Sunday's Writing Tip: Less Can Be Best

We all do it, though few people can say for sure where they learned it. I'm talking about using three, four, and even five words to say something that can be said with only one or two. This way of speaking and writing sounds more "proper" and correct to a lot of us; so ingrained that simplifying feels like "dumbing down" or not showing how smart and literate we are. However, in writing (especially technical), you should always consider your audience's needs and the importance of providing content that is clear, concise, and to the point.

To illustrate, I've gathered some examples of wordiness ("circumlocutions") and redundancies, and provided suggested alternatives. I still have to catch myself sometimes. I bet I even did it in this post. Let me know what you spot, this could be fun.

Too wordy (alternative)

At this particular point in time (now)
Made mention of the fact (mentioned)
In spite of the fact that (although)
Call your attention to (remind you)
In this day and age (today)
With regards to (regarding)
In order to (to)
For the simple fact (because)
Take into consideration (consider)


Redundant (alternative)

Eliminate altogether (eliminate)
Past history (past)
Plan in advance (plan)
Warn in advance (warn)
Important essentials (important or essential)
Follow after (follow)

In my last post I asked readers to find the definition of this word and come up with one good reason why it should be used in a sentence when other choices were available.

I'm not saying "behest" is wrong (if Merriam's likes it, so should I), it's just that I think it looks better in a more academic context, or better yet, used sparingly with other words of the same class: It is at the behest of His Majesty that today's assemblage not meander through the forbidden forest.

But not here: At the behest of the mayor, all residents wore white to the "Jubilee All" festival.

I would probably edit this to read: The residents complied with the mayor's order to wear white to the "Jubilee All" festival.

Ms. Melissa, a commenter, responded "I behest you to continue writing fun and creative stories that you will post on your blog."
My answer: Yes ma'am. I'm in meetings with my imagination now to see what we can do about that.

My Blog's Purpose: I Lost Sight of It. Now I Can See.

Hello out there,

You may have noticed my revised blog title and description. I made this change just a few minutes ago after my mind and body finally came to an agreement (finally, right?):
My blog has become far too personal and random to accurately reflect my abilities to offer readers a wide variety of relevant and interesting content geared towards writers in the creative and technical genres, editors who feel as though they are the only ones having trouble with "who" and "whom," and lovers of the written word who look to me to provide amusing commentary of my efforts to cope with a demanding and overactive imagination.

I truly enjoyed writing and sharing the story of Sweety, but as an unpublished author (in the traditional sense) I must keep myself aware that not everyone respects intellectual property rights. My fiction efforts at this time, I feel, should be best spent in my private lab. Not to say that I won't "literary freestyle" occasionally; heavens no, I love it too much. But I now want to broaden my focus, and hopefully, my readership with content that has to do with all stakeholders in this struggle to capture and perfect the written word (i.e., enough about me).

Assignment for now or later: Ever heard of the word "behest"? I hadn't...until today. For giggles, look it up in the dictionary and try to come up with one good reason why someone would purposely choose to write this; when doing so means to consciously ignore the plain and modern English choices that first come to one's mind.

Yep, it's time I start to let my editor show.

I Have to Do What the Voices Say, Or Else!!

So I was sitting at work, reformatting bulleted lists and other fun editor stuff, when my characters Knowledge and Sweety decided to pay me a little mental visit. They expressed their concern...let me stop lying, they were angry with me and felt that I played them in "Sweety's Finale" (Sept. 12 post) and that I was too sleepy to even try to tackle the complexity of their relationship. I thought about it, revisited what I wrote, and ultimately concluded that they were correct. I didn't give that scene justice, not the way Knowledge and Sweety presented it to me. I rushed home to try to make things right. Knowledge, Sweety, my apologies. Is this more to your liking? Geez, do you see how hard it is when you care about these people you create? You don't do right by them, they will come back, and you have to do what the voices say, or else. -Jennifer Singleton ("the great")

Sweety's Finale

Raymond "Papi" Carter disconnected the call with Sweety and lie in bed for a few minutes, contemplating what he should do now that she had taken him up on his offer. It was true that he and a group of wishmasters acted out peculiar requests, but this was done only in his online interactive world Terror and Pleasure Garden. His clients had avatars and paid pricey membership fees for this elaborate role play. In the beginning he assumed Sweety knew it wasn't "real," but by her questions realized she really believed he and a masked gang set to the streets to fulfill thrill seekers' fantasies. Papi wanted to clear things up, but she was so fascinated about it all that his ego wouldn't allow him to reveal the truth. Besides, the thought of actually bringing these "setups" to life had begun to excite him in ways that fantasy had ceased to do long ago. And now, after patient nudging, sweet little Sweety had finally given in.

