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[angela-samuel]

Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan

Disclaimer: This is not a review or rating. I automatically give a high score on goodreads because this is not my job. I read for fun. This is supposed to be fun. Sometimes. Also, I do not know a lot. I am very uneducated on lots of things, so please do not read this post as a way to learn something. These are just my thoughts. My lovely unorganized thoughts.

I love when fantasy is written so deeply, it feels real. The magic system along with the Celestial kingdom felt so large, so elegant. I wanted to be there, but with Tan's luscious imagery I already was. Xingyin is a strong character. It was always clear what she really wanted. She was so determined to free her mother from the moon, and she never let us forget that. Although I was happy to read the book and finally finish, I was sad to let the characters go. I seriously cannot wait for the sequel at the end of the year. I wasn't going to write anything here about this book because it was going to be a "relaxing" read for me. Until I realized there will be more! So I'm writing this to remember what mattered for the sequel.

Some questions I hope are answered:

Wenzhi. My goodness I was not prepared for his betrayal. I should have seen it coming, but I will admit I do not pick up on things very well... Although he did betray Xingyin and the Celestial Kingdom, he seemed morally correct. I love this character because he is so complicated. I was afraid he was going to be a boring match up to fill the gaping hole that was LiWei... but no! I am glad I was wrong. His loyalty to the "demon realm" is so familiar to what Xingyin feels for her family. If she were in Wenzhi's position, would she do the same? If she landed in the demon realm instead of the celestial kingdom?

Also the Mind Talents. They are forbidden for good reason, so why protect it? I thought it was interesting how this moral dilemma was presented to the readers. We want to believe that the use of this Talent is evil, but the Celestial Emperor himself is not trustworthy. He banned these Mind Talents and is successful in manipulating the public (his unjust banishment of the dragons). All he wants is power. I wonder if the emperor and empress will be overthrown or brought to justice. And this brings LiWei's loyalty into question. Where did he get his kind and generous heart?? He is so different from his parents; I wonder if at some point he will have to make a huge decision.

Characters so I don't forget them:

Xingyin: First Archer. Daughter of the moon goddess. Sacrifices half of her immortal strength to free the dragons, so she is weakened by the end of the first book.

LiWei: Son of the Celestial Emperor. His Highness. Good at art. Very powerful and nice. Was betrothed to princess Fengmei, but broke it off for Xingyin.

Wenzhi: Was a captain for the Celestial army, but was revealed as a spy for the Demon Realm. Is actually second in linefor the throne there (Wenshuang is first).

Shuxiao: A soldier in the Celestial army. Xingyin's good friend.

Minister Wu: Court advisor to the Celestial emperors. Does not like Xingyin (I have a feeling we will see more of him)

Prince Yanxi: Prince of the Eastern Sea where they worship the dragons. A nice guy, especially to Xingyin.

Houyi and Chang'e: Xingyin's parents. Houyi is deceased, but he was famous for defeating the Empress' phoenixes that tormented tohe mortal realm. Houyi was a hero, but not to the Celestial Emperors. What did they originally have planned for him? How did he actually die? was his wife who stole his gifted elixir of immortality to survive birth. A tough choice she made, but we're glad she did.

I'm sure the sequel will remind us of everything important. Tan is good at that.

Some themes:

Family: Xingyin sacrificing everything for her mother. Never losing sight of her real goal. Becoming proud of who she came from instead of hiding it. Liwei's justice versus his parents' greed.,

Loyalty: Liwei having to choose between obeying his parents or defending XIngyin. Wenzhi's loyalty to his kingdom and to Xingyin. The Celestial Army's eventual loyalty to XIngyin (even though it took a while...)

Truth: Seeing through the Emperor's lies by seeking out the truth on her own. The merpeople's false guidance by Renyu. How dangerous it can be when you don't know the real truth. Be careful where you get your information from...

This is the kind of fantasy I love. I can only dream that one day I write a book as good as this with all of its fascinating story. I wish I had more to say, but I did not take notes while reading, so my memory is iffy. If you like Chinese fantasy, this book is perfect!!

