Blog 18

In the future I'd like to publish some books of poetry and perhaps a memoir (no, not the one I did for class) if I have the strength to even finish it. I have plenty of poetry, and have published a book in the past. I want to continue writing poetry and publish another book in the future with visual art as well. My writing in the future will be much better than what I did in this class. I can not write about something I am forced to write about, neither can I stick to a time frame, especially at a time when I have a million other things going on in my life and have no time to write. My writing in the future will be much better and you should all look for my name on the shelf in about four years. Thank you, bye!

Blog 17

I was confused as to what to reflect on and I kept changing my mind. I’m used to reflecting on nature in a more poetic way and I didn’t know just how hard it was for me to put all that reflective/metaphorical thinking into plain English. I did it, but it was very short, and I’m not content at all. Also, I realized that I didn’t know what many of the trees were in the woods in that area. I did some research on that, but didn’t feel one hundred percent confident on what I found.

At the time of those runs through the woods, I always thought about Marannie, since when I got to the beach I would always look across the bay and wonder what she was doing. In my poetry I would always compare my feelings to the natural world…the sun, moon, water, fire, earth, air, etc. I’m used to only making these comparisons in very poetic, metaphorical ways, and I was getting stuck trying to put the feelings/comparisons into plain English. This made me want to change my reflection.

Professor Chandler told me that my essay/story wasn’t a nature essay. I didn’t seem to understand why. I was describing an experience I had with nature; I was describing what was around me…I was quite perplexed, which deterred me from even wanting to rework the essay, having no idea as to what to change or what direction to go in. I decided to research more about the New Jersey shore, and the Natives that lived there centuries ago (since I always thought about the Natives when I was in the woods.) But I still felt stuck because I couldn’t come up with a concrete ‘reflection’. I remember always thinking when I was in the woods, about all the people in past years, decades, centuries etc. who have been in these woods, touched the same ground as I was touching then, have walked on the same beach, looked at the same trees, watched the same sunrises. I researched the natives and found out that it was the Lenape Indians who resided in these woods. It always amazed me that I was in the same woods as they were back then.

I’m used to writing in more detail, but with less reflection and letting my reader take what they want from the piece…but for this writing (and all the essays in the class) I had to do more thinking, which only confused me and actually gave me writers’ block. I figured I’d use both my reflections- my love, and my curiosity/amazement of being in the same atmosphere of natives, but in my head, I still doubted that these two ‘ideas’ were even ‘reflections’ at all. I figured, oh well…and continued writing in that direction.

Blog 16

What’s the most important thing that you learned about writing in this course?
I learned that it takes a lot of patience and revision especially when you’re using reflection and are writing for a certain audience. I definitely need to work on that.

What did I learn about writing one of my papers?
I learned how form affects the message of your story. I definitely need to work on that as well.

Which paper was the hardest to write?
I think they were all hard to write. I never seemed to please Professor Chandler; it just seems as though I am no good at developing an obvious focus.

What do I want to say in my reflective essay?
I am reflecting on my Nature Essay. I’m writing about how difficult it is to get across a message/focus/reflection that is easily understood in your own head, to others.

What don't I want to write about?
I don’t want to write about my Literary Journalism piece because I didn’t put as much time into it and didn’t even bother polishing, therefore there isn’t as much to write about.

Blog 15

How did I start?
I tried thinking of the recent times I’ve been surrounded by nature. I thought about the few times I went camping over the summer, but decided to write about my time in the woods earlier than that- back in June when I used to take jogs through the woods by my parent’s house, since I used to do a lot of thinking during those jogs and would perhaps find something more interesting to focus on.

How did you choose your focus?
It was very hard to choose a focus. I wanted to reflect on the love I had for a certain someone. Being in those woods and sitting on the beach at that time of morning always made me think of love. Professor Chandler though, told me that the essay I turned in wasn’t a ‘nature essay’. I didn’t understand why or how to change it into a ‘nature essay’…so I decided to compare more of how the nature that surrounded me related to my emotions at that time, something I always thought about, but was/is easier for me to write in poem form than in essay/story form. So I decided to stick with my focus and to just make more comparisons as to focus more on the nature.

What did I leave out? What did I change? What did I emphasize?
I decided to leave out some of the details at the beginning of the story, where I was describing my journey getting out of bed and down to the woods. It was too detailed and took away from the experience in the woods/beach. I needed to elaborate on my focus, so I added more comparisons, and emphasized more of my emotions and how I saw it relating to the nature around me. I also added in my amazements of all who have passed through these woods before, since that was something else I always thought about at that time. (That in itself may be another focus, but oh well.)

Where did I get stuck and how did I get unstuck?
I got stuck with understanding how to put all of my comparisons that I usually write very poetically into more detailed, easily-understood, complete sentences. But I tried to think over and over in my head how my emotions related to the natural entities that surrounded me, and tried to change up my language a bit.

What were my major revisions?
My major revisions had more to do with my time on the beach b/c that’s when I do most of my reflecting. I added a lot more to the story which made it longer than it had to be, but oh well…I hate feeling like I have to cut myself short.

How did my life (not on the page) affect my writing process?
My life is really affecting my writing process currently. I am unbelievably stressed out, and one thing keeps happening after the other. When I actually have time to sit down, I can’t think. Also, not being able to write what I want to write about, and not in the style I write, and with a certain time frame actually gives me writers’ block. I am getting frustrated with everything. Usually my writing is a lot better, but I usually write for myself…in my own style…and when life isn’t so complicated.

Where and when did I write my best? What time?
Huummm…I don’t think I can answer that question. Usually the only time I have to write is late at night after work. A lot of the time though, that is when I am too tired and have writers’ block. I can’t concentrate and I’m unbelievably stressed out by the days events. I tell myself I’ll do it tomorrow, and then something always goes wrong, the reason I am so behind. Tonight though, things have slowed down a bit and so I am trying to catch up.

How did I use thinking, talking and writing to develop my paper?
I went back to my poems that I wrote during my time on the beach and tried to decide how to word everything differently to be able to use it in my story. I asked my friends and family if what I was saying made sense to them. My mother was confused as always, but my like-minded friends told me they understood what I was trying to say.

How did I know when I was finished and how did I decide where to start?
I would like to say I have finished, but I want to look over it a few more times. It seems as though I could have two different focuses, and I’m still debating if I should take one what. I decided to start with how those mornings started…waking up in my bed, eating my routine breakfast and heading down to the woods.

Blog 14

List of activities during composition:

When writing my nature essay I tried thinking of the last time I was surrounded by nature. I love being in the woods or on the beach (not when the suns out, ironically.) I thought we had to write about something present, not based on memory so I was going to write about the nature that surrounds my house (butterflies, trees, park), but I changed my topic. After deciding on writing about my experience taking runs through the woods and relaxing on the beach back in the Spring, I started writing. I went on memory...but now, that I am revising my essay, I'm going to take another run (regardless of how cold it is outside) and write about the difference in the woods and on the beach from then and now. I'm changing my focus slightly, but I'm still going to include my feelings about the girl I love, since she was always on my mind then and is on my mind now...and how I feel about her is opposite of the nature that surrounded me then and surrounds me now...leaves are dying, but my love is growing.