He didn't have much time to put things into action, so many thoughts were running through his mind along with possible coconspirators. Manor Park had a small pond that would be perfect for the drowning simulation. Grand Punisher, his next door neighbor and first wishmaster would be the perfect choice. He had a preference for "thick" ladies and also enjoyed rough encounters, so he would know exactly how to handle Sweety who would assuredly be fighting with all she had. Papi rarely involved himself in the "games" between his players, he was more a moderator than anything. But as he searched his mind for the perfect choice to induce her pleasure, he could think of no other than himself. Papi wanted to be the one to experience this. Over the course of their getting to know each other, he had started to develop some type of feeling for her, he couldn't help it.

Sweety was was the most naive grown woman he'd ever encountered and seemed so much in need of love, any kind of love really. She had only one picture on her blog Loserville, Population: Me, a "shoulder up" shot, the sign of someone with fat to hide. Sweety wasn't a sexy woman...not yet anyway; it was her potential that aroused him, that appealed to that innate investigator in him to figure out the right combination to unlock the uninhibited freak beneath. Still, she seemed like the nicest woman left on earth, and though she'd undoubtedly been outcast from the dating world, carried herself like she was worth something anyway. If the circumstances were different, he wouldn't mind being that long-term shoulder that she needed.

Gus, "Grand Punisher," listened intently as Raymond described how he thought the scenario should go, choosing to wait before expressing his disbelief at the idea of bringing the game to real life. Gus, a high school buddy of Raymond, used to get off on the whole terror and pleasure thing when he became the Terror and Pleasure Garden's first wishmaster three years before. But since becoming more involved with a group of gods and earths and coming into a knowledge of self, was losing interest in playing online sex and punishment games.

When his friend was finished, Gus stood and said "I knew this would happen one day. I knew that one day you would get bored and want to raise the bar. Really think about the things you want us to do to that lady. How do you know she won't go to the police and have us arrested and charged with multiple felonies."
"I can say for a fact that she will never tell a soul; on my net worth she won't. Come on, G, just help me out this one time, I won't ask you to do it again. I just want to know what it's like. And she's down with it. It's not like she's scared about it. It'll be the most exciting thing that's ever happened to her and isn't that what we're all about?"
"If I help you out with this, Ray, I want out after it's done. Grand Punisher will be retired. Agreed?"
"Alright man, if that's what you want. But don't half ass this tonight, take it as far as you can."

After it was all over, Gus watched Papi walk the cold, shaking, and crying woman back to her car. Papi looked back at him and gave him a thumbs up followed by the peace sign. Gus understood it as "good job man" and "a deal is a deal."

******

Three days after the phone call brought the memory Raymond "Papi" Carter back in her life...

Sweety grabbed her $10 bill and keys off the counter and rushed to open the door for who she assumed was the Chinese takeout delivery guy ringing the bell. This was his fastest time yet. But her eyes meet a visitor she wasn't expecting to see. Knowledge the God, the beautiful man who had brought joy into her world then took it back when he disappeared mysteriously, stood there with eyes reddened and tired from crying or lack of sleep, or both.
"Knowlege? Hey." Even though she still cared for this man, there was something very eerie in the atmosphere, so much so that she was thankful that her burglar door was locked.
"Sweety, I...I...I'm sorry about leaving you hanging like that. Oh man, wow, I know I gotta do this but it's hard."
"What's going on?"
"I stopped calling you because I was starting to fall for you and my guilt couldn’t let me reciprocate."
"Guilt over what?"
Knowledge put his head down as he struggled with the right words. "We didn’t meet at the bookstore, we met in Manor Park. I'm the man who drug you to the pond." Knowledge’s voice cracked and he dropped his head in shame.

