And Experiment and Videos

I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in ten days. Not only have I not had the time, I've also not really had anything to say. But I am going to post two videos, if that's okay with all of you. And then do a writing exercise. Because I feel like it.

Firstly, the videos. Here's the first one. You don't really have to have seen the show to understand the video, but comment here if you need clarification. This video makes me sob.



And now for the second one. This is the official music video of the song from the first one. I don't like it quite as much because Todrick Hall's dancing needs some serious work. It's for the It Gets Better campaign that I mentioned in an earlier post. It really is a great song.
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Now, for the writing experiment. I'm going to just pick a character I have to develop for my novel and write a monologue/stream of consciousness. Let me know what you think. This is his thoughts about his and his partner, Tristan's, first meeting.
Character chosen: JUDE MORGAN

He's just my type, I notice when he walks in. Tall, dark, and handsome. My insides are fluttering because I didn't wipe the counters down all the way. I know neither of them will notice, but it's going to bug me all night that it isn't clean. All night. Tristan slouches on the couch and I sit awkwardly next to him. I can tell by the way his hands are fidgeting that he's used to having a cell phone in his hands. He doesn't look nervous. I like that.

He's talking to me, and through my abnormally observant trance, I can hear him getting frustrated with me. I can hear myself speaking with fewer and fewer syllables and with a less and less friendly tone. Even in irritation he's attractive. He looks strong, and with this observation, I can hear my tone become even less friendly than unfriendly. Hostile, almost. How dare he be strong and healthy when I'm stuck pretending to dislike someone who, with each passing minute, I am growing to like more and more? All because of some passive-aggressive virus making its way through my body like a rumor.

He's glaring at his best friend, sitting on the couch across from him, ignoring him just like everyone knew she would. I knew he only agreed to this because she begged him, probably with baked goods, knowing her. And really, as if anyone could refuse her brownies. But I knew he didn't really want to be here. It's just that she didn't want either him or me to be a third wheel. He mutters something under his breath, something about using his time more wisely and I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I'm being miserable to him and he doesn't know why.

The forced politeness between disintegrates once Tristan stops trying. After a while, he yells "Enough!" and stomps out and I'm left there to sit and ponder while the others go after him. If I didn't have this assassin running through my blood and semen, if I were a normal, healthy gay man, what would have happened tonight? Would he have stomped out, or would we be kissing each other goodnight right now? As it is, nothing can really happen. It's not fair. But if it were, would he be perfect for me?

Sleep Much?

Not me. The word exhaustion doesn't even begin to describe how tired I am right now. Senior year + extracurricular activities + school and homework = a Bethany that could not be in more need of sleep. Misery is my company.

That being said, NaNoWriMo is next month, and it will make my life even more busy. 1,666 words per day for a month equal 50,000 words. I'm not sure I can do it, but it is only my first year, so maybe I can. Anyone who wants to join me, please do.

A Stroke of Inspiration

a wave is crashing over me. it is covering me, enveloping me, soothing me. it is becoming me. it is comfort, it is warmth, it is everything good in the world:

it is
thunderstorms from windowsills and screen doors in the summertime, heavy droplets hitting my face and arms and getting goosebumps from the chilly, wet wind as i wonder at the dangerous beauty of weather.
sunlight streaming as heat onto my back while at the same time, a cool breeze ruffles my hair and i twirl in the shine and refuse to go inside, instead choosing to revel in the perfect weather.
the sound of a book cover cracking the first time i open it to inhale the smell of paper and ink, promising to myself that no matter how i change, this smell will always remain my favorite.
my cat pressed up against my leg, a comforting weight that never feels oppressive, even when it is sitting on my chest; a presence that, no matter how old, will always be there when i wake up or go to sleep or cry or have to say goodbye.

the wave holds me, reminding me of why life is beautiful and for an instant i am filled with regret that my list of wonderful experiences is so short.

because the wave is death.