Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Art & Science

Fixed Gear shirt at ETSY


The science is figuring it all out. What to write, how, when, why. Submissions and tracking, time of day to do it, fitting it in between sports practices, work, school, and play. Where "should" the art be placed in all of that.

The art is words, pictures, paintings, poems, music. It pops out of nowhere sometimes, begging to be released when you're in the middle of a work meeting and are forced to sit there politely, squirming inside your brain. At other times, it won't budge, hibernating cruelly in some dark cave in your mind -- on the day that you actually have hours to create.

That's my biggest challenge at the moment -- developing the perfect time/space/place to bring out the creative juices. Now that my life has settled down into a routine (a crazy routine, but a routine nonetheless) my next goal is to get the science down so I can bring the art up....onto the page, onto the walls, out of my mind and winging off into daylight. The second biggest challenge is keeping it all organized and getting the timing down.

On another note, thank you to Shanna for an incredible learning experience with her Skullduggery classes this summer. And congrats on getting that novel out the door, baby! Yay! I might be able to make one more class session, fingers crossed! Shanna is an amazing writing teacher and it is so fun and satisfying to get down to the tough stuff and work on the craft of writing. I learned so much about my strengths and weaknesses and received excellent feedback on some creative nonfiction and literary fiction. Now it's time to put the pieces together. At one of the classes Shanna asked us to bring a "cool object" to class. Then we had to pick something we didn't bring. What? I was so excited about the 10,000 year-old scraper in the zip-lock in my purse. The one that I'd found in the desert. Mean trick, teach, LOL! "One character wants that....but they can't have it for some reason. Write about it," she said. Fine, whatever Shanna! So I chose a funky wristband with silver snaps made out of a bicycle tube with weird white writing on it that looked like math formulas. I held the rubber wristband in my hand. I chewed on my bagel. I fiddled with the bracelet some more......sucked on my bubble tea. Smelled the band, played with the snaps. Ate some more bagel....and finally got to work.

The toughest part about asking for critique is that the best way to get solid, honest information about writing is to show off your worst work. Put the leavings out there and the flaws in your work will light up like neon. But it's humiliating and takes some nerve to do.

I only did one bit of erotica in the class -- from the object prompt. So....I'm going to share the horrible raw shit -- what happened in a prompt session. Not much, and yet.....something started to take shape, kind of. Here's hoping I can figure the science out soon & bring it all together.


Rubber. The heat of it against my cheek burned. Actually, it was just the thought of it, the want for it. Rubber. The grind of it and its tangy, hot smell not unlike the dark, damp v between Rachel’s legs. What I imagined, anyway.

My ride “Bombay” took a beating on the mean streets. He required lots of love and regular tune-ups to keep me rolling fast. Part of the job. Even bike messengers have business expenses. We can’t log miles, but we sure can count tires. Equipment failure comes with the territory.

I was just another hack on the road, and I’d had my share of mechanics, but the rubber on Rachel’s wrist made me hard, made my clit scream silently. Gawd, I’d join the circus just to get close to her pale skin as she spun the tire, checking the balance, her long black hair hanging dangerously close to the spokes.

The expresso spun steam into my face as I imagined watching Rachel work. Her fingers greasy as she tightened the chain. Her ass swaying slightly as she checked the air. Maybe I’d quit this racket and open up a shop of my own. With Rachel. Bikes & Brew. Bike & Bean. Ride & Roast.

Cut from a bicycle tube. Thin, black rubber. Silver snaps. Irregular, cut with a knife, or not very carefully with scissors. Pulled shut by her teeth. Snap. Click. Whir. Sweat. Drip.

Some kind of mathematical formula written in sloppy white ink, like chalk markings. Or cave markings. Alien script. Code. An alternate language created by tool-smashing apes. Fuck me hard. The formula for eternal bliss, perhaps?

The black band was usually on Rachel’s wrists, but sometimes it appeared on her slender left ankle. Always the left. Sometimes the hieroglyphics were on the outside. Sometimes she displayed the dark side. I imagined her peaches & cream skin sweating beneath it. I liked to jack off thinking about her lips on mine, the smell of the hot rubber band in my nose while we kissed, her rubbered wrist on my cheek while she twisted my hair around her fingers and pulled me closer. Burn, baby, burn. She’d give it to me like a promise ring one day. Or maybe I’d tie her up and take it. Dangle it above her face in my teeth. She’d recite the formula, speak to me in alien, beg for mercy. Then, we’d go out for rainbow sherbet double dippers in the park and lie on a blanket, the band transferred to my right ankle.

Rubber. The smooth interior belies the knobby-kneed exterior. I’m a sugar plum, I really am. I never take a bath without adding droplets of lavender. I cook in an organza apron. But I do like it rough and dark and what I wouldn’t do for satisfaction of rubber lust.

“Good morning.”

Rachel glanced up. I could see her heartbeat pulsing gently in the hollow of her throat.

“Yo bitch.” She said. I had never heard her speak before. Her words sounded tough, but her sweet voice had the tone of silver Christmas bells.

I twisted in my Danskins and giggled nervously. “Popped my tube and bent my rails.”

“You a messenger?”

“Messenger barista at your service. New Rockshire’s first and only coffee & documents service.”

Rubber. Oozing from the source, deep in the jungle. Punctured and raw against the night.


Shanna Germain said...

Mmm. Yummy! Yes, I'm a mean, mean teacher! :)

Gina Marie said...

Yes, you are! A very GOOD mean teacher.

BadAssKona said...

I'm going in search of Rachael, RIGHT NOW!!

Craig Sorensen said...

Damn! That is so very hot. I could smell the rubber.

You are an artist with words.

Keep painting.

Oh, and my Verification Word? Hyper.

What can I say. Strong, sexy prose can have that effect.

Gina Marie said...

Glad you like it, boys, LOL! Well, maybe it's worth working on after all :-) Thanks for the hotness rating.