As strong as Sweety was trying to be on the inside, her entire body began to tremble. She began to feel dizzy and grasped the burglar door for support. Knowledge reached out to gently touch her fingers but she jerked them away.
"Are you serious?"
"It was me."
"How can this be happening? Why are you doing this to me? Are you after more kicks? Come on, after a year? How sick are you?"
"I haven’t talked to Ray since that night. I don't do that anymore, I swear."
"So when we met at the bookstore, what was that about? Were you Knowledge, or a wishmaster?"
"Knowledge. When you and I started talking, I realized who you were. I wanted to walk away, but knew that I had to repent in some kind of way by showing you the best person I could be. Then after a while I got scared. I'm not here for kicks, Sweety, I’m here because I care a lot about you."
"And you don't associate with him anymore?"
"No."
"Why, because of me?"
"Not entirely. You just change."
"Just like that? How do I know this isn't part two, or that you aren't trying to hurt me?"
"I came here to make amends for taking things too far, and then not telling you who I was before now. Forgive me for that. But if you want to treat me like I'm some monster who kidnapped an unsuspecting woman, let me remind you that you cam eon your own. I know Raymond and I'm sure he didn't ask you to meet him for a candlelit picnic. You were holding the teddy bear, which meant that you must have read the note that was attached to it. Remember the note? "If you untie me from this fence you consent to play" I wrote that, that's how I know what it says. I was trying to give you an out, which you didn't take, because I wasn't convinced you knew what the Terror and Pleasure Garden was really about."

Sweety unlocked the burglard door as the delivery guy sprinted toward them with her takeout order. He offered a pleasant greeting, but the transaction remained silent as he observed the couple's stoic expressions.

Sweety wanted to close the door and leave Knowledge standing there, she really did. But his stare was so intense and communicative that it was captivating. Here stood a man who in such a short period of time had helped her expand her knowledge of different cultures, music, and schools of thought. Brutish wishmaster turned profound poet, fellow bookworm, seeker of enlightenment, and rare soul who took direction from his heart instead of his eyes.

"Well I should go and let you enjoy your food. I just wanted to look you in the face and tell you the truth about what I did, and to tell you that I enjoyed getting to know you, but if I can’t be honest with someone, I have a hard time being in their presence. That's why I left. I came back to see if...nevermind. I hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me." With that, Knowledge turned to leave.

Sweety had to make a decision, but feared whatever she chose would only have her doubting her judgment. If she banished him, she'd wonder if he was her meant to be; an odd and less than magical first meeting, yes, but her soul mate nonetheless. And she did agree to be a player in Papi's game, request it even, right? If she forgave and agreed to continue where they left off without first putting him through hell and back, he might lose respect for her for making it too easy for him. She was very experienced with the consequences of not acting the part of the angry, neck-rolling, car-keying, out for revenge bitch, who interestingly, men claimed to despise yet found utterly irresistible. Was she insane? Who in their right mind would even be standing there pondering an option other than slamming the door?

"I went to see Rakim El perform at Dojo last week, I remember you telling me about him." Knowledge looked back with a surprised smirk.
"Wow, really. He’s phenomenal, did you enjoy it?"
"Yeh. And I even understood a little of what he was saying because of the lessons we used to talk about." Knowledge smiled like he was proud of her. There was the guy she remembered.

The adrenaline that was dispatched in apprehension earlier had now received another assignment from the control center. One that left Sweety feeling helpless as the corners of her mouth began to tilt upwards, and her system began to receive frantic messages from her senses, which had started processing the warm, earthy aroma of the homemade body oil Knowledge's skin had absorbed, the firm but gentle tone of his voice, the fact that this man was the first one to ever show up at her door of his own accord. The first who just had to see her.

"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
“So let’s eat.”
Knowledge appeared hesitant to enter her apartment.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Sweety. It’s so very nice to meet you.”
"Hi, Sweety. My given name is Gus Josephson, but I ask that you refer to me as Knowledge the God, or Knowledge."
“Would you care to come in, Knowledge? I need some help devouring my steamed vegetables and fried rice?”
"Why thank you. But, I need to know something, for real, Sweety...do you forgive me?"
"I forgive you. Come on let's eat." Sweety Fisher bit her bottom lip in appreciation as her eyes followed the former wishmaster's impressive frame.