Find the book at your local library!

[angela-samuel]

Dead Collections by Isaac Fellman

Disclaimer: This is not a review or rating. I automatically give a high score on goodreads because this is not my job. I read for fun. This is supposed to be fun. Sometimes. Also, I do not know a lot. I am very uneducated on lots of things, so please do not read this post as a way to learn something. These are just my thoughts. My lovely unorganized thoughts.

When I checked this book in from processing, I knew immediately I had to read it. Huge shoutout to the cover artist, because it gave me this innate feeling that this book was going to be good; and it was.

A short summary: Sol is an archivist with vampirism. He meets Else, a widow whose late wife left behind a poltergeist of emotions in her numerous boxes of old transcripts, letters, and rough drafts. As Sol goes through the archives, he takes the reader through his daily life away from the sun.

The characters in this story have a lot of depth. Sol is trans, a vampire, and an archivist. I'm already sold on him, but the more I read, the more I understood him. Well, I understand that he is complicated (in a good way). I love a character that is honest in their narration. While Sol was enamored with Else, he could also be crass in his descriptions of her. I don't know how to explain it, but that feels... refreshing? Like, yes this person is a gem and I love them, but also damn they are really hot. At the end of the book, Sol talks about how he’ll miss Else’s old body and how things were, but he quickly gets over it.

“But nothing is permanent, you know, and nothing in love either. We love a body slipping through time, and we cherish it as time strips parts of it away, and we feel good until it slips away from us entirely. You can give up some things that give you pleasure, if it means the ones you love can have joy,” (pg. 239).

This quote really struck me with the truth of that statement. This is what love means to me. Those sacrifices we make for the ones we love. I also found this quote interesting to Sol's character and how he views transition when it's not his to go through.

This book also explored the process of realizing you may not be cis with the character Else. The conversations between Sol and Else were very interesting to follow. Two people talking about gender, asking and answering questions. Else grew to realize the way they felt towards their body and gender did not always have to be the same. They explored this idea through conversation and sex. It was a journey for them from cover to cover, and it was nice to see them progress. Also, Else is such a lovely character. Their immediate loyalty to Sol is very sweet.

I also want to talk about some minor characters that made a big difference for Sol. Alice Coleman is this elder vamp in an online facebook group with the kindness and knowledge lacking in modern day forums. From the moment Sol figured out his own eidolism situation, I knew he was going to help Alice. Alice offered the epilogue solution to Sol's story. A way to continue. A purpose, I guess. Another important character being Ari, the nurse that works Monday nights at the clinic. A solidarity in going through transitioning as trans men. Somehow ending up in the same place for different reasons.

Some minor characters that sort of frustrated me throughout the story: Florence, Darya, and the therapist. I don't know if Darya was meant to be someone we liked, but I found her totally cold and unaccommodating to Sol. Sure, they weren't a large business, but kindness can go a really long way. Darya made Sol's struggles seem small. She belittled him, and that annoyed me. Also, Florence confused me. Probably the most confusing part of the book for me was when Florence told Sol to never talk to her again even after he helped her. It made no sense to me. “You disgust me.” How??? It has to be more than just transphobia. Is it the vampirism, too? They have this whole discussion on gender, so it shouldn’t be that. A complicated character, that one. And finally, the therapist from the support group. The straight up assault Sol went through with the therapist. He compared it to showing up to AA drunk. I mean, would that be so unreasonable? At least they are there to get help. Why would you shun someone away for seeking out help? And also beat them up??? That part didn’t make sense to me.

Moving on to the big idea. Vampires and metaphors. I'll be honest and say I don't have any good theories. I’m not very good at picking up on patterns or metaphors, so when Sol talked about the miha maybe not being a metaphor at all (pg 155) I felt relieved. I thought “Okay, I see that too.” Sometimes, it’s just interesting. A vampire in the modern day doesn’t have to mean anything, but I feel like it does. I thought about it being similar to the AIDS crisis, and then there was a discussion about it between Alice and Sol. The whole idea of being given vampirism over death is interesting. Is it a worthy trade? Honestly, I would rather die than not see the sun again. It wouldn't be human (the point!).

