me quite a bit at first as it seems an odd business to be in). A species only exhibits this behavior in regards to things seen as taboo.
Some of them are driven insane by elimination.
Not their own, I hasten to add. They might be uncomfortable with their own elimination, but they are downright neurotic about ours. My own humans will not let me eliminate in their Altar of Elimination, although they do allow human visitors to do so, so I must go in the back yard. Strange as this is, it is nothing to the behavior of some humans.
I have been told of dogs who are swatted with objects when they eliminate inside the dwelling. It has even entered their language. To be “hit with a rolled-up newspaper” is a general term for being corrected. It is uncertain what the thinking is, but I’m inclined to accept the explanation given to me by Runs With Nose Lifted (aka “Wowzer”), a Great Dane I met. He theorizes that as uncomfortable as humans are with elimination in general, some are driven mad in the presence of it. Wowzer said he solved the problem by going behind the sofa to eliminate.
Another dog, Steps High And Walks Fast (aka “Charlie”), said she tried designating her own altar — the tiny room in which the humans store their clothing — but this proved displeasing to her human companions, so as of that morning, she had started going under their bed, which seems reasonable.
There is more to write on this subject, but I am still compiling my notes, and will send another dispatch as soon as I can.