The bizarre god who controlled her world was at it again, never satisfied with the cruelties he directed her way. Surely, the reveal of the man she had fallen for as the masked one who had held her under water should have been frightening, driving her further into depression. But strangely, Sweety welcomed this surprise. She stopped trying to make sense of her life long ago. She'd come to realize that her life would consist of bizarre opportunities to step out of her boring character, to make her fantasies reality; and that she could either choose to ride the wave and enjoy it, or run away and hide. She wanted to start riding. To indulge that insatiable appetite that Papi had correctly surmised existed inside of her.

Though she'd blocked out Papi's face and the events of that night, her body kept a back up file and remembered what it felt out there, gentle hands on her breasts, a firm grip around her neck. When Sweety attempted to relive the pleasure at her own hands, she couldn't even come close. And now, the person who could make it happen had returned, and whether he would want to or not, would have no choice but to play a new kind of game, one that would ease her nagging suffering...over and over and over again.

The End

My 3 R's: "R"ejoicing in the "R"write "R"hythm

This Sunday evening I'm rejoicing the rwrite rhythm. What does this mean? That my ears are rejoicing (i.e., eargasming) to the rhythms that are evoking my desire to write. I thank the universe for melodic sounds and for voices that carry notes with such passion that the listener feels a sincere feeling of oneness. Interestingly, this ability was supposedly something I was born with. I'm a Cancer, member of a special group of people categorized as "often emotionally intelligent and sensitive to the feelings and moods of others."

Writers, specifically those specializing in fiction, receive inspiration from just about any source you can imagine. Aside from the people that I've encountered or the people I've fantasized about encountering, music is my major energy source for writing endeavors. Which brings me to where I am right now. Right now, I'm being held captive by a cover of the Beatles' song "Yesterday," performed by someone whose name is no stranger to this blog. My lyrical soulmate Donny Hathaway. His voice has complete access to all of me. It takes over and makes me feel what he's saying. He was a gift to this earth. I was six months old when he passed away. We never crossed paths, not in this life anyway. Our lives haven't mirrored. But 30 years later, I can sit here and listen to his words and relate to their sense of urgency; longing; unrequited desire.

How is that possible? For the human condition to be so timeless. That no matter the technological advances or societal changes, emotions remain the same. And much like the scent signal that bees leave to direct those coming behind them, Donny's left music I can listen to and nearly get teary eyed to because >>we are here<<. I feel what's he's saying. Magic I suppose.

I'm feeling this, can't you tell? You should see me, sitting here swaying from side to side like I'm receiving the spirit, and all I want to do is write. After my post yesterday, I hadn't planned on posting for a minute, but I messed around and started playing Mr. Hathaway. Then started rejoicing in my rwrite rhythm. Then I got that itch that only creating words could relieve. This is what he does to me and I'm so very thankful for it. Donny's songs, not all, but the ones I particulary love, provide the water I need for the seeds of my sensual and dramatic scenes to grow. Take these two sentences:

Chris walked up to her and kissed her hand. She looked at him with love in her eyes and led him upstairs.

This isn't bad for a rough draft. Not bad at all.

But, check out how I can work this with a little help from my rwrite rhythm:

She was beautiful, everything about her. Even when she wasn't trying to be. Like now, just standing there at the kitchen sink peeling sweet potatoes. Chris rose from the couch, heart starting to race in anticipation of what he was about to do. He turned off the tv, loosened his tie, and slowly made his way into the kitchen. His wife had only a moment's warning before she was spun around and her moist hand brought to the eager lips of her insatiable husband. Her eyes beckoned him with filthy taunts as she snatched off her apron and led this incredible man upstairs.

*fanning self* Whew chile, see what I mean. Let me stop before I write something I'll regret later.

Think about what or who provides the nourishment for your characters and scenes to flourish. Give thanks that they exist. Now get to work.

Note: You know I wouldn't publish this without leaving the link to hear Donny's version of "Yesterday" for yourself.
Listen here for my private little rwrite rhythm.

Saturday Evenings's Writing Exercise (Sweety's Finale)

*I've never done a literary freestyle like this before. Each time I would start a new post, I had no idea what I was going to come up with. Somehow it became a continuing story that I refer to as Sweety's Saga. Because I started it back in July I decided to reaquaint you with the beginning, the midde, and the much toiled over 'Sweety's Finale.' I hope that it doesn't disappoint. Enjoy. If you're like me and prefer to start at the original post and pace yourself, then click here.*

Pt. 1

"There's not one man in this world who finds me attractive," Sweety mumbled as she trained with her 5lb weights in the wellness center at her job. This declaration came moments after she realized that the engorged fat cells in her belly had formed a united front of resistance against her attempts to destroy them. Annabelle, a coworker who had lost a significant portion of herself in less than 4 months, finished her ab exercises, yanked out her earphones and told Sweety she was calling it an evening. "Girl, I wish I could work out with weights, my arm strength is crap."