Literary Journalism

Not sure if I got the whole 'interview'ish' feel in there, but here it is:

“Just Passing Through”

I hate these god damn uniforms. I really don’t understand why they make the girls and guys wear the same thing when a girl looks pretty silly in a white, button down, collared shirt and tie. I was getting ready for work, ironing for twenty minutes like usual, trying to get every god damn wrinkle out of my thick, cotton apron. It was a Friday; I was looking forward to making some better money, hoping they’d give me a better station now that I’ve been there for about three months, but doubtful nevertheless.
Ironing was complete and I was all ready to go. I jumped in my car and headed off to work at Carrabba’s. My three minute drive up the hill and across the highway was enough time to get in a smoke and a Sarah McLachlan song I couldn’t get enough of. I parked in the back like usual, finished my tie and apron in the car, and entered through the back door. As I walked passed the back of the kitchen to the coat rack I was hoping I’d see a good station written in for me on the list, but tried not to hope too much, afraid of jinxing myself. I put my coat away, washed my hands in the bathroom, as I wished others would do before they started work, and made my way to the list that hangs on the wall by the bread machine.
“God damn it, why have I gotten this fucking station again?” I was so pissed off after seeing that I was stuck with tables forty-one and forty-two again. They sit right by the ‘window’ and computers where all the food is ran out from and all the servers hang out. No one ever wants to sit there because there’s too much commotion, not to mention, they’re tables, and everyone requests booths.
“I know, this place is so fucked up. I’m a closer tonight and they only gave me tables four and five.” This was Vera speaking. She was like me, always complaining about one thing or another because we’re never treated fairly.
I looked over the list at others’ sections and saw that Vera, Sherry, Elizabeth, Rachael Danielle, and I had the shittiest sections. Sherry wasn’t coming in until six, so I didn’t have my usual ‘complain buddy’. But there was Vera; she always complained though she did get awesome sections most days of the week. She kept trying to remind me how she was treated unfairly too, but she stuck with it, god how she repeated herself.
Immediately I was put into a shitty mood and couldn’t wipe the frown off my face. I went over to the computer and clocked in, took my beverage napkins, checked out the specials, all the usual shit. My mind floated back to the list. I was so pissed how unfair things are at Carrabba’s. It’s so obvious the favoritism they play at this place. The managers are always going out with certain employees, their drinking buddies, smoking buddies, coke buddies. It’s always their buddies that get the best sections. Sherry, Danielle, me, and the rest who aren’t in with ‘the gang’ only have two four tops on the weekends, when the ‘buddies’ have two two-tops, and one six top, or an eight-top with a twelve-top. Their sales are double or triple ours, their head count is double or triple ours, and the tips they bring home are double or triple ours. It just isn’t fair. That night was like all the other nights, when my mood came crashing down and I wanted so badly to just walk out the door. But I knew I couldn’t do that. I had bills to pay.
The clock went so slow and after getting sat three two-tops in a row I wanted to scream. Sherry finally came in and we bitched and moaned like usual. Where on one table we were making $8 tips, others were making $20 or more. I decided to go over to Rachael who was having the same problems as us, just to see if she even cared the way we did. The restaurant is wide open, with booths lining the walls. She was standing in the carry-out area, a small, separated area of the restaurant that’s never really busy. I made my way across the restaurant and met her in there.
“So you only have one-o-three, one-o-four, and one-o-five tonight, huh?” (Those tables consisted of two two-tops and one four-top.)
“Yeah, and you have forty-one and forty-two?”
“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically, “this place sucks. I’ve been here longer than some of these newcomers. People really piss me off.”
“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “These bosses are so fucked up. Sally wants to screw Doug so I hear, and you see how every night he gets two six-tops even though he’s newer than us. And Kevin— his performance sucks, yet because he’s Rich’s buddy he always gets three table sections on the weekends.” Vera entered then, caught on to the conversation and chimed in.
“I hear what you’re saying guys. This place pisses me off. I would love to call the corporation and rat them out for being so unfair.”
I prayed that she would, for I simply didn’t have the balls to.

The night went by slow and of course I had mostly two-tops, a couple three-tops, and the only four-tops I had, the seats that I could have been occupied by adults whose totals average between twenty to thirty dollars or more, were occupied by children, whose meals only cost six dollars. I tried to pretend to be busy when I wasn’t so I didn’t have to run food. I hated the idea of working my butt off, knowing how unfair I was being treated and calculating the tips I would be taking home.
Things were slowing down and finally people had begun getting cut. I knew I’d be the next on the list, after the openers, since I went in at four. I started getting my silverware counted, and filled up my oils, anything I could do get out of there faster when my tables finally left. Walking around the kitchen, I began seeing the kind of things that pissed me off even more about this place. Some of the ‘buddies’ did their side work half fast, like they always do. Because they’re in with the ‘gang’ the closers don’t even care to check their side work, and they get signed out and leave with their assigned areas looking like shit, and only half the assigned silverware rolled. Sherry, Danielle, myself, and the rest of us were given more arduous side work like always and when it came time to get checked the closers turned into anal, power control freaks. I was so irate after seeing Kevin simply dip the trays into the water, then returning them to their shelves without scrubbing them or drying them, and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing Doug roll only about twenty silverware and getting signed out regardless. I was so irate after seeing the coffee and tea area left a complete mess, yet Alonzo, who had the area, was gone already. It was sickening.
When my customers were gone and I was finally checked out my silverware was counted and cleaned, and I made an area next to Danielle in the back of the kitchen to begin rolling.
“Do you know the count tonight,” I asked her, just trying to make conversation, especially knowing we could relate.
“Yeah, forty plus. But sadly not everyone does it; did you see Doug?”
“Yeah, I know, I thought I was the only one who notices shit like that!” I was surprised anyone else noticed or cared.
“Oh god, I notice,” she replied with a sick look on her face. “I don’t understand how some people get away with that shit.”
I explained to her how they’re all buddies, the ones who get treated like gods. I used the information Rachael supplied me with to back me up. She seemed to finally understand. Tara came back then to roll. I knew she wasn’t buddy-buddy with the managers so I tried getting her opinion, letting her know my frustrations as well. We all started to complain together.
“I know. I’ve been here since we’ve opened and yet I get sat two-tops all night. I’m forty two years old and have three kids; I think I need the money more than these kids who get all their fucking money from mommy and daddy.” Danielle and I are around the same age as these ‘kids’ she was talking about, but Tara knew she could say that to us. She knew we paid our own bills and were struggling too, though not as bad as her. “I’m going to need to get a second job; I’m telling you, this place sucks. You guys are lucky. You’re in school; you’re just passing through. Sadly, I’m a lifer.”
We continued rambling on until we finished our huge piles of silverware. After leaving that night I thought a lot about what Tara had said. She was right. I’m just passing through. I still work at Carrabba’s now, but my attitude has totally changed, and with my attitude change I’ve noticed a few other changes. Instead of complaining about my sections, I started to try my hardest not to care. At the sight of lazy “buddies” I tried to pity them rather than get pissed off; pity them that they’re as lazy as they are and sadly will turn into ‘lifers’ themselves.
Over these few weeks of changing my attitude, being more blaze or even crazily cheerful, I’ve realized that my sections have been improving, and with those better sections, my tips at the end of the night are getting higher. I’ve concluded that it’s simply one of those instances where “mind over matter” applies. There are shitty nights here and there of course, but instead of letting those nights get me down, I simply repeat to myself, “I’m just passing through.”

