I’ve been writing a book. Well, ok, not recently. But I’ve gotten quite a bit of this book done – 89,000 words. Then I met Lucifer and, well, I stopped writing it. I was going to start up again, but my dumbass gave a good portion to the pup to read and that did not go well.
What was his complaint regarding what I’d given him? Well, for one, he seemed to think that it was a erotica about the UPS driver at work. Nooo. The one character he could’ve gotten that vibe has dark hair, dark eyes and sings popera. The guy the pup was so worried about is blonde with blue eyes and, I’m pretty sure, can’t sing. Words mean things.
Quite frankly, I was really into Josh Groban and David Tennant at the time and, well, combined the two in my sex-starved1 brain. But I never even wrote any sex scenes that could’ve been misinterpreted by anyone other than a pup with low self-esteem and a really terrible best friend.
Nope. Never wrote anything about sex on the job. Didn’t even really consider it something sexy until Lucifer and I got together. Now that would’ve been a sex scene. Even though Lucifer matched the description of the lover in my book2 he can’t sing a lick. Also, it wasn’t based on him because it was written before I met him.
Anyway, he was disturbed by something else I wrote about. His reaction was what put me off from ever trusting him with my writing again3. He didn’t deserve the privilege after that. Because, man…
The part he decided was me fantasizing about having sex with the driver is a rape scene. You read that right. I’ve got a story brewing in my brain and that was part of it. Dark, twisted… coming through to the other side without a man galloping to the rescue. He decided that it was dirty. Except it isn’t at all. I wrote something I knew about. The scene he had such a fit about – that made him so incredibly jealous – was written from experience. It happened. Not exactly like I depicted in my book, but very similarly. I changed the setting and the rapist to fit my storyline, but it actually did happen.
I’ve been stewing on this a while now. I printed out that part of a very wordy unfinished novel so I could gauge people’s reactions. The few people who read it prior to the pup gave me some positive (and dark) feedback. I was a little bit proud of it because it evoked an emotional response from readers. Because I wanted to share with the pup I let him read it. And, of course, he took it the exact wrong way. In fact, he clung to his misreading as fact even until the end. That was a bit shocking to me. How did he come to that conclusion? My feelings were really hurt when he started screaming at me about it. I mean, holy shitballs, I couldn’t suss it out. I put the story away out of sadness and maybe a bit of shame. But now I’m bringing it back out, because it’s really good.
He’s a dumbass, really. I mean, he’s just not a reader and really is clueless about the flow of writing. He wants his information fed to him very gently by a spoon and video. He certainly had no experience reading the type of thing I wrote. And now I know he wasn’t actually mature enough to be trusted with that. I remember writing that segment and remembering aspects of what it felt like on an emotional level to go through that. I remember shutting down and just waiting for it to be over. I remember how much I hated myself afterward. It was a hard scene to write, to be sure. Then here’s my willfully ignorant boyfriend very obviously making up a completely different scene in his head. I still can’t believe the fit he threw. Good lord.
In his defense, one of his girlfriends4 had rape fantasies. That’s a valid sexual preference, I guess. I don’t go in for that, but whatever. She was very submissive to him and I guess that bothered him. Also, he told me he couldn’t go to the gas station without running into 6 people she slept with. So, because he didn’t realize that not all women are like the skanks he prefers, he assumed something from the writing that wasn’t there. He assumed I was confessing. Except for the small little point of us not being together for a full year after I stopped writing that piece.
I will say there’s a fantabulous sex scene on an elevator in the book. I didn’t print that one off for him, though. Too bad. He might have wanked a few out to that one if I’d done that. Or he’d have strangled me because he was convinced that was me just fessing up to cheating on him almost two years before we were even together5. Ok, thinking on it, he may have wanked a few off then strangled me. We’re talking about a guy who lost his shit because my eyes were closed while we were having sex. No lie6. Ah-ha! Hilariously, that is also going in a short story, because fuck him, that’s why.
I was worried about his tender little boy feelings and he was already losing his mind over really stupid shit. Do I think he needs therapy? Fuck yes, I do. Also, I’m glad we’re broken up because I’ve decided to take all this sexual frustration and, well, write. He’d probably smash my laptop to keep me from cheating on him via story writing.
Actually, it wasn’t funny at the time7, but it’s really funny now. He told me up front he would get jealous. He didn’t tell me he’d get obscenely jealous because I had my eyes closed. I can laugh about that now, because that shit isn’t ever going to pop off in my life again. Good luck to the new one, I say.
I wrote this post for three reasons:
- To talk about a story I need to finish. Putting it out there in public makes it more real and someone may at some point want to read the finished piece. I’m pretty good, I think.
- To get this shit off my chest. Dur.
- To tell you all about how fucking insane my ex boy-toy is. I mean, I dodged a bullet8
I’ll be taking this long-ass novel and breaking it down into short stories then gluing them all back together into another book. I haven’t been able to see the actual end of the original piece, so hopefully changing my goal will help me get over that hump. Blogging helps get my writing juices going, but then I have to go to work. By the time I’m home I’m too fucking tired to think. So, I may put blogging on hold for a while until I get this part sorted. You’ll see when I disappear again. I’ll be busy with bigger and better things.
I like geeky stuff, politics, squirrels and monkeys.
- At the time. [↩]
- Tall, dark eyes, dark hair [↩]
- Unless you count the stuff I write here, which is mostly non-fiction and almost always just a stream of consciousness. [↩]
- Or both. I don’t know. [↩]
- Thanks, Bobblehead, you fucktard. [↩]
- “Look at Me” is a true story as well. [↩]
- And was, in fact, abusive in itself. [↩]
- I’ve blocked them via IP and locked my twitter for a while. So hopefully they won’t be arsed to read me anymore. [↩]