Sweety, always the jokester, made a pained expression and pretended to struggle to lift one of the weights to her shoulder. Annabelle shook her head in amusement and left to retrieve her things from a locker. Sweety held onto the weights long enough for her workout buddy to say a final goodbye, then dropped them to the floor in defeat.

As her sweat-drenched frame approached the staff parking garage, her stomach sent a signal that it was in need of food--but this was impossible, as two hours earlier she'd eaten a thick turkey sandwich and two bananas. That's the thing about cravings, in the absence of your mind having anything else to look forward to, those cravings are always there to offer their company. Her slow pace to the car was due in part for cooling down, but mostly in dread of having to join the aggressive rude drivers on 395 N.

To make matters worse for Sweety, it was Valentine's Day. Stubborn belly fat; no emails or calls from a former, current, or aspiring lover (the latter two didn't exist); and a bed that hadn't served a romantic purpose in two years, all conspired to make the sweaty, chubby, and now hungry publications editor feel like ending this night as soon as possible. A glass of wine and a sugary doughnut had proved to be a potent sleep aid, guaranteed to have her nearly comatose within a hour of consumption. Yes, that's what she'd do. No need in torturing herself with her nightmares of dates' past. No need to go over for the hundredth time that week alone, why she'd never heard back from Knowledge the God, a beautiful man with "knowledge of self" who had approached her in a bookstore a month earlier. Because men never made the first move, his appearance in her life was a good sign, she thought. He exposed her to an underground culture she didn't know existed in her city.

And then, he just stopped calling. Sweety left a few messages, sent some emails, even stopped by a few of the hangouts she knew he frequented. Tonight she was supposed to be with him. Tonight was the night he'd reveal some type of feeling for her, something to reignite her fantasies that she'd put away. But, as had been decided by some cruel mystical force, he had joined the many others who had just vanished. No explanation provided, no closure granted. She'd asked one disappearing act if he could please tell her what she'd done--that there would be no hard feelings and that she wouldn't even bother him after that. Given this "hassle-free" opportunity to fill a clueless Sweety in on what, if anything, she was doing to turn off every single man that crossed her path, Disappearing Act replied "um, not sure how to answer that. you're so sensitive, it doesn't matter what i say, your feelings will be still be hurt. move on, i have."

Sweety paid for her bottle of 2006 chardonnay and small box of chocolate doughnuts (they weren't sold separately) and wished the cashier a goodnight even though the teenage girl had not spoken or made any eye contact with her during the transaction. As she passed by the security guard on her way out, he said very softly "Happy Valentine's Day." Sweety smiled. He seemed like a nice guy, young though, probably not even thirty. For a moment, she contemplated inquiring if after his quitting time would he be interested in walking up the street to her home, showering, then slipping into bed beside her to hold her. His kind face told her that he'd possibly agree.

But her mind warned her that it was all an illusion. That the "yes" that would form in his mind, would change to a "no" by the time it made its way to his mouth. It was just something about her that turned men off. What else could she think? It's not like anyone had told her otherwise.
"Thank you, you too," she said quickly, hot tears preparing to erupt. "Have a good evening."

Pt. 2

The sugar and carb overload had proven ineffective as a sleep aid, much to Sweety's disappointment. She sat on her kitchen floor spinning the empty bottle of white wine, the visually soothing rotations trapping her under a light hypnosis. The basement apartment was curiously quiet this evening. There were always strange creaks occuring at night, the agitated rumblings of the previous tenant's ghost she suspected. When she moved in, the landlord, who lived upstairs, figured she had the right to know that the "other guy" had been shot to death in the apartment. He didn't realize his tenant was dead until the smell started coming up through the vents.