Rhetorical Analysis of Publication Venues

1. Analysis of the editorial description of essays accepted
GLBTQ Online Magazine that accepts ‘coming out stories’ as well as essays on various GLBTQ subjects, book and movie reviews (on books and movies exploring homo/bisexuality), and an area where members can post journals for all to comment on. See website: http://www.oasisjournals.com/magazine

2. Description of several representative essays published in your venue:
Sample essays/stories: ”A Load Off My Shoulders” Natasha Duchenois ”I’m on a Coming Out Role” Devildog ”I Just Told My Mom I’m Gay” Disney”Major Madness’s Coming Out Story of Doom and Peril” Luke Williams

3. Subject matter
The magazine is comprised of book and movie reviews, journals, poetry, a forum, and coming out stories. My story obviously fits into the ‘coming out’ section of the magazine. This section has many different coming out stories from lesbians, gays, bisexuals, etc. from all age groups.

3. Voice:
Many different voices. The magazine accepts all kinds of stories, creative and journal-like. Many of the stories though take a comical approach to coming out, others are more somber, and ask for help at the end where they receive it in the forum.

4. Depth of discussion:
The magazine is not too picky on the length or depth of the stories. It’s there simply to let those from the GLBTQ community share their feelings and gives them a place to go to find other like them for peace of mind.

5. Form: Some of the ‘coming out’ stories are story like (like mine) with dialogue and whatnot; others are more journal like, simply telling rather than showing or going into much depth

6. Artistry: Those who submitted longer, detailed stories took a more comical approach, speaking of the penises or vaginas the authors either love or despise.

7. Niche
audience – GLBTQ members
purpose – To give members an outlet for their creativity/concerns/life experiences/peace of mind.

Nature Essay

Morning Run

“Beep…beep…beep…”

“Ugh…” I sat up in my dark room, searching for my glasses, being unable to find the off button on my alarm clock without them. After some groping around, I found them between my mattress and bedpost. I turned off the alarm, and propped my back up against the pillows, staring out the window to the left of my bed. It was still black outside; I knew I could take my time. After a few moments of steady breathing I decided to finally get out of bed. I threw on some old sweatpants and a hoodie and made my way downstairs, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. I quietly prepared my everyday breakfast, a protein smoothie, made simply, with yogurt, organic milk, and whey protein. The silence of the house made me work, slow, but with newfound content. I emptied the small container of strawberry banana yogurt into the new glasses my mother bought the week before; I poured enough milk to fill the glass three fourths of the way and dumped a hefty spoonful of protein in. I mixed and mixed, trying so hard to be quiet; even the tiniest cling sounded like an orchestra tuning for a concert. Finally it was mixed just right and I swallowed it down, fast but steady. I suddenly grew afraid that the early morning dusk wouldn’t last much longer, so I quickly made my way out to the porch, sneakers in hand.

Upon opening the door, the chilly air awakened the last of the sleepy cells that were begging me to press the snooze button. My heavy eyes welcomed the brisk morning air. It was still, surprisingly there was no wind at this time, 5:15 a.m. to be exact. I preferred still air; for some reason the wind went right through me, I only preferred it while I was in motion, to cool off the heat that stuck between my body and clothing. I sat down on the concrete steps, putting on and tying up my worn out black and white sneakers. The sky was still dark, time was on my side.

I stretched quickly and modestly, and began my brisk walk up the street that slowly turned into a jog, until I reached the baseball fields about a half mile away. At the sight of the woods that lay beyond the fields my heart actually palpitated. I slowed my stride and approached the entrance to the woods between the last field and back of the parking lot. There was a hill I had to get down first before entering the main wooded area. I loved this hill. In the winter we, my friends and family, would come here to sleigh ride. Running down it at the beginning of my journey would strengthen my legs for all that was to follow. I stopped though before heading down, to breathe in what felt like home, homier than the home I just left. I closed my eyes and lifted my head. At this time all was still. It was my time to enjoy the tranquility of the woods before the animals awakened. I sucked in the air that was now becoming breezier, probably due to the fact that the ocean was now closer. Ah, the woods and ocean, two worlds that offered me peace of mind, so close together and so close to home. I smiled a grand old smile, thanking god for this new peace of mind. Finally I opened my eyes and darted down the hill.

The slant of the hill was interrupted here and there by protruding rocks and small cliff-like dirt and grass. I pounded the ground, foot by foot, darting around these interruptions being careful to keep my balance as the land got steeper and steeper. The hill was mostly dirt, an mix of browns and oranges. I kept my eyes on the ground until I got to the bottom and then I let me eyes wander to the trees. I loved this time of year, when the trees were regaining leaves. There is such a mix of trees in these woods. Some are tall with beginning branches so high they were un-climbable. Other trees were lower or slanted. The barks were basically all the same, a brown that resembled the skin of a Mexican, with ridges that ran up and down, some deep, others shallow. My eyes were everywhere; observing all that was around me, while still keeping up with the ever-changing ground beneath my busy feet. I saw the sky between the treetops. Though the sun was barely on the rise, it was still light enough to see. There were a few clouds, but wispy, not heavy enough to block the sunrise I couldn’t wait to catch.

As I neared the beach, the breeze started to pick up, and I heard the first bird of morning. That sound of life quickened my step. I came to a V in the path and decided to take the harder trail that I knew would take longer to get to the beach. The path was hillier and I darted along, jumping over rocks and darting trees. As I was turning a corner I saw something moving to the left of me, in a grassy area between the various paths. After taking a few more steps, I slowed down to see. A family of deer, one big, two small, were watching me. They looked so scared and froze in their journey, as they simply stood, watching. Distracted, I almost tripped over a clump of dirt and grass, but quickly regained my composure. I focused more on the path, and a strange, but beautiful feeling came over me. My legs felt stronger, my running turned into something more of leaps or pounces, my chest felt heavier but stronger, and I ran along with a new sense of strength and well-being. I felt like a creature of the woods, rather than a human. The path went on ahead of me, but instead I jumped into the grassy area where I could run more wildly. The centaur in me came out and with it a new pace I didn’t know I was capable of. The grassy areas were full of puddles, creatures, rocks, and more, but they didn’t slow me down.

