#1
section/chapter 2 of the novel (novella) I am working on. this one incorporates some stuff from my old and latest work, blah blah. haven't edited it, or even re read since i wrote it, so its still unfinished, but it has the ideas down.

section 1


Raine and I would meander about the "Secret Forest" usually late in the afternoon. The forest was filled with bugs and insects (that we didn't know the names of, so we called them bugs and insects, respectively) that endlessly tortured you if you walked in the forest during the mid-day heat. Once Raine got bitten by a bug that she swore was bright blue and longer than her fingers (she had long fingers too, I mean, not just by female standards, but compared against most male fingers, hers were probably longer). She was bitten right on her shoulder and the bite swelled up bigger than a bouncy ball. After that incident, she borrowed beekeeper uniforms from her Uncle (Who was apparently a beekeeper, and a very bad one at that. He swore he could speak to bees and refused to wear the safety uniform when handling them, which led to many mouthfuls of bees) that we would wear while we walked around the forest.

The beekeeper suits were ghost white and over sized. They were one piece and I felt silly having to ask Raine to "Please zip me up". They came with white gloves, white boots, and a white hat with mesh that went around the face so you could see and such. The only thing I enjoyed about these suits was that Raine would always get too hot in hers, so before she put it on, she would undress down to her bra and underwear in the car seat next to me, and I could catch glimpses of her pale skin that I would soon become very familiar with. Seeing her half naked then, it was like seeing her wrapped in a wallpaper of maps with pins and tacks representing all the places of her body that she would still not allow me, but I enjoyed the mismatching of her bra and underwear, the way her cheeks flushed when she would catch me stealing glances, it was almost too much for both of us to handle.

At this point of our relationship, we were not what you would call a couple, we hadn’t yet kissed, though one time we were eating sour candy at the same time in my car and both our lips puckered at once, but still, they never touched. I had a hard time understanding Raine, as I did with most girls. She had a peculiar way of handling awkward situations that occurred between us, the situations that occur between all teenagers lavishing for the perfect time to make a move, to put your tongues in each other’s mouths, to frantically slide your hands down each other’s pants acting as if you’re both surprised to what you found as you ungracefully undid each other’s belts. Whenever one of these situations occurred, like say, we were watching a romantic movie and the guy and girl kiss for the first time as rain pelts their shoulders and mouths and wrists and our eyes would catch in our peripheral’s at that scene, Raine would get up and start dancing strangely or sing a goofy song deliberately out of key to detract from the romantic spontaneity that may have occurred from such a moment. I didn’t understand it, neither did she, I don’t think.

I do though, remember the first time we made what we assumed to be love on a pile of bark and twigs and dead leaves. Raine wore a marmalade dress that was cut well above her knees. I was stoned, lying on my back watching squirrels fight above in the trees. We both wondered how they jumped from tree to tree so seamlessly, so easily. She said, 'If we were squirrels I would never stop chasing you. I'd jump from branch to branch constantly harassing you, just because I could'. I remember seeing the face of Lincoln in the bark of a tree, and I remember seeing just bark on the base of another. Raine inched toward me, barely placed her left leg over mine, undid my jeans, and kissed me carefully. There was something in her kiss that day I could never explain. Like the pleasure a bee gets from it's sting. Like the smoothness of a rock washed and re-washed again in the ocean.

We progressed to make love, proceeded to devour the sentiment exchanged between a hummingbird and its flower that we drenched in sweat and dopamine. I could taste the endorphins on her tongue as she came. I could hear mountains move as we equated the love of the young with the contempt of the elder. Thinking of that day makes my head feel better, it makes my head feel better.

-----------------------------------------


As we proceeded into the Secret Forest in our beekeeper outfits, Raine began rambling on about herself. I had known her for two weeks at this point, but still knew very little about her. I listened like a child with his ear to the ground hoping to pick up on subtle hints in her voice that may give me deeper insights into the shallow things she was telling me about herself. She spoke of her mother, the one I still believed to be alive. She told me that her mother would always ask her to run to the grocery store every morning for a dozen eggs, and how she always wondered what her mother did with a dozen eggs every day. She doesn’t remember her mother ever cooking, and especially doesn’t remember her ever cooking eggs. Before she left for Algrala, Raine said she opened up a closet she hadn’t opened for years and found hundreds of cartons of eggs sitting there. As she opened the cartons, she saw words written on every egg. She said that each egg had a story written on it about it’s origin and family. She told me when she confronted her mother about her hoarding of eggs, her mother threw a fit and ran to the closet to check on the eggs. “Her children”, is what Raine said she referred to them as. Raine found this odd as her mother had never once introduced her to anyone as her “child”, only as Raine, and she never once said her name with a smile.