Tracy Britton is a topic I would like to touch on. Tracy wrote a show about the miha, a species of aliens that take over the human race. What we learn about Tracy through the other characters makes her feel like a vampire. Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't. Either way, she fed on potential life. I wish I could go more in depth with this idea, but my knowledge on the subject is not a lot. The way Tracy loved Else and the other woman did not sound healthy. She was described as a stone butch. A woman who is tough to get through because of the pain they have endured. In the process of protecting themselves, stone butches can hurt others with their rigidness. Tracy hurt Else indirectly. When they had sex, it was all about the body.

Florence even felt a similar closeness to Tracy when it came to their personalities and their genders. Sol explains to Florence different ways you can feel about gender.

“There’s wanting to be a guy, and there’s not wanting to be a woman. And there’s actually feeling yourself to be a guy, or someone who’s not a woman,” (pg. 219).

I always wanted to be a guy, but I don't feel myself as one. This way of thinking interested me. It makes you assess what you really feel and how it can affect you. Seriously, the discussions in this book are really interesting and I highly recommend checking it out.

A final topic I'll talk about is the forums. Else and Sol were in the same fandom without knowing eachother when they were much younger. They shared a discussion about shipping two male characters together.

“What I want to know is why I do it. I’m a lesbian, and yet my only fantasies are about men,” (pg. 108).

This is how I feel right now. Why? Why do I write fanfiction about men, when I have no real interest in them? Of course, Sol's reason for this is much different than mine, but it's a familiar question to me. And maybe to some of you! It reminds me of my childhood friend who grew up so far away from me. We had been separated for mostly a decade. When we found eachother again, we realized we had all the same interests. We even shipped some of the same pairings. But why? What made us find this hobby so enticing? This book really makes you think...

A final thought would be how grateful I am to live in 2022. The whole vampire archivist Facebook group was a cool concept. It makes me realize how much I take for granted. Growing up with the internet always in my hands. How would I have survived as a queer kid in the 80s? 60s? How did anyone find a sense of community back then? I’ve read Stone Butch Blues and other novels, but it just feels so impossible compared to what we have now.

Thank you for joining me with this discussion. Please read the book if you haven't already! It was amazing!

Visit Your Local Library!

[angela-samuel]

7/19/21

I actually liked the story I wrote this past week, so I'm going to work on it some more to see if I can make anything out of it. Here's a snippet I'm most likely going to cut because ew

“You have a life. It’s okay,” she said. She sat across from him at the small table while the coffee dripped.

“Well what about you? How’s your life? Catch me up to speed. We didn’t get to talk about you tonight.”

“There’s not much to catch up on.”

“Aren’t you in school?” Rose shook her head.

“Did you graduate already?” he said. Rose shook her head again.

“Are you working?” Rose stood and shook her head. She grabbed two mugs and filled them with coffee. She didn’t face him as she felt the tears returning to the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about herself. He only asked questions adults asked. Why couldn’t he ask her about things that were easy?

“Nothing’s easy,” Rose said more to herself. She gave him the coffee and he watched her. He looked up at her face as if to find something.

“Rose, are you okay?” Rose shook her head again and the tears streaked down. Daniel stood and hugged her. Rose let him embrace her, but she could feel a ball of hatred in her throat. It wasn’t fair that Amanda was gone. Rose hated Amanda for leaving first. Rose hated Daniel for never coming back. She hated Roy for what he did to Aaron. She hated herself for still being alive and with nothing to show that she was living. People her age have achievements and goals. Rose didn’t have these. Daniel petted the crown of her head and held onto her in the dim kitchen. She squeezed him tighter as she drowned in her own hatred.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I didn't like this part too much mostly because it just sounds like a pity party. Why should the reader care about this character's depression? idk it sounded whiny and personal.