Finally I jumped back onto the path at the end of the woods that emptied onto the beach. As my foot hit the sand I took a huge leap and purposely landed on my knees. The sun was on the rise. I could see the beginning of it. It turned the sky blue around it and lit the water all shades of red, orange, yellow, and blue. The beach was short; the sand only went on for about 20 yards before meeting the ocean. There was Staten Island ahead of me, and I could barely make out Manhattan that lay even further beyond. I got up and walked down to the water. It was warmer now, or maybe I was just warmer from my exercise. I lifted my sweater over my head and bunched it up in front of me to lay my head on, as I plopped down on my stomach. I didn’t mind the moist sand sticking to me or my clothing, it wasn’t the cleanest sand, but it felt so good to just not care. I reached into my huge pocket and pulled out my small notebook and pen. As the sun rose higher it filled me with a peace so serene there are no words to describe. I thought about Marannie. I looked harder across the ocean to Manhattan, just picturing what she was doing over in Harlem. I yearned to be near her; she was the first woman I could see myself being with; the first woman who turned me on unimaginably. My heart was yearning, but was sighing out of content as well. I was in love.

I sat on the beach that morning for about 2 hours or so, just contemplating our awkward relationship, and so much more. I scribbled so much on that paper, and when I got home to make sense of it all, I was left with something like this:

Let Me

My sun has arisen,

but my Land, nowhere in sight.

Be my Land;

Let me spiLL my waves

of Light through your fLeshy hiLLs,

Let me turn your rivers bLue

and set fire in your caves;

Let’s spend noon beneath your trees

and make Love through the eve;

cooL off my embers

and set my wiLd eyes at ease.

You can hush my flames to a silent song,

relieve these pangs of passion beneath my breast

and join me in a brand new dawn.

Let me, oh

Let me…

Final Draft of Personal Essay

“A Different Kind of Phase”

By: Jamie Jenkins

“How am I supposed to take you seriously Jam? I mean you’ve been with guys ever since I can remember. You’ve talked about girls in high school and here and there, but you’ve never had anything serious, and after freshman year at William Paterson you were with Joe and then Roe. I hate to say this, but I think it’s all just been a phase. A lot of girls do this, either because they want to stand out and be different, or they’ve just met the wrong guys and assume all guys are bad...”

“Oh my god…” I cut in, mentally exasperated. “Just let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.” I really wanted to scream back to my mother, ‘It’s not a fucking phase!’

We were driving back form the mall, getting Christmas presents for whoever popped in her head. She was so bad at planning and it never crossed her mind to write lists. I brought up to her how I made a profile on Yahoo Personals and how happy I was about it, hopeful that I’d find some females because I couldn’t seem to find any my age at school or in town, one of the main reasons I stayed with Roe for as long as I did. She thought it was all a joke, bringing on that mini lecture, or what I always saw as a lecture, not a conversation. I hated when she got like that; lecturing on thinking she was right, thinking she saw through to some deeper truth, but she had no idea.

We had just left the mall when the other 20 things popped in her mind that she had to do—the drugstore, picking my brother up from CCD, stopping at ShopRite. I just sat there, quiet, letting her mind drift off like it usually did, to where, I never had a clue, and then letting my mind roam as it always did, the main reason why we barely ever communicated.

I pondered about the ‘phase’ lecture I got from her that night; that I’ve gotten from her before, that I’ve gotten from other family members and friends, for quite sometime. I’ve learned to give up on this argument. There was no being right with my family, about anything. Even though I knew I was right half the time, and with this situation, I knew how I felt. There was no getting through to them or anyone else for that matter that thought my ever-changing sexuality was a joke. I hated trying to prove myself to other people. In the past, yes, I was with guys. During that winter, yes, I was with Roe. And who would believe me when I said I was a lesbian, having a boyfriend by my side? Everyone else thought that confusion was a ‘phase,’ but it wasn’t the kind of phase they thought it was. In the end, I realized that the ‘phase’ they thought I was having with females, was really a ‘phase’ with males— my ‘desire’ for males, nothing but a phase; something I could repeat over and over, something it only seemed that I understood.

Growing up, I was always curious what my female friends looked like under their clothes; how their bodies compared to mine, and how it would feel to get close to them, much closer than a casual sleep over. At that age, I just saw it as that awkward curiosity every kid has, similar to ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’, or not understanding where babies come from. But at the same time, I felt different, because my friends never seemed to have the same curiosities as me. I always thought maybe there were too shy to admit to them, but now I realize that my curiosities never aligned with theirs, because they’re straight, and I’m gay, simple as that. After puberty my attraction for females heightened and I could instinctively tell that some of them were like me. It cracks me up how accurate I was; I guess the extreme intuition every psychic that I’ve talked to told me I have is extreme indeed.

Looking back at all those years I’ve spent with men (or should I say boys, god, I was so young), I’ve realized that I always had this intense need to show affection and be shown affection, and to please, (too bad I was never pleased in return). But I kept up the behavior, the promiscuity, anyway; it boosted my self-esteem, knowing that I was pleasing these males, and that other girls were jealous of me since all my boyfriends were older, were driving, and had already gone through puberty.

I never lost that curiosity for females though. Somewhere between the mess of males in my life, there were a few of them, in high school and freshman year in college mostly. For some reason I was just too god damn shy to make anything of it. I hated my body— I was too pale, too scrawny in the wrong areas, too fat in the wrong areas, and didn’t have the perkiest boobs in the world. The females I desired at the time obviously had the same parts as me, and being naked with them, our equal parts together would make me feel like such an ugly duckling. So, I stuck with the males, knowing they didn’t care what I looked like, all they wanted was what laid between my thighs, and I gave it to them, crying silently all the while, feeling like such a coward to have to resort to them to give me the love I so peculiarly craved.

The older and older I got, the more and more I craved the same sex, the more self-conscious I became, and so I continued with my phase, my phase with males. As an adult, there was Joe, and then there was Roe…

I was with Roe that winter, almost two years into our relationship. Before he met me I was an all out lesbian, about the fifth time I’ve tried to end my ‘phase’ with males. He knew I was gay when he met me, but after the first night of us hanging out (staying up all night long, talking up a storm in my bedroom), well I kind of fell for him, and he already had a crush on me. At first things were decent in our relationship, and I was even trying to get myself to believe my desire for women was just a phase, but then the dreams I had in past relationships with guys crept op on me again; I dreamt about women every night. Whenever we made love I envisioned a woman, and I hated sex with him, not him in particular, but I dreaded that scary thing that hung between his thighs. I would even cry sometimes during sex, knowing I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it. I wanted a woman. I craved what was between her thighs, what existed in her mind, so feverishly it seemed like a dream that would never turn into a reality.

“You knew I was like this all along. I tried Roe, I tried; I thought you could turn me around, but it’s not going to work. I can’t ignore this and I can’t lie to myself anymore, or lie to you. I’m not content, I can’t live like this.”