The ringing phone beckoned Sweety to rejoin her depression already in progress. She had a feeling of who it was, the only person who ever called this late, her cousin Jocelyn. But why would she be calling on Valentine's night? Jocelyn was a part of Atlanta's hip, in-crowd, a beautiful woman who was sought after by many well-established and connected men. She regularly called her cuz in DC to "check in," but Sweety was sure it was to brag on the fabulous life of Jocelyn Jones. Since all her ATL buddies were on the same level or higher, they wouldn't be impressed about her vacationing in Barbados with a Falcons player--but Sweety would.

Unknown caller. "Hello?" Sweety listened for her cuz's usual "Hey sweets, what's happening?" But there was only silence. She repeated the greeting and was met with a hangup. A few minutes later, the same thing. On the third time, Sweety waited a while before answering.
"Yes, hello?"
"Sweety? I'm calling because your name is in my man's phone, and you're the only contact of his I haven't heard about. How do you know Raymond?"
"Excuse me, who? I think you have the wrong number?"
"Then how did I know to ask for you by name? I didn't call for games, just to find out your affiliation with my man."

Sweety was timid by nature, considered shy by most who met her. But everybody has another side to balance out the one that the world sees. When backed into a corner, the chubby editor knew how to come out swinging, in her own little way. But this event was so peculiar, Sweety remained calm as she pondered if this was indeed her aunt playing on the phone.
"Jocelyn?"
"I'll be whoever you need me to be. Just stay the hell away from Raymond and we'll be okay."

Sweety sighed. "Ma'am, if you knew me at all, then you'd realize that you have the wrong person. I'm overweight and lonely, sexually neglected, and keep to myself most of the time. Had Raymond ever dialed this number, I would surely tell you, if only from the lingering disbelief that a man actually called me. I can't do this with you right now, I'm quite depressed and was contemplating suicide before you called. Your man is not interested in me, I assure you."

"Are you serious? I'm so sorry, ma'am, damn. I don't how Papi got your number, I don't even care at this point, 'cause I'm not trying to be the last person you spoke to. Please get some help." The caller hung up.

Sweety didn't feel any kind of way about the unusual discourse, her life seemed to be dictated by bizarre happenings like this. She threw away the wine bottle and empty box and took a few steps toward the bathroom before emitting a loud "Oh my god! I do know Raymond!" Sweety practically flew to turn on the computer, cursing at the excruciatingly long few moments it took to connect to the Internet.

A series of frantic keystrokes later she was reunited with the face of the man she'd successfully blocked out of her memory for the past year--Raymond "Papi" Carter, owner of the online community The Terror and Pleasure Garden.

Pt. 3

"Tell me what you desire most."
"Do you have all night? I desire a lot of things."
"As do I. But every list begins with one thing. That thing, or desire, is usually the most important."
Sweety held the phone to her ear the way she would have held his hand to her cheek.
"A man’s touch."
"I see," he said thoughtfully. "That's interesting. Tell me, Sweety, would you say you are suffering from skin hunger?"
"I never thought about it that way, but yes, I would say that."
"What terrifies you the most?"
"Drowning. I can’t swim and almost drowned when I was little."

Raymond, "Papi," took some time before replying. Sweety knew he was contemplating something profound, everything he said seemed like it belonged in a text book. She had discovered his blog Mind Factor two weeks earlier and was immediately intrigued at his eloquence and intelligence in his latest post in which he described the often taboo relationship between fear and eroticism. She left a comment and the link to her own blog, Loserville, Population: Me. Papi visited her blog and over the course of several days generously left detailed replies to all 75 posts. This was her fourth consecutive night of intense phone communication with him. During that short time, he had managed to coax experiences and personal admissions from Sweety that she dared only repeat to herself.

Finally he said “I know what you need. For the two extremes to collide--can you imagine what that would do to your senses? To fear your surroundings, but to squirm in pleasure beneath the hands that confine you there."
And that's when he started to tell her about a special underworld he governed, complete with clients and a collage of "wishmasters" who served those clients' needs.

The incoming laughter that pierced the silence of the ladies room prompted Sweety to flush the toilet she'd been sitting on for the past half hour. She hadn't come in there to relieve herself, only to think; but the intruder didn't know that and would expect to hear a flush after hearing someone lift themselves off of the squeaky toilet lid. Sweety took her time until the person was securely locked into a stall, then emerged, washed her hands and returned to her cubicle.