[angela-samuel]

7/12/2021

I'm trying to write more often than never. The pandemic really messed me up, so I know the writing I post is gonna be trash. I don't write as much as I used to, so I'm finally opening the dam. Of cousre, the first water that comes through a clog is gonna be shit water. So here :)

Write a story that involves a reflection in a mirror.

I could almost hear the crusted lids separate as I blinked at myself in the mirror. I hadn’t washed my face in three days. At least it wasn’t as bad as my hair. I could practically bottle up all the oil that came from it. Maybe I could give my meals some new flavor. I touched my fingertips against the smooth glass and pushed in. It would be so much better to leave this place, but the only real way out is the door. I didn’t like it much outside either. If I could hide inside the mirror like a secret room, then I’d be there forever. I wouldn’t want to come out and face the world. The world; so full of violence and shame. Instead of cracking the mirror, I walked to the laptop at my desk and opened my school assignments. 13 were missing. My phone buzzed with a notification.

MariaLastname followed you on Instagram

I didn’t know I still had the app. I hadn’t posted anything in years. The only picture under my profile was one with a group of friends from high school. Maria was one of those friends. I tapped her profile and it was filled with pictures. Not of herself, but of trees and sidewalks that felt familiar. I looked at the picture of us again. She had a thin smile and clean hair. I almost dropped my phone when a message came through.

Hey! It’s been a while. We should hang out sometime. Are you free today?

I felt my armpits turn damp from sweat. Today? I looked back at my 13 missing assignments. I looked back at my mirror. If anyone saw me like this, they’d probably jump out of their skin to avoid touching me. Why would she want to hang out after all these years? I couldn’t even remember where she went after graduating. I didn’t think our friendship was anything special. We shared a few classes and after school sports, but nothing exciting. We didn’t conquer a team or win any riots together. We just existed in the same unfortunate place at the same unfortunate time. I thought about my secret hiding place in the mirror. If I could go in there, I wouldn’t have to respond to this damn message. I scratched my head and watched the small white flakes fall in front of my feet. I don’t remember my reflection having this much color. My cheeks were rosy. Rosy? I touched my own and they were cold with months of seclusion. I walked closer to my mirror. My hair looked a lot cleaner than it did this morning. I looked back at my own hair instead of the reflection. Filthy. I laughed.

“I’m finally losing it,” I said. I caught a flash in the mirror. I opened my mouth. Braces. My reflection had braces just like in the picture from high school. I could feel my face contort into confusion, but my reflection continued to smile. I braced my hands on the glass to feel something solid. My reflection grabbed my arms and I screamed.

“Let me take over,” it said. My young and fresh mirror self pulled me into the mirror with so much force I rolled onto the opposite floor. I felt my lungs fill up with fire as I passed through the glass.

#####

woah I stopped right in the middle of the action?? lmao that's what I usually like to write. I'm not a fan of writing interior exposition so the action is where I put most of my thought.

I'm writing a short story each week. Hopefully some weeks won't have anything; this means I liked the story so much I don't want to share it yet. The goal is to have something ready to be published by the end of the year. I'm also working on a bigger project in the background. If any of you on here write historical fiction, advice is greatly appreciated.

[angela-samuel]

2/25/2021

Describe people in your life with short(S) and long(L) descriptions

(S) As I stood in the empty elevator, the door opened and I couldn't contain the burst of laughter spilling from my lips. Shoes clip-clopped on the fake tile as my brother walked in. His elvish grin told me his mission was a success.

"Did you find Mom?" I said. He nodded and took his frozen red fingers out of his gray fleece jacket. In his hand he held an envelope.

(L) George was easy to get along with. Despite his dark knitted eyebrows and even darker closet choices, he was always bursting to tell a joke or join in on the laughter. Even though he had two years ahead of me, our heights stayed the same all throughout life. I could see over his narrow shoulders just as easily as I could read his current expression: satisfied.