His tan, hairy face looked tormented. I felt horrible, knowing how hard this loss would be after losing his mother. I felt what he felt, an open wound in the soul, where everything seemed to be sucked from. He was not one to beg though, and anytime he felt awkward he would turn silent and refuse to express himself. I just hugged him though, held on for dear life, knowing after giving him time I wanted him in my life as a best friend, forever.

I had to end, permanently, this ‘phase’ with men. I just couldn’t do it any longer, to Roe or anyone else, pretend that I was into them, romantically and sexually knowing deep down inside, so deeply and strongly, that I was meant to spend my life with a woman, not a man. For two years I tried so hard to convince myself that I could be with him, and that I could just see females on the side. I knew deep down inside though, that I would be miserable staying with him, that I would be ignoring my true desires and probably fall completely into this deep puddle of depression I was already wading my feet in.

I remember every time I saw a lesbian while I was with him (mostly at my mom and sister’s softball games); it gave me this intense longing inside that is still almost indescribable. I don’t know…it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor, begging for them to pick it up and give me the strength to follow them into their fold of society, putting all anxiety behind. I couldn’t turn it off. It kept me up all night and kept me drifting further and further from Roe, until that night, February 2, 2007 to be exact, when I finally broke it off with him, no longer being able to be so weak by not standing up for who I truly was and what I truly wanted.

The break up killed him, which killed me, but I had to do it, otherwise it would only hurt him even more if I dragged it out any longer. He envisioned a life for us, and it shattered his dreams. I lost him as a boyfriend, I lost the future we had planned, but I didn’t lose him altogether. I had to give him time after the relationship to adjust before being able to maintain a friendship. He was so awkward when we were together. His awkwardness made me feel awkward, and his sadness made me feel guilty about being so elated and just…free. He’s gotten better these days though, and I consider him my best friend.

Shortly after that night I made a MySpace account and made so many friends (mostly lesbians) in the next few months. I started going to L-Bar every weekend and the Colosseum which are right down the highway from my house, and Circuit in Asbury Park.

Between then and now, I’ve had two girlfriends. I totally though I was in love with those two girls, but I think I was more in love with the idea that I had a girlfriend, not a boyfriend; that I was doing what felt right, and followed my heart; that when having sex, I didn’t have to envision anything, but only open my eyes, and a female was there; and, that I was less self-conscious of body. But, those two weren’t meant for me. Now, I’m just trying to be patient, waiting for that right one. I can picture her so clearly, and when I see her I’ll know who she is.

These days I constantly remind myself of the past as to not take my current life for granted. I remember the days when my closet door was closed and I was inside; I remember the days when my closet door was open and I peaked outside; I remember the days when my closet door swung back and forth; and now I can’t thank god enough for giving me the courage to shut that closet door forever, and stand outside of it, proud, ending that god damn ‘phase’ with men forever.

FreeWriting for Nature Essay

After free writing about this topic, dandelions, a willow tree, and the life forms/park at the end of my street, I chose this topic. It's not yet developed, but I'm going to go to in the next few days to experience this again; running through the woods, the activity that makes me feel most alive. :)

Forest
Run through the forest
Feel like an animal
Sagittarius traits (centaur)
Mediation (due to movement and sights, mind is clear, unable to think)
Difference b/t humans and wild animals
Run to ocean, sit and contemplate all of the above

Edited 'Frey'

Frey definitely went too far with the fictional aspect of his novel. He didn't just make up a few details and change names...he made up many false scenarios and he lied about it, claiming that they actually happened when they didn't. If he wanted to publish a nonfiction book he should have stuck to the facts. If he wanted to publish the book as is, he should have made it fiction, and perhaps put a label on the cover such as, "Inspired by a True Story". I wouldn't have such ill feelings towards him if he didn't actually lie in the first place and say that these events he made up were actually true.
After reading his book, fans were in love with this guy. They were under the impression that his story was true and fell in love with the straightforward details, however gruesome they were. They were extremely disappointed after realizing that most of the events in his book were falsified. He made it as though he was the victim; even though he was committing crimes and other such revolting behavior, his readers sympathized with him and admired him for his hardships. After realizing that someone you were sympathizing with really did not deserve that sympathy must have been very hard for his fans. I have not read the book so I can not comment directly on my feelings, but I can only imagine.

“It Was Like a Solar Eclipse…”

“Best Friend Forever!”

We all were lying on my bedroom floor in a circle, our heads all touching, taking a picture that captured the innocent girlishness I was soon to grow out of. It was my birthday, December 12, on a Saturday night in 1997. I was turning 13 years old and was so disappointed, that my favorite age, 12, (being my favorite number), was now over, but ecstatic that I was now a teenager.

I had my six best friends over for the first time, and I remember being sort of embarrassed of my house. My friends all had nicer houses, but mine was older, smellier, and just plain old shameful. We had moved from a nicer apartment to this house right across the street with plans of renovating it, but at the time it was nothing to be proud of. We had ugly flower wall paper that must have been there since the house was built; ugly green, worn carpet; a tarnished bathtub that supposedly the former owner had died in; the stove and sink were so old fashioned; and the cabinets so poorly placed.

I was the oldest of my friends at that time, and I definitely felt older.

We played games that night, or should I say I forced them to play games that night. I remember becoming frustrated; they just wanted to do their hair and makeup, a birthday party I thought was meant for a six year old. I wanted to stay up and tell stories about personal issues, and play intelligent games, or get out my quiji board. I remember always feeling older than my friends; I remember being curious about boys, but also curious about girls, a feeling that made me feel so awkward and so unable to relate to them; I remember being more fascinated with my homework and sports rather than pointless and/or girly matters as they were.

I could feel something in me changing, and could sense change all around me as that year ended. I’ve always been extremely intuitive and I knew I was meant to mature way ahead of my time. I was right…

Sometime around Christmas of that year my mother offered to take in my cousin; she was too much for my uncle to handle, and her mother was an alcoholic and abandoned her when she was born. My mother, being a nurturer at heart and a parole officer, thought she could be the one to set my cousin straight and give her a better chance at a better life. My cousin was one of those wild teenagers you saw getting arrested outside of the mall for stealing; or smoking in the girls’ bathroom; or punching someone in the face in the cafeteria. I was definitely afraid of her; every kid in town was! She was reckless, bitchy, ignorant, and downright intimidating. She was not even a year older than me and already had sex, smoked cigarettes, did drugs, drank alcohol, went to a juvenile detention center, got expelled from school. I remember there being talk about how her moving in with us would affect me and my siblings. The situation really didn’t affect my brothers or my younger sister, but it sure did affect me. Before I was like the sun, so bright for my age; in honors classes; one of the best players on my softball team; wrote and read for fun; was honest, optimistic, responsible, healthy…but she was like the moon, so dark and daunting. She was moving in on me and soon she would cover me up, with only a *** left of me to be seen.