The work day was nearing its end and though her physical presence had interacted with coworkers, sat through two production meetings, responded to and initiated over twenty-five e-mails, edited a 7500 word newsletter, ate lunch, and refilled her coffee mug several times—her mind had entertained nothing but thoughts of Papi, and the phone call from his "woman." That liar. Perhaps she was a naive fool who he had charmed into believing was his one and only. If the woman knew anything about his Terror and Pleasure network, she'd know better than to fool herself. Her number was still in his phone after all this time, it made no sense. Papi surely knew hundreds of adventurous women, probably thousands. Why would he keep the contact information of an overweight bookworm who as he put it "didn't know how to let herself go"?

As coworkers passed her desk and said their goodnights and see you tomorrows, it occurred to Sweety for the first time that the "Anonymous" commenter who would leave a creepy haiku on her blog at least once a week could actually be Mr. Carter himself. She had blocked out so much that she never connected the two. She realized now that the reason she hadn't gotten over what happened wasn't because of it slipping her mind because of it insignificance. Her memory had been disrupted. The night a ski-masked Papi and one of his wishmasters made her fear and desire collide was far too frightening...and pleasurable to not have affected something. And now, the gates had been unlocked. But why?

Pt. 4

One year ago...

The night Papi decided to formally introduce himself started out the same as most of the others.

Sweety came home a little earlier than usual thanks to her supervisor being out on vacation. She ate the leftovers from her lo mein noodle lunch, took a long shower, watched a few Seinfeld episodes, pondered man's purpose on earth over two cups of Sumatra coffee, finished reading an erotic novel that due was back to the library the next day, talked on the phone with her cousin Darrylyn who was due to give birth before week's end, and finally settled into bed before realizing two things: she wasn't sleepy at all and it was only 11:45. An habitual night owl, this time of night was no different than 7 or 8pm. Her loyal companion, a high speed Internet connection, beckoned to be accessed, and so she obliged.

After an hour of the same old sites, she remembered that it had been weeks since she'd perused the Craigslist 'Missed Connections' ads. Sweety was a true romantic, and though she knew that no one would ever make a post about her, she loved to read the M4W and W4M to see if two people were looking for each other. Months before during one of these cross references, she stumbled on a guy who wrote
"Me: the white guy with orange hair wearing dorky glasses and black t-shirt that read Will Hump For Food. You: the gorgeous redhead wearing a pink top and khaki skirt who of all things you could've chosen from asked about my watch. I was an idiot for not getting your number. Will hump for food and a chance to see you again. LOL."

Sweety smiled and moved over to the women's side, where two ads down she saw
"You're probably too cool to read these things, but why not. I saw you today around 2:30 (I think) near Mama's Kitchen and loved your style. I had on a pink top and you liked my tattoo. Have you humped for food yet? (I'll know you're real if you know what this means). Anyway, I think you're hot but was too shy to ask for your number. Lame, I know."

Acting on pure excitement, she emailed the woman the link to the guy's ad, and did the same for the guy. About an hour later, she got two emails, one from each of them, thanking her profusely for butting in. She hadn't been able to create that magic again, but it wasn't from a lack of trying.

Tonight however, she had a selfish motive for reading the M4W. She had been running a lot of errands that week and was wondering if someone out there had noticed her. She had lost a few pounds and was just wondering if the change had beckoned anyone's eyes enough to pull out their laptop or Blackberry and draft something.

No one was looking for her.

But someone was obviously thinking of her, for no sooner had she shut off the computer, determined to fall asleep, she received a call from a blocked number. She knew it was Papi.
"Well hello there."
"Greetings. What has Sweety desired today?"
"Um, let's see...money, an island vacation, a shot of tequila, and maybe to see you in person."
As unpretty as she usually felt, when in the presence of a man, she knew how to flirt.
"I can do something about one of them; that is, if you've thought about what we talked about earlier."
"About my fear and desire colliding? Uh, no, I haven't thought about it. Why do you care anyway?"
"I'm in tuned to what people need. Though some might consider my ideas a bit extreme, when executed correctly, inhibitions are permanently freed. Imagine feeling free, Sweety. Imagine abandoning your frigid ways to embrace the insatiable appetite we both know lives inside you."
Sweety smiled as she fiddled with the phone cord. Raymond "Papi" Carter was a man who spoke a bit of truth.
"Think about hot and cold water--two extremes both intolerable in their own right," he continued. "But when they come together, the result is soothing. That's what I feel about your fear of water and your need to be touched. Sweety, I can see to it that you practically have an out of body experience."

