Thursday, March 15, 2012

Swim Back to Me

I've been day-dreaming about my manuscript, Swim Back to Me again.

Yeah, yeah, I know, Ann Packer stole my title -- believe me, you, I had it first. (Sh)it happens. There are only so many titles in the world.

Anyway, the manuscript's been at the top of my mind these days. I'm itching to work on it again. I'm poking some irons in the fire.

I mean, I love my YA writing and my YA books, but there's something about my women's fiction  that speaks to me where I live, that reflects all the raw, often-bottled, and once-in-a- while-unleashed angst of being a woman, wife, mother in this day and age.

There's just something so damned cathartic about taking my real feelings, and the small, mundane events in my life, and blowing them up and out of the water (if you will), to leave them heaving and bleeding on the page.

There's something about the mood of my women's fiction that fills me, that I just don't get from my YA.

Take this bit I was reminded of today because of this photograph I came across from the beach where I swim . . .

     John lowers himself onto me and we kiss, as around us the yard hums and above me the clouds drift by in stretched wisps across a perfect cornflower blue. Everything is sharp-edged yet floating, as if I have fallen into a Magritte painting and might reach up to find my own features gone, replaced beneath a black bowler hat by clear sky and clouds passing through.
    This here, this is not me.  
     N’est pas une pipe.   

     I let my eyes wander, follow sky, and breathe him in like air.  He lifts my shirt, and slips his hand in, and as he kisses me, his fingers find my breasts.  He moans and grinds his pelvis against mine, and the ground swirls and disappears. 
           Where am I?  How did I get here?  Who took my old life away? 
∞ ∞ ∞
From Swim Back to Me.
- gae



  1. Sounds fun...except if I'm supposed to dislike this chicky, I'm wondering how she did get here!

    I have to tell you: at Starbucks yesterday there was a couple who were probably in their 50's, the guy was in biker gear but he looked more like a business-y type. They were sitting outside at the only other table that was outside other than my table...and they were making out. It was really awkward. It would have been awkward even if they were teens. They were holding each other and slowly carressing and had their heads so close together. Who does that at a Starbucks?

    AND THEN, I left to go to a school and as I'm pulling into the school there is was a couple sitting on the little brick wall in front of the sign for the school! They were all snuggly, too. It was very weird, like serious love in the air but it was just too intense for me.

    I totally see what you mean about writing for adults. I love my YA piece that I'm working on but I *know* what it's like to be an adult and a wife and a mom right now so I have to focus to take myself out of that mindframe!

  2. Thanks, Christine. <3

    Jen, you're not "supposed" to dislike her, so much as she makes some pretty bad choices and, while I hope the reader will feel sympathetic, I imagine some will not. Given your strong feelings about Nick's dad, I figured you might be in the latter category. But, hey, you never know. I love Norah, deep, dumb flaws and all. She just wants. She just longs. She just needs. And none of it is simple. ;) Thanks for stopping by and reading. Love having you here.

  3. (btw, yeah, as to the public display of intense affection, not so much. Maybe keep it in your house, or, you know, on the cover of the backyard pool... ;))

  4. Just catching up on some of my blog reading. I'm a bit late here, but hopefully you'll get my message of love! You know (or I hope you do) how much I love your writing. and I think there's absolutely no reason why you can't and shouldn't do both. In fact, your voice is extremely well suited to writing in both genres. Just an fyi reminder, I do have some thoughts on SBTM on my desktop just waiting for you!
    xoxo B