After telling me this story, Raine told me that her mother had had multiple mental breakdowns (which I deducted myself after hearing the egg story) and that is partly why her parents had separated. Her father was a lawyer, a man of stature and great intellectual capacity. After it became known to Raine’s mother that he was having an affair, he failed in defending himself to her (his jury) and admitted to his act of adultery (his crime) which led to her first mental breakdown (the second mental breakdown came after she had discovered that Raine cracked one of her “children” on accident). After the first breakdown, Raine’s parents separated (not that they ever really were one entity that had to be torn apart, they simply just stopped talking and sleeping in the same house, I guess). Later on, near the end of summer, Raine told me that her mother was actually dead. She died after she had found her one egg, cracked, dead, it’s yolk staining their white carpet. In a fit of madness she started to eat all the old, rotting eggs, her children, and died there on the floor in the closet, stained white and yellow.

I never asked why she lied about her mother being dead in the first place, maybe because the story was so fantastical she didn’t want me to think her crazy like her mother. Raine didn’t cry a single tear during the telling of this story, but I did, just one or two. I remember the tears only coming out of my left eye, running down my left cheek to my neck where they were met by beads of perspiration and sweat, and I was glad they did that because Raine turned around at that instant and I didn’t want her to see me cry, at least not yet. As she turned around though, she waited for me to catch up as I had been dragging, lulling slowly behind. As I got even with her she threw her arms around me and we sat there intertwined in our beekeeper uniforms, white on white, my latex gloves wrapped around on the small of her back, and she kissed me then, for the first time, the mesh of our beekeeper helmets touched as our lips tried their hardest to protrude through them (earlier while we were walking we stumbled upon a tree with bells wrapped along it’s stump, whenever the wind blew the bells rang, it was like our own little symphony), once the kiss was finished, I knew it was only a foreshadowing of what was to come, and then bells rang somewhere.
Last edited by rushmore at Jul 3, 2010,
#2
This is the amalgam of so many Olivias and, in one long breath, you.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#3
thanks darling (as im hoping thats a good thing). im not sure yet where i'm going with this, but i'm thinking its just going to be mostly narrative with a few real chapters and the rest just recollections and such to build the central theme/message. im about 3000 words in only, but im planning on including a lot of stories from my past poetry and whatever. so far its about 85% new writings/thoughts though.
#4
I saw a lot of the new but it was nice seeing the old. What I specifically like about this is how focused you managed to make it in comparison to your poetry. Your poetry has its own charm, emitted by you of course, and the with in which you play with words is something to take note of, but where this lacks the wordplay it gains the flexibility to speak more. There's a certain tone to all of your writing that takes form in a much more approachable way here, something that doesn't carry the daunting weight of ruffling though many pieces and asking many questions. It's like spending the night with a loved one rather than going on a third date and being flustered trying to read what that last kiss meant.
anyway, good luck, and I hope to read more Matt
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#5
thanks lady. what I am wondering is this, judging by the first two chapterish things i have posted so far, is it something that you would read further? or just put down? ive never been confident in how my writing transfers into long, prose form, so idk.
#6
I understand the concern... this has enough movement in it to want to continue to read. Like I mentioned in the first section, there could be some things making it a little more tedious, like a multitude of parentheses. You've got enough content to work with here though, and the characters are peculiar but relateable enough to want to get to know more.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja

#7
On first impressions it seems too conversational to allow the reader into the story. It's not like there is no emotion, it's not like that at all it's more like you've got caught up in telling the story and you're so into it that it almost distances the reader. This seems so personal, so voyeuristic, so raw but I found with this format unlike your poetry, your prose wanders a bit - and appears rushed at times in terms of sustaining the rhythm of a narrative. Some sentences don't flow well together as an example.

I'm of a firm mind that some of this is an intruision that shouldn't be read in the form of a story. This is just me, I didn't feel comfortable reading something that feels so private, and intimate to just one person. I'm a firm believer that some things should stay private. I'm only saying this because I didn't feel connected at all with the characters in anyway, it felt so unique to them. I felt awkward, it was written in such a way so it felt like we were all intruding upon something - gawking at them in the bushes or something.

Not sure if anyway feels the same way but I had to get that out there, hope you're doing well.
#8
thanks both of you.

hendrixfan, im a bit disappointed to hear that you thought it was overly personal, its fictional, so...idk. as far as the flow, i've yet to edit anything, re-arrange, ect. this is still very raw and will be improved upon.
#9
to me, it's awesome. its rough yeah, but i love how you do growing up. i think there's times where the pacing isnt as deliberate as usual for you though. i kind of get this feeling where you dont dwell on moments with as much certainty as you have in the past. maybe that could help it.

'we progressed to make love' was a little off to me also. revision would do these good but i enjoy reading it a lot
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me