"Popo...let's get the fuck outta here!"

“Fuck!”

“God damn, it, I told you we should’ve went to the fort!”

I threw my forty of Old English as far back into the woods as I could and followed everyone else. We ran through the opening in the fence and darted through the woods on the trail we always took to get there. It was so dark and my drunkenness wasn’t helping me at all; all I could see was my cousin's white sweater ahead of me. I just followed that, my heart pounding, just listening to the tumult of all that was ahead of me. The five of us darted through the woods as fast as we could, I, being the last. We jumped over mud puddles, over rocks, ducked under trees, ran up and down hills, until finally we were up by the other ball fields closer to my house. We got behind the school building that was at the exit of the woods and ran the back streets home. As we got to the corner two blocks from my house, we took a break and sat on the curb. We didn’t see any cops, and were finally able to relax and breathe…or at least they could relax. I looked down and saw my brand new white shoes, now covered in mud and grass. In my drunkenness I only half cared, but beneath that drunkenness and newfound ignorance, the innocent girl inside of me dreaded going home to my father, to try to hide the new shoes he’d gotten me; to make up an excuse why we were out until 1 AM before the first day of high school; to have to dart my mother threatening us with her piss tests. I dreaded all of it, and it all became more real as we rounded the block and inched further and further to my house, smoking my cigarette so hard and nervously I must have looked like a crack feign. My cousin didn’t seem to mind though. She was used to drama like this; she anticipated drama like this; she relished in drama like this. She was already enrolled in a school for kids with behavioral problems, so for her, this was all expected, but for me…I was just the innocent one, getting dragged into it all…and giving my parents aneurisms.

How exactly I let my cousin influence me, I’ll never remember. When exactly the change in me occurred, I’ll never remember. But the overall gist of those days I will never forget. I started smoking, drinking, stealing, and having sex at age 13, during the spring of 1998. We were both cheerleaders then. I grew more feminine in those years, and started to become more attracted to males. I remember though, that it wasn’t the male himself I was really into; it was the want to be wanted, the pleasure that came with pleasing. I let them all take advantage of me, and at the same time I was taking advantage of them. In those 3 to 4 years, I don’t even remember exactly how many of them there were. I lost all of my friends. I gained such a bad reputation that they were too embarrassed to be my friend anymore, or their mothers forbid them to hang out with me. In my ignorance and new found maturity, I thought I was too good for them though. I always felt ahead of them, but at that time I became so arrogant about it, so foolish, so uncouth. I just did what my cousin did…she was the negative influence in my life. How I could be so weak; how I could let that mature, responsible soul inside of me surrender to the darkness of her ways, I can not remember, but as I said, it was like a solar eclipse, and after every solar eclipse, the sun shines again…

To be continued…

(Please leave feedback...I will polish this piece soon.)

Truth of My Memoir

1) What is your story about? Are the details you selected true to that focus?
a. My story focuses on my past, maturing faster than my friends due to bad influences and the consequences of those actions, good and bad. I have to revise my memoir a bit to better display my focus, but the details I have so far are true to that focus, nothing is made up, except for some minor details that my horrible memory has lost.
2) Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?
a. I am uncertain of exactly what color certain things were, or the times; smaller things like that, but nothing major.
3) Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?
a. I acknowledged all that I do not remember by adding phrases such as “I believe it was…” or “I think it was…”
4) Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?
a. I do not have much dialogue in my memoir, but the dialogue that I put in is not very fabricated at all.
5) Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?
a. I have written my experience, which may cast me as a type, but it is all true.
6) Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?
a. N/A
7) Do you suspect any resort to psychological defense - representations which may help you to deny or evade feelings/beliefs/ representations/ actions you may not be proud of?
a. N/A
8) Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?
a. N/A
9) What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?
a. N/A
10) Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)
a. I still need to work on the tone a bit, since I changed my focus
11) Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?
a. The only person who seems to be demonized in my memoir is my cousin, but no, I represented her quite accurately.
12) If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?
a. N/A

"Million Little Pieces"/ Author's Responsibility

Frey definitely went too far with the fictional aspect of his novel. He didn't just make up a few details and change names...he made up many false scenarios and he lied about it, claiming that they actually happened when they didn't. If he wanted to publish a nonfiction book he should have stuck to the facts. If he wanted to publish the book as is, he should have made it fiction, and perhaps put a label on the cover such as, "Inspired by a True Story". I wouldn't have such ill feelings towards him if he didn't actually lie in the first place and say that these events he made up were actually true.

Blog #3- "My Father Always Said"

6 segments

Each segment- different parts of trip in Rindheim with her father and flashes 40 years later when she went back to Rindheim.

Segment 1: Schwartz begins by describing her teenage life in New York. An important part of this segment, relating to the title is what her father would always say about her friends that were not from Rindheim.

Segment 2: They stopped at father house, but father did not want to go in. She speaks of how 40 years later she did go into the house. They go downtown and father comments how it’s not like queens, but Schwartz is able to compare it to Queeens. They go to the Synagogue. She starts to gain a new respect for her father here and she realizes how is life growing up was and compares it to her own. Then Schwartz flashes forward and recalls her trip when she speaks to a woman about the synagogue.

Segment 3: She explains how the Synagogue was burnt down and how her father escaped. Her father explains that it was the Germans who burnt down the synagogues and she comes to a realization as to why her father was so over protective of her and so choosy about who she hung around with.

Segment 4: They go to her father’s old school. We learn that they separated the kids at that school, Jewish and non-Jewish, but they still played together. She gains even more respect for her father as she gains even more insight into what his life was like growing up and how hard and unjust circumstances were at the time.

Segment 5: They go to the cemetery where her family members were buried. They talk about her Tante Rose who stayed behind and eventually got sent to a concentration camp. They visit the graves of her grandparents as well. She is able to conclude that her father coming to America was to give his family a better life, which is why he is/was so concentrated on his family and all the particulars surrounding them.

Segment 6: She returns home and thinks more about what her family went through, gaining a whole new appreciation for her father and all that he says.

In the beginning of the story, Schwartz and her father think they are totally different characters, but through their experiences they are able to realize that they are quite similar and some of what they have been through and what they’ve seen is relatable. Everywhere they go together she gains more of an appreciation and understanding of her father. She understands better why he is the way he is by gaining insights on how he grew up. At the end she gains respect for her father and Rindheim. This is the main point of the story- her new found appreciation.

Free Writing for Memoir

Year: 1998 (Summer before freshman year in H.S.)

"Popo...let's get the fuck outta here!"

“Fuck!”