(S) I ran down the stairs and bumped into my mother. I should have known she'd be up this early. She'd probably spent most of dawn crocheting in her thick winter-fighting robe. Her dark eyes showed no mercy when she looked down at my attempted escape.

(L) My mother was a lonely person. She would stand or sit alone whenever she got the chance at family events. I looked for a lone mop of dark gray hair among the crowd. When I found her, she picked at a plate of nachos. She smiled at my return and pushed the plate forward across the table.

"Thanks," I said even though I already recently ate. She tapped her knuckles on the wooden bench and directed me to sit next to her. Her brown eyes were cheery despite our current situation. "I couldn't find Dad." She shrugged those broad shoulders and

hm. this is hard.

Dad: cold blue eyes, thick gray hair, short and stocky, fidgety, glasses that glare at night.

ill maybe continue this later.

[angela-samuel]

2/23/2021

prework

3rd pov

Samuella ran her hands across the smooth stone and wrapped her fingers around the monster’s wrist. The beast appeared delicate underneath the scales and talons protruding from fingers. Above the neck was a head similar to a jackal. Hair flowed from the top like a cloud billowed from a waterfall and teeth showed underneath a snarl like a blanket that hid knives. Samuella rubbed her thumb against one of the fangs and shivered. It felt so real - as if she could see blood stained lips and fangs sunken into her own flesh. The statue had wings, but they were passive and rested at the sides. Samuella touched the wings, but was careful no to chip them as this part of the statue was much thinner.

The garden was silent, but Samuella still turned her head around to make sure no one spied her. Hyacinths and ferns grew wild around her. Why wouldn’t this part of the garden receive as much love? she thought. Just as the sun’s orange glow oozed over the treetops in valediction, Samuella sat at the base of the statue and opened her book. She leafed throughout the onion layer pages and found a note written in the margins. Time and humidity made it almost unreadable, so she squinted in the dusked light.

1st pov

I ran my hands across the smooth stone. The fingers on the statue looked delicate even though talons protruded from them. I could wrap my thumb and forefinger around the wrist - the model must have been a child. I moved up to the neck and felt scales even though the head had a snout like a jackal. Other than the fur on it’s face, the statue had long billowing hair that sprouted from the top and ended around it’s stomach. Or where I assumed the stomach would be. The creature had human features like the eyes, hands, and hair, but everything else looked like pieces of a devil. It even had a thin tail and bat-like wings that hung at the creature’s sides. I wondered how big they’d be fully extended.

The size of the fangs made me shiver, but I touched them anyways. It was like I could prove to myself I wasn’t scared. I could imagine blood dripping from the mouth after a massacre. I wanted to sit with this staute for a while to admire it some more, but I knew Simon’s maids would come looking for me to prepare for supper. Who needs to prepare to eat? These rich folk would put on dresses just to promenade in their own backyard. 

I made sure no maids looked for me and sat down at the base of the statue next to it’s extended toes with claws bigger than my fingers. Weeds tickled my ankles. Hyacinths and large green ferns swayed in the evening breeze. I could clean this area up. It would be the only activity to bring me an ounce of sanity here. Why leave this section of the garden untouched? It seemed neglectful, but it made sense to avoid this statue. It didn’t exactly give off a welcoming aura.

[angela-samuel]

10/5/2020

“You aren’t disabled, Lisa. You are temporarily disabled. Once your leg gets better, then it’ll be easier to go out,” Will said.

“I can’t wait a whole month to go out. I want to see people and do things,” I said. Will rubbed the back of his head and sighed. I didn’t care how late he was for work; I would convince him to let me outside before the week ended. For years, I never thought I would be the one asking for permission. It was always a shared relationship. Then again, I had never been in a situation like this with Will. It was fair most of the time. I don’t remember a time being weak around him.

“How about I invite your parents over? That way you can see people without risking your leg,” he said. Of course I would say no to that. He knew my parents were busy with school. They only had time to visit me once in the hospital, and that was while I was still unconscious. I shook my head. The gray cat jumped onto my lap and purred at my frustration. I pet her.

