Friday, September 14, 2012

Plot


My writing teacher keeps reminding me about plot. You can have the most beautiful description of a man, a lake, a moment, a vivid inner dialogue the strikes anyone with a  heart, or a metaphor so lovely that it seems that swimming was only meant and invented to be compared to love, but no one will continue reading if there is no plot. Without conflict we are bored. Sometimes that aligns with real life, and sometimes it does not.

Why read any of this? My musings on postmodernism are intelligible enough, right? No. No, that’s not why. There is conflict here. Will I resolve my inner demons? Will I find love? Revenge on those who have wronged me? I’ve been trammeled, raped (that wasn’t even the worst of it), dismissed, elevated, rewarded, punished, heartbroken again and again. Will I discover happiness without love? Could this be an anti-resolution resolution? Will I discover my self-delusions? Will I find God?  How will I change? What little nuance about life will I uncover that will change the whole game? There is a story here. A good one if it resolves neatly.

Today the wrong one came around, wanted me, then cried over his mistreatment of me. I was just cleaning my floor after I misread an invitation for a party. I was home when I shouldn't have been home when he called and said he was just down the street. "Why did I ever leave this?" he said. He was referring to my ass, admittedly, but you don't sob over someone's ass. How's that for plot? And here is the next turn: I don't care anymore. You have a beard now. That's lovely. I'm worried about your anxiety. But why tell me about your dates? Then take your pants off? Then tell me not to cry? I'm not crying. My body belongs to someone else. I'm inclined to be tender to you, despite how you wrecked me. But nothing here is attached to you anymore. Not the plants that need watering or my body that needs touching. I imagined it so many times. Saying no to you. It is sad saying no to you. But. Go on. Go on and study and work and cavort.  Maybe next time I won't be home.

There is a story here, and I suppose it all depends on how I spin it.

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