“God damn, it, I told you we should’ve went to the fort!”
I threw my forty of Old English as far back into the woods as I could and followed everyone else. We ran through the opening in the fence and darted through the woods on the trail we always took to get there. It was so dark and my drunkenness wasn’t helping me at all; all I could see was my cousin's white sweater ahead of me. I just followed that, my heart pounding, just listening to the tumult of all that was ahead of me. The five of us darted through the woods as fast as we could, I, being the last. We jumped over mud puddles, over rocks, ducked under trees, ran up and down hills, until finally we were up by the other ball fields closer to my house. We got behind the school building that was at the exit of the woods and ran the back streets home. As we got to the corner two blocks from my house, we took a break and sat on the curb. We didn’t see any cops, and were finally able to relax and breathe…or at least they could relax. I looked down and saw my brand new white shoes, now covered in mud and grass. In my drunkenness I only half cared, but beneath that drunkenness and newfound ignorance, the innocent girl inside of me dreaded going home to my father, to try to hide the new shoes he’d gotten me; to make up an excuse why we were out until 1 AM before the first day of high school; to have to dart my mother threatening us with her piss tests. I dreaded all of it, and it all became more real as we rounded the block and inched further and further to my house, smoking my cigarette so hard and nervously I must have looked like a crack feign. My cousin didn’t seem to mind though. She was used to drama like this; she anticipated drama like this; she relished in drama like this. She was already enrolled in a school for kids with behavioral problems, so for her, this was all expected, but for me…I was just the innocent one, getting dragged into it all…and giving my parents aneurisms.

Analysis of Personal Essay

Well...I guess I'm content with my essay so far...but it's kind of hard. There's so many things I could incorporate, because there's so many more details of my 'sexual life'...but it would be too long and too difficult to 'cluster'...so I just chose to talk more about what has happened recently. I can't wait to get Prof. Chandler's comments; they would really help. I would like to know what you all think...it's hard for me to be the judge...because I know the details, I don't know how well I'm getting them across to people who don't. I definitely like this draft better than the first one, what do you all think? I'm really confused on what to write about for the memoir...any ideas? (Sadly I wasn't able to attend the last class, so I'm a little behind.)

New Personal Essay

Is this any better? I'm starting to think this would be better for the memoir...oh, I'm so confused :o(

“Outside”

By: Jamie Jenkins

“How am I supposed to take you seriously Jam? I mean you’ve been with guys ever since I can remember. You’ve talked about girls in high school and here and there, but you’ve never had anything serious, and after freshman year at William Paterson you were with Joe and then Roe. I hate to say this, but I think it’s just a phase. A lot of girls do this, either because they want to stand out and be different, or they’ve just met the wrong guys and assume all guys are bad...”

“Oh my god…” I cut in, mentally exasperated. “Just let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.” I really wanted to scream ‘It’s not a fucking phase! Almost all lesbians are confused as they’re growing up. Society says girls are supposed to like boys and that’s what they start out believing. I love to love and be loved; when there’s no females around, well, the males are the only ones there, so even though I don’t want them, I go for them. I’m too shy with the other lesbians I actually find…I don’t know what to say or do. I’ve made mistakes, but I know who I am, what I feel, and what I want! It’s not a god damn phase!’ It made no sense to others, but to me, it was as simple as that, which is actually something not simple at all, especially when someone else’s heart is involved.

We were driving back form the mall, getting Christmas presents for whoever popped in her head. She was so bad at planning and it never crossed her mind to write lists. I brought up to her how I made a profile on Yahoo Personals and how happy I was about it, hopeful that I’d find some females because I couldn’t seem to find any at school or in town, one of the main reasons I stayed with Roe for as long as I did. She thought it was a joke, bringing on that mini lecture, or what I always saw as a lecture, not a conversation.

We had just left he mall when the other 20 things popped in her mind that she had to do—the drugstore, picking my brother up from CCD, stopping at ShopRite. I just sat there, quiet, letting her mind roam like it always did, and then letting my mind roam as it always did, the main reason why we barely ever communicated.

I’ve learned to give up on this argument. There was no being right with my family, about anything. Even though I knew I was right half the time, and with this situation, I knew how I felt. There was no getting through to them or anyone else for that matter that thought my ever-changing sexuality was a joke. I hated trying to prove myself to other people. In the past, yes, I was with guys. During that winter, yes, I was with Roe. And who would believe me when I said I was a lesbian, having a boyfriend by my side? Everyone else thought that confusion was a ‘phase,’ but no; I knew it wasn’t a phase.

I knew ever since I was younger that I had a strange (or it was strange then) attraction for certain females. They were always the sporty ones, and I knew instinctively that some of them were like me. I had relationships with guys, but never have I ever enjoyed being with a guy, but I was always too shy to be with a girl and at such a young age, other girls didn’t understand themselves yet, so I was stuck. I was the first one to come out in high school. I got picked on so bad I had to leave, but when I came back senior year, there were so many lesbians; my old friends who I knew were gay were finally out of the closet. I had three girlfriends that year, but the relationships were nothing too spectacular, I don’t even think I kissed any of them.

I remember every time I saw a lesbian, for years; it gave me this intense longing inside that is still almost indescribable. I don’t know…it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor, begging for them to pick it up and give me the strength to follow them into their fold of society, putting all anxiety behind. I had this feeling the most when I was with Roe, and I knew I had to straighten things out soon…there was this burning inside me, this yearning. I couldn’t turn it off. It kept me up all night and kept me drifting further and further from Roe.

Two weeks from Christmas I finally spotted a girl on Yahoo who lived only five minutes down the highway, unlike all my other “matches” who lived over an hour away. She was my age; I wasn’t too fond of her appearance, but I figured why not contact her? Maybe she looks better in person. I got a hold of her through email and she invited me to this lesbian club called L-Bar. Little did I know it was right around the corner from my house. How I never knew it existed is still beyond me.

I was with Roe that winter, almost two years into our relationship. Before he met me I was an all out lesbian, about the fifth time I’ve come out of the closet. He knew I was gay when he met me, but after the first night of us hanging out (staying up all night long, talking up a storm in my bedroom), well I kind of fell for him, and he already had a crush on me. At first things were decent in our relationship, and I was even trying to get myself to believe my desire for women was just a phase, but then the feelings and dreams I had in past relationships with guys crept op on me again. I dreamt about women every night. Whenever we made love I envisioned a woman and I hated sex with him, not him in particular, but I dreaded that scary thing that hung between his thighs. I would even cry sometimes during sex, knowing I didn’t want it, I didn’t like it. I wanted a woman. I craved what was between their thighs, what existed in their minds, so feverishly it seemed like a dream that would never turn into a reality.

Roe knew about my sexuality and even game me ‘permission’ to be with females. That’s why I didn’t feel so bad about setting up a profile on Yahoo or meeting Michelle at L-Bar that Saturday night…

I remember being so nervous that night. I didn’t know what to expect and because we met on a dating site, I didn’t know if she was considering it a date or was interested in me at all like that. It wasn’t so bad though. She wasn’t flirtatious with me and she had some other friends there that lightened the tension. There were girls that definitely caught my eye. It wasn’t that busy that night, but Michelle said there was usually more people, but because of the holidays people were probably busy or on vacation. I didn’t dance at all; I’m always too shy when in a new environment or around new people. This one chick Jen tried getting me to dance. Jen, someone I never thought (that night) would turn out to be one of my good friends today.

