So it’s Sunday, and I’ve finally, finally finished my short story that was due at 6:00 on Friday.
It’s now almost 3:00 pm on Sunday.
It was pointed out in class that no one had written about sex yet, and after that, every one after that (so far) had some sexual element in it.
I tried to do something different, although with that sort of invitation, it was kind of hard to resist writing some sort of straight-up sex scene.
Mary Gaitskill has this way of writing about the ugly and the sordid and making it something sweet an intimate. At least some times, I think. I doubt I was as successful as she, but that was what I was going for. It’s only version 1.5 (and very, very late), but I’m rather proud of it, actually.
Of course, it hasn’t been torn apart yet. That might make a huge difference.
It’s about a woman who has never been laid, is about 50 years old or so (although I’ll probably have to change that in the next draft), and, at the suggestion of her “friend” (who really, really, really is an asshole) goes to Sex Addicts Anonymous to get laid. As she works the steps, she turns them inside out, the “character defect” that she wishes God to remove, for example, is her virginity, not her sexual obsession.
I just submitted it, and now I want to go back and read how I portrayed the hands. It was sort of a big deal. She falls in love with a compulsive masturbater, who is actually impotent who also attends the meetings. He’s obsessive about her; he has a book of Neruda love poems in which he writes all about what he’s learned about her from his watching of her. She looks at the cover of a Rumi book with Persian lovers on the cover.
She falls in love with him through others’ poetry and his own observation.
It’s absolutely absurd, but I want to pull this off. The more I think about it, the more I like this story.
But now that I have one thing done, I only have about a billion other things to do.
So I need to get moving. I have 5 weeks till graduation, and panic is most definitely setting in.