“I want to leave. Plus, there’s an awful smell in the basement. I’d be too embarrassed to let anyone in here,” I said. 

“What smell?” I looked up at him. He was tense from being late for work and now I just put another problem on his shoulders to carry.

“It’s nothing. Probably just the cats,” I said. Will crossed his arms.

[angela-samuel]

9/28/20

Bells from the cathedral thrummed throughout the village. The late morning sun rays cracked into every crevice from the east side, covering the clay and wooden rooftops with a hot sparkle. Anna rushed through the streets with a basket of eggs on her side. Each hop made her run slower. She could not break these eggs. Her dark green cloak protected the eggs from any damaging heat or possible thief, but she still worried.

Anna arrived in the front of the the village just next to the gates. She shrouded the sunlight from her eyes with her hand and searched for her patron. She listened for the sound of metal clanging and moved toward it. Behind the forgery was a young man in grease stained pants and a sweaty white undershirt. He wiped his brow, but stopped when he saw Anna approaching.

“Where have you been? Fulk is gonna kill me if I don’t have these ready on time!” The boy took her basket and rushed to the back door. Anna stamped her foot.

“I deliver eggs to you every day and I never get  ‘thank you,’“ she said. The boy didn’t turn and slammed the door behind him.

[angela-samuel]

9/24/2020

I didn’t know she was from Sacramento until the third time we met. I always assumed she was always in this city. Although, she gave subtle hints the more I paid attention. She always admired the sky at night and the blinking lights at the top of the skyscrapers.

“They remind me of stars,” she said. I tried not to fall in love with her, but she made it difficult with her eccentric ideas and lovely words. When I asked her to go out with me she refused without hesitation. She knew I wasn’t right for her at the moment. I can’t deny it broke my heart and made me a husk for a few days, but she didn’t stop talking to me. We would still hang out at the library and watch old people fiddle with computers. Sometimes we’d get coffee late at night and ice cream early in the morning just to feel a change in pace. 

When I asked where she grew up, she answered like it was a gas station no one used anymore. I had heard of the city, but never knew anyone there. I asked her how she liked it.

“I don’t,” she said. We talked more about my hometown in the midwestern suburbs and realized our two places weren’t too different from each other. When she talked about the corner stores and train tracks her lips would twitch a little. I wasn’t sure which emotion they were trying to hide, so I changed the subject to Gothic churches as we passed one. She said she didn’t believe anymore, but still went to mass every Sunday.

“Just to feel something normal,” she said.

[angela-samuel]

9/23/2020

I hate to watch them fall. Little balls of fiery oranges and reds. Crisp purples and browns. I hate it. I don’t fear the present action. Like a shot. I don’t fear the giant needle and the prick in the skin. I fear the symptoms of sickness that follow. I know it means the vaccine is working, but I still hate it. I hate being sick. I don’t hate fall, but I hate how it means winter is near. I hate winter. I hate being cold. Seeing the leaves change makes the hatred build in my stomach. It bubbles into morning sickness when it’s ten below and I can’t sleep with frozen toes.

[angela-samuel]

Okay doing the second part of the exercise now. Also realizing I did this sort of wrong, so please forgive me lol.

So the mood is supposed to be strange and cynical. One of the ideas is that Jana is contemplating ending things before her own awakening while Kelly needs to save her. How would this story change with a change in setting? The original setting was going to be the suburbs because that’s what I know best. Let’s play with it a bit.

What if it took place in the past? Maybe the 1500s in a cloister. Jana and Kelly would be nuns in a religion that involved a spiritual awakening on their twenty fourth birthday. That would involve a lot of research, but it would be interesting to see a story in that perspective. Jana slowly loses faith while Kelly tries to save her (of course the names would be changed accordingly [if you haven’t noticed, I’m terrible at naming people]).