Shortly after that night I made a MySpace account and made so many friends (mostly lesbians) in the next few months. I started going to L-Bar every weekend and the Colosseum which is down the highway form my house and Circuit in Asbury Park.

Sometime in early March I broke it off with Roe. I just couldn’t do it any longer, pretend that I was into him, romantically and sexually knowing deep down inside, so deeply and strongly, that I was meant to spend my life with a woman, not a man. The break up killed him, which killed me, but I had to do it, otherwise it would only hurt him even more if I dragged it out any longer. He envisioned a life for us, and it shattered his dreams. I had to give him time after the relationship to adjust before being able to maintain a friendship. He was so awkward when we were together. His awkwardness made me feel awkward, and his sadness made me feel guilty about being so elated and just…free. He’s gotten better these days though, and I consider him my best friend.

Between then and now, I’ve had two girlfriends. I totally though I was in love with those two girls, but I think I was more in love with the idea that I had a girlfriend, not a boyfriend; that I was doing what felt right, and followed my heart. But they weren’t the ones for me. Now I’m just trying to be patient, waiting for that right one. I can picture her so clearly, and when I see her I’ll know who she is.

These days I constantly remind myself of the past as to not take my current life for granted. I remember the days when my closet door was closed and I was inside; I remember the days when my closet door was open; I remember the days when my closet door swung back and forth; and now I can’t thank god enough for giving me the courage to shut that closet door forever, and stand outside of it, proud, anticipating that woman I’ve always known I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.

ROUGH Draft

3/16/00
I leaned against the bar watching him prepare the martinis for the three women gossiping away in their elevated chairs. I slowly undressed him with my eyes, adoring his muscular structure; off came his shirt, and I drooled at his cut, tan arms and chest. I undid his pants, and oh shit!!!! Ugh, that dreadful disgust was still with me. Just envisioning his penis, I couldn’t go through with it. I quickly threw on his shirt and turned my gaze. I wandered off in thought… Just the thought of seeing a penis grossed me out horribly, and touching one, ugh, never again could I go through with it. I’ve had plenty of men in the past and I never enjoyed any of them, sexually or otherwise. I didn’t understand. Did all women feel this way? Did they hide their disgust just to please their men? I had no idea.

6/21/07
I sat back in my foldout chair in the corner of the crowded field remembering the days when I was confused, or should I say afraid to make a change in the right direction. I looked out amongst the diverse crowd, the vendors, the crowd, the dark clouds rolling in slowly over the ocean from the east. My friends were out amongst the crowd somewhere, but I was in a contemplative mood for some reason, so I just sat alone for awhile, thinking about the past as to cherish this present; for some reason I just couldn’t take any single moment of my current life for granted.

1/19/02-2/19/07
Oh, how I dreaded all of those nights, for approximately 5 years, two relationships altogether. I used to make up excuses left and right, to postpone that dreadful act. My main excuse was not wanting to go on birth control, not wanting to gain weight, so we could only hop in the sack around the time I was expecting my period, or sometimes I would fake that I had my period, other times I would just fake that I was sleeping. And when I could excuse myself no longer I would envision someone else in the bed with me, or turn my head and cry when they weren’t looking. I didn’t want to experiment with positions other than missionary, and oral sex, ugh, no! Sometimes when I couldn’t avoid either I would just pretend as though I enjoyed it or actually cared. I felt like an actress or a robot, or even a blow up doll sometimes. I remember not minding holding them, kissing them, caressing those perfect muscles, but once their clothes came off I felt like running for the door.

6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…

6/02/06
I knew I had to make a change sooner or later, I was just so afraid of breaking his heart and perhaps making a decision that wasn’t meant to be made, but this feeling, there had to be some truth behind it, some reason for it, some way to ease it. I couldn’t go on feeling as though I was lying to myself. Feeling as though my life was not fulfilled in the way I knew it was meant to be. I knew I just had to make a change, and so I did. I finally broke up with him. I told him it had nothing to do with him, it was me. He knew before we got together the kind of person I was. I couldn’t drag it on any longer; the longer we were together the harder it would be in the end. I thank god that we’re still able to be friends to this day, best friends at that.

6/21/07
I watched all of the types of people there that day and they kept reminding me of the past…the women, all the sporty ones…Whenever I saw these women when I was younger, (starting at age 10 most likely), the ones that you just knew were gay…oh god, how my chest ached; it felt as though my ribs were being ripped open and my heart was falling on the floor. I longed and longed, wanting them so bad, and knowing I, myself was one of them. But I was so fucking shy to even talk to them, and to do anything else down the road, I just never had enough confidence, especially regarding my body. I had various girlfriends in high school, when I was strong enough to come out of the closet, but they just weren’t the ones for me. The ones that I truly desired, well, they were the ones I just never thought I could have; it just seemed too good to be true, like I wasn’t lucky enough to live that life I wanted so bad to live. My freshman year in college I tried to search in the right places for those girls that were right up my alley. I knew the kind of girl I wanted- sporty being the most important factor. So where did I go that semester? To the basketball games on campus. A lot of straight chicks played soccer, but I knew that most of the basketball and softball teams were gay, and since it was the Fall, I headed to the gym every night there was a home game. I would just sit at the top of the stands with a book on me, or homework. I barely watched the game, I just watched the girls. I believe there were only two white girls on the team, everyone else was black, but black girls didn’t turn me on, and the two white ones were just not my style, a little too butch or something. I kept going back game after game though, hoping there’d be someone there who wasn’t there last time. And after I gave up hope I still went just to scope the crowd hoping I’d find Miss Right. Too bad I never found her.

6/21/07
We were at Asbury Pride that day, me, my girlfriend, and my huge new group of friends I made that year. I loved it. I felt so at home, so at peace with myself, like I could finally breathe, knowing that after feeling like a god damn cuckoo bird all my life, that the closet door was shut and locked forever, and I was standing outside…so proud and comfortable to be what I always knew I was- a lesbian, loud and clear.

Format

Sorry- this is really weak:
I hope to send this to a GLBT magazine/journal. If my audience is going to consist of homo/bi-sexuals than I would prefer that my writing is something they can relate to. I’m trying to describe my sexual experiences with the opposite sex, because many lesbians can identify with those experiences. Many lesbians have started their sex lives with men and from that realized that they actually prefer women.
Also, I am setting the ‘present’ clusters of my writing at a PRIDE event. Many homosexuals attend these events and being there reminds them of their lives before they came out, and their lives presently.
I want my piece to be something that my readers can relate to and find somewhat comical. I am trying to save my actual declaration of being a lesbian for the last section of my writing, but I’m finding it hard. I want to save it for last, because my audience should know what I am talking about without having to come straight out and say it. I prefer to be somewhat obscure in my writing, and I believe it holds a certain effect/affect that I can’t really put into words.