Jan 04
Broken resolutions…
This post was written as part of the [Fiction] Friday meme. The basic principle is to write a piece of fiction based on the week’s theme, to write for at least 5 minutes and do no editing.
This Week’s Theme: What is the first New Year’s Resolution your character breaks? How soon? Why?
She knows her life is spinning out of control but she has no idea what she wants. Her hours are long and she is surrounded by men. Attractive men, charismatic men, who pander to her ego and her predilections. Who mirror her image of herself. That is why she does this, why she works where she works, why she is caught in the chaos of sleepless nights and lost days. Lost weeks.
She is not lonely but she has lost her taste for solitude in the same way a drug addict forgets to eat. The pace is addictive. Her energy levels are euphoric and synthetic. She knows a crash will come but still the desire for sensation draws her onward. It tastes like life, like a rebellion against the heavy crush of normality and the necessity of living daily, doing daily things. It effects her choices.
She has no longing for companionship but idealises the notion of connection. Of ships passing in the night. Of twinned souls and loves not bound by time or pedestrian, formalised relationships. Living and loving are star-crossed things.
These men run in her same rush-rush pace; frenetic, hungry. Some are artists, some are actors, some are musicians. Some are trying to be. Some have been yet have fallen. All are bartenders.
With them she spins, unique and singled out, sometimes drawn in to more visceral interactions than she intended. Mostly it leaves her empty; drained and disappointed by the reality of what always follows.
Like her, these men can not be trusted. Nothing sates them, as she is never sated, and she and they move on, still searching for something more real than dull reality.
She says, Enough!
She knows she needs to be alone, that this overpopulated world is slowly eating her. A New Year’s resolution, a token gesture towards something she does not want to face head on; she swears off bartenders and musicians. No more disappointing mornings. She will remain her ice queen self, always hovering on the brink of consummation. It is the tension which she craves, not the falling. A life solely composed of possibilities.
But there he is, his slow chasing growing more intense and she is trapped by the picture that he paints of her. She wants always to be an object of fascination and she is his.
The staircase walls of his parents house are lined with gold and platinum albums, awards and autographs she recognises. She is accustomed to living on the outskirts of fame and feels at home there, listening to her friends talk about their friends whose names are splashed around the world, seeing supermodels and rock stars as what they are; simply people. She is used to having invitations to exclusive functions and walking past queues knowing that the ropes will be moved aside for her..
She is close enough to see the truth of fame, and to read between the lines when those outside of the circle she lives in the fringes of talk about the people they presume they know from gossip columns and movie screens. Only rarely though, privately, does she admit to herself that she too is sometimes caught by the unnatural glow.
So she stands too close to him, but it is not the fame that captures her. It is not even his rejection of it and those lost years in Africa. It is the picture of herself he gives to her, that notion that she is special, that she is inspiring and captivating. He believes it, for now at least, and that image is quicksand.
So it is January. And she lies awake beside a child-man who is both a musician and a bartender. So much for resolutions.
Sometime later in the year, she will remember why she decided she didn’t want to do that anymore: You do not need to be Rita Hayworth to know that men will go to bed with Gilda, but wake up with you.
NB: Although I have mentioned my predilection for bartenders and musicians, remember this is Fiction Friday. There is a small possibility that some of what I have written above might be semi-autobigraphical. But you’ll never know which parts or why. 
January 4th, 2008 at 9:27 pm
I really enjoyed this. The sense of regret and not being able to do anything about it permeates the whole post. I can’t help wishing this lady something better for once. But then, does she want it? And of course your cryptic comment at the beginning has us all wondering.
January 5th, 2008 at 12:36 am
I think this line captures it all: “It is the tension which she craves, not the falling.” Reminds me of a younger me, about a lot of things.
Semi-autobiographical writing is what it’s all about! I don’t think stories can be believable unless you put a little bit of yourself into them, in some small way, even if highly stylised. Tell the truth, ALL my stories have some biographical input!
Really liked this, it’s got a grimey, washed out feel to it, which I imagine is how this girl looks at things - a little jaded.
January 5th, 2008 at 1:21 am
Yes - a predeliction for bartenders and musicians sounds hauntingly familiar … and again I am struck by a resolution around love/relationships (mostly because I’m obviously obsessed with trying to give up chocolate and take up exercise!)
Your writing is tight, but with a beautiful and natural flow. This is evocative (having played in this darkness that masquerades as light!) and haunting, fatalistic but with an under current of hope.
Thank you so much for sharing! And welcome to FF (this is the first time I’ve seen you here!)
January 5th, 2008 at 3:00 am
Don’ we all crave that intrigue, the desire to know that someone else finds us interesting enough to show us a portrait of ourselves through their eyes. But like moths to flames we flutter and fall.
January 5th, 2008 at 5:53 am
I love this: “It is the picture of herself he gives to her, that notion that she is special, that she is inspiring and captivating. He believes it, for now at least, and that image is quicksand.”
There are so many things I like about this piece. Its tone is decidedly distant and analytical, observant and dismissive. Yet it’s so deeply personal and poignant in the subject and the feelings she has. It’s also an analysis of we all crave to be admired and desired, even revered–it’s why people strive to become stars, and it’s why she is seduced by her position and lifestyle. And it’s all captured in the two lines I quoted above.
January 5th, 2008 at 9:40 am
Oh, welcome all of you! I didn’t expect to wake up and find so many new faces.
Jodi, I’ve only participated once before, with the post Why she wants to rule the world…. Hopefully, I’ll be doing it semi-regularly because I don’t seem to find enough space in my life for fiction right now, even though it’s my first love.
And thank you all for such wonderful feedback. It’s nice to know what resonates and what thoughts a piece of writing sparks in other people. “Cryptic”, “jaded”, “fatalistic”, “distant and analytical”; all things I can’t see immediately being so close to it but all very much there. (I’m glad there was a little poignancy and hope too though!)
Thanks again. So much. And now I’m off to do some reading and commenting myself!
January 5th, 2008 at 6:52 pm
Most intriguing!
January 5th, 2008 at 7:25 pm
I’m now raising an eyebrow and smirking devilishly as though the “intriguing” was describing me. (In a self-mocking way, of course.);)
January 5th, 2008 at 8:35 pm
Well, I did mean the fictional situation – but no doubt it’s important for you to get into character for the sake of the story.