How would the story change if it took place in space? Their rogue space shuttle could hit a bump on the trajectory and cause everyone on flight to experience an awakening at a certain point in their lives. Some of the passengers wake up hopeless. Others find more hope to keep going. But why an awakening? Maybe it could just be the effects of cabin fever.

How about in the city? There is a bigger population, so there would be a better accommodation for those turning twenty four. Therapy groups even. It’s cool to see how the story doesn’t truly change even when the setting does. Setting is important, but it doesn’t make the story.

9/22/2020 - Seminar Exercise

I’m currently watching Maggie Stievfater’s seminar on writing found here. She offers an exercise to try. Here is my first result.

“What if I can’t make it to twenty four? I don’t think I can wait that long to figure it out,” I said. I could feel the jitters from the previous hour’s soda indulgence. Mostly everyone had gone to bed by now, but Kelly and I stayed up as usual. We made excuses to clean up, but we really wanted to talk before her birthday. Her twenty fourth birthday. She laughed and sipped her water.

“You have three years. Is it really that far away?” she said. Kelly seemed like she already had her entire life figured out. Most people when they go under on their twenty fourth figure it all out after, but Kelly already knew what she was doing. A recent graduate working on her masters, a boyfriend with plans to marry, and a steady career path ahead of her. She knew how it would all turn out.

I knew nothing. I was twenty one and already frustrated with my path in life. I switched majors three times before dropping out. I had a full set of part time jobs in the span of six months. I had no partner to share the future with, and I couldn’t ever foresee it happening. Those three years felt hopeless. I wanted to drown my way out of the waiting.

Kelly went to bed that night and would not wake up for another twenty four hours. In her dreams she would find out if she was on the right path or cycle or whatever the optimists in this society called it. It’s called the awakening. When someone turns twenty four, they have reached the end of their adolescence. They will then take an entire day to “optimize their future.” Bullshit. I knew I wasn’t the only paranoid one out there because I’ve read articles about peoples’ negative experiences in the awakening. Some people woke up with a depression they didn’t have before. Some woke up never wanting to wake up again. What if when I finally went under the awakening, I would feel the same? Hopeless.

The day after Kelly’s awakening I woke up sweaty and heavy with sleep. I checked my phone. 37 missed calls. All from Kelly.

“Shit!” The sheets fell around my ankles as I whipped out of bed to call her back. Did the awakening tell her something about me? I had nothing exciting to share, so I shouldn’t worry, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it told her she had to kill me or something. Put us both out of our misery. After twenty agonizing seconds I heard a click.

“Hello? Jana?”

“Yeah it’s me. Are you okay?”

“No. Well, yes. Not really. I had my awakening.”

“Uh huh?”

“I’ve been doing everything wrong. I broke up with Dave and quit my job. Can you come over?”

[angela-samuel]

9/22/2020 - Seminar Exercise

I’m currently watching Maggie Stievfater’s seminar on writing found here. She offers an exercise to try. Here is my first result.

“What if I can’t make it to twenty four? I don’t think I can wait that long to figure it out,” I said. I could feel the jitters from the previous hour’s soda indulgence. Mostly everyone had gone to bed by now, but Kelly and I stayed up as usual. We made excuses to clean up, but we really wanted to talk before her birthday. Her twenty fourth birthday. She laughed and sipped her water.

“You have three years. Is it really that far away?” she said. Kelly seemed like she already had her entire life figured out. Most people when they go under on their twenty fourth figure it all out after, but Kelly already knew what she was doing. A recent graduate working on her masters, a boyfriend with plans to marry, and a steady career path ahead of her. She knew how it would all turn out.

I knew nothing. I was twenty one and already frustrated with my path in life. I switched majors three times before dropping out. I had a full set of part time jobs in the span of six months. I had no partner to share the future with, and I couldn’t ever foresee it happening. Those three years felt hopeless. I wanted to drown my way out of the waiting.

