It is shifting into that, I think. Sometimes when writing literary erotica I made those into Morality tales. So the unpacking of a love affair. This is one of the best books that was written about that –we are only on the 8th day of the month, but I am sure elements like in this book will be present a bit.
Writers who write Literary Fiction do tell morality tales. So left off yesterday with love letters, had a Fante moment of terrible truth the day before that. Here is the cat story from the tale:
It was this:
On the first page, written in red was a note, that said: First draft. Not polished and unedited. Please return it and tell me what you think. When the moon comes up before the sun sets it’s coming full, Valdez.
And then the story began:
She came down the walk with her hips swinging the way they do when she is relaxed. She walked out to the lawn and looked around a bit. Pieces of cut grass stuck to her bare feet.
Her legs are long and lean; her back is straight and her eyes are bright. It’s such a joy to watch her move.
I sat in my chair and drank my coffee as I watched her smell the flowers and realized how seldom I got to see her like this.
She was silent in her contemplation of the garden; but I could see that she was pleased. She smelled a few flowers and turned and looked at me with the most beautiful of eyes and winked.
I said come over here sweetheart and let me touch you. Her saunter is so graceful it’s almost unbelievable. She kind of melted on her back right before me; at my feet.
She looked at me with those languid eyes; somehow expecting.
I put my hand on her stomach and rubbed her rib cage, I scratched her behind the ears and rubbed her forehead with my thumbs. She slowly closed her eyes and I said, “Mojave good cat, good cat.”
I knew at once that he was talking about me. I knew that I could be that cat. I also knew that these were the most precious letters I had ever gotten, or ever seen. I looked at everything, the way he wrote, his fluid handwriting scrolling out the curls and loops of his cursive. The stamps. I knew that no matter what I was going to save these letters forever.
on track with 12,496 today — some tales are harder than others to tell. Most certainly morality tales are the hardest.
A fave choice bits today I liked —
On the outside of the envelope I wrote this:
“Brace yourself” you make me feel like painting again, among other things.
What had opened was a dance. The way all dances between lovers open. First glances, the rush of a hand, a heart beginning to tremble, the quiver of excitement, an exploration. The beginning of love. A quest to find another’s soul.
We wrote each other for weeks after that. We told each other everything before we met in real life. Thus the bubble began. It closed around us, iridescent pearl.
It’s in a state of flow and so the novel is disorganized, but the lines are the important thing in the beginning because those lead you to unpack rooms later. Rooms of memory. I liked this:
There was agony in his face, sometimes.
I went around his garden picking flowers. I was the cat, so fickle, the unsure tip toes barefoot in the garden, pulling him inside me, wrapping my legs around his, kissing him for hours and hours. He steadied me, after what the photographer had done. He was the only man I really let in. I wasn’t afraid to tell him anything, not even the really hard truths.
I wish I could describe the feeling of his hands upon me. Or how his eyes lit up at the sight of me in the doorway, coming over the threshold. It was a purity in his eyes. I brought him innocence. He told me once all the cynicism left him after being with me. I must have erased the hurts from before, even though I hurt him not meaning to.
I was looking for samsara, as if it exists, in another human being.
And this line especially:
The first three things I sent him: An opening. A short story. A flower.
Glad to have the day finished this early. Am at 14,352 so right on schedule, if scattered. Got 1856 words out today, past 1667. it’s good to try and keep a bit ahead if you can in Nanowrimo, not be worried — the editing comes later, anyway. So voting today. I’m thinking what is the point, actually — going totake the dog to the beach, eat, maybe do some dishes or something. Writing is best in the morning for me. And then the day.