Kelly went to bed that night and would not wake up for another twenty four hours. In her dreams she would find out if she was on the right path or cycle or whatever the optimists in this society called it. It’s called the awakening. When someone turns twenty four, they have reached the end of their adolescence. They will then take an entire day to “optimize their future.” Bullshit. I knew I wasn’t the only paranoid one out there because I’ve read articles about peoples’ negative experiences in the awakening. Some people woke up with a depression they didn’t have before. Some woke up never wanting to wake up again. What if when I finally went under the awakening, I would feel the same? Hopeless.

The day after Kelly’s awakening I woke up sweaty and heavy with sleep. I checked my phone. 37 missed calls. All from Kelly.

“Shit!” The sheets fell around my ankles as I whipped out of bed to call her back. Did the awakening tell her something about me? I had nothing exciting to share, so I shouldn’t worry, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it told her she had to kill me or something. Put us both out of our misery. After twenty agonizing seconds I heard a click.

“Hello? Jana?”

“Yeah it’s me. Are you okay?”

“No. Well, yes. Not really. I had my awakening.”

“Uh huh?”

“I’ve been doing everything wrong. I broke up with Dave and quit my job. Can you come over?”

[angela-samuel]

9/21/2020

I stared at the man in front of me. He was short and completely unrecognizable in a crowd, yet he was the closest I’ve been to home in months. We waved his arm in a circular motion as he wiped the counter with a damp gray rag.

“Do you know my brother?” I said. He nodded. I could barely hear the fuzz from the overhead television next to me. It shouted new scores from international soccer teams, but I kept my focus on the new gift in front of me.

“Yeah. Jon, right? Yeah remember him. Good kid.” That was all I needed to hear. Of course he was a good kid. He was even better now, probably. I hadn’t talked to him since September. The man with stubby fingers took my coffee mug and poured me another cup. He probably thought I was just getting up and dragged myself to the nearest coffee shop to wake up. He was half right. As I hugged the mug with my fingers and felt new warmth rush through me, I forgot how tired I was. I felt the jitters shake away the two full days of consciousness. 

[angela-samuel]

9/20/2020

There’s a foul smell coming from the basement. I thought something had expired in the fridge or the pantry, but the smell grew even when I scrubbed the white shelves. I don’t know how I managed to catch the smell when the scent of eight cats blocked my nostrils everyday. My husband claims he likes the idea of a house full of cats, but I remember him being afraid of the one I had in college. Ever since I woke up from the pneumonia induced coma, cats would find me everyday to spread out their bowls of dry pellet food. I’m almost convinced the smell of their urine was what really woke me up, but I know it was the basement. It almost smelled like an outhouse rotting in August. But if I opened my mouth for a deeper whiff, it felt earthy on the tongue. 

After my husband leaves for work at the school, I sneak into the basement with two cats trailing behind me. Their purrs are almost as loud as my heartbeat. This had been my home for three years, and yet the basement set me at unease. I don’t like the hard and crust brown carpet. I don’t like the windows ate the creases of the ceilings and how barely any light can escape into them. I especially do not like the area behind the washing machine and dryer. I have an agreement with my husband that he will do the laundry if I do the dishes. It might seem unfair, but I really hated the basement. 

Behind the washing machine and dryer is an unused closet space. I fear there could be something behind the thin wooden door waiting to release it’s foul smell into my pores. As I tilt the door back with my foot, I expect the sight of a dead rat or maybe a miscarried kitten, but there is nothing. The shelves are empty and layered with dust. A cat with long gray fur rubs against the door frame. I am certain the smell is coming from the basement, but where? Inside the walls, perhaps? I walk around the halfway to the carpeted area and observe for a moment. I see on tv how knocking on solid walls can sometimes reveal a hollow opening behind it. All I have to do is find an echo, but honestly, it is harder than it looks. Another cat joins me as I rap my knuckles across the dry wall and cement blocks. The entire basement echoes. Of course there is a deeper echo when I reach the other side of the unused closet behind the washing machine and dryer. But as I move to the side, the deeper echoes continue. Does the closet really go that far. I measure the distance with my arms. It has to be at least two meters long.

Surely there is a space behind that unused closet.