Maybe it was the weeks and weeks of his coaxing, maybe it was her vulnerable state after seeing that no one had posted an ad about her, but there was definitely something that made her utter, "Suppose I was curious. What would I need to do?"
Though some of the stuff Papi talked about seemed out there and even a little creepy, she hadn't experienced this type of curiosity in a long time. The lure of it all was too much to resist. She wanted so very much to see his face.
The long period of silence prompted her to ask if he were still there.
"Yes, I'm here. I'm just waiting on you to giggle and backtrack."
"I'm serious, really. I want to know what you and these so-called wishmasters are all about. And why you're so interested in doing this for free when you said that people actually pay you a lot of money."
"Then here's what I want you to do. In one hour I want you to get dressed, get in your car, drive to Manor Park, park at the entrance gate, leave your keys in the ignition, and walk toward the white teddy bear you'll see tied to the gate."
"Then what?"
"Shhh..."

With that, he hung up. And Sweety walked to her closet to retrieve a pair of jeans.

Sweety's Finale

Raymond "Papi" Carter disconnected the call with Sweety and lie in bed for a few minutes, contemplating what he should do now that she had taken him up on his offer. It was true that he and a group of wishmasters acted out peculiar requests, but this was done only in his online interactive world Terror and Pleasure Garden. His clients had avatars and paid pricey membership fees for this elaborate role play. In the beginning he assumed Sweety knew it wasn't "real," but by her questions realized she really believed he and a masked gang set to the streets to fulfill thrill seekers' fantasies. Papi wanted to clear things up, but she was so fascinated about it all that his ego wouldn't allow him to reveal the truth. Besides, the thought of actually bringing these "setups" to life had begun to excite him in ways that fantasy had ceased to do long ago. And now, after patient nudging, sweet little Sweety had finally given in.

He didn't have much time to put things into action, so many thoughts were running through his mind along with possible coconspirators. Manor Park had a small pond that would be perfect for the drowning simulation. Grand Punisher, his next door neighbor and first wishmaster would be the perfect choice. He had a preference for "thick" ladies and also enjoyed rough encounters, so he would know exactly how to handle Sweety who would assuredly be fighting with all she had. Papi rarely involved himself in the "games" between his players, he was more a moderator than anything. But as he searched his mind for the perfect choice to induce her pleasure, he could think of no other than himself. Papi wanted to be the one to experience this. Over the course of their getting to know each other, he had started to develop some type of feeling for her, he couldn't help it.

Sweety was was the most naive grown woman he'd ever encountered and seemed so much in need of love, any kind of love really. She had only one picture on her blog Loserville, Population: Me, a "shoulder up" shot, the sign of someone with fat to hide. Sweety wasn't a sexy woman...not yet anyway; it was her potential that aroused him, that appealed to that innate investigator in him to figure out the right combination to unlock the uninhibited freak beneath. Still, she seemed like the nicest woman left on earth, and though she'd undoubtedly been outcast from the dating world, carried herself like she was worth something anyway. If the circumstances were different, he wouldn't mind being that long-term shoulder that she needed.

Gus, "Grand Punisher," listened intently as Raymond described how he thought the scenario should go, choosing to wait before expressing his disbelief at the idea of bringing the game to real life. Gus, a high school buddy of Raymond, used to get off on the whole terror and pleasure thing when he became the Terror and Pleasure Garden's first wishmaster three years before. But since becoming more involved with a group of gods and earths and coming into a knowledge of self, was losing interest in playing online sex and punishment games.

When his friend was finished, Gus stood and said "I knew this would happen one day. I knew that one day you would get bored and want to raise the bar. Really think about the things you want us to do to that lady. How do you know she won't go to the police and have us arrested and charged with multiple felonies."
"I can say for a fact that she will never tell a soul; on my net worth she won't. Come on, G, just help me out this one time, I won't ask you to do it again. I just want to know what it's like. And she's down with it. It's not like she's scared about it. It'll be the most exciting thing that's ever happened to her and isn't that what we're all about?"
"If I help you out with this, Ray, I want out after it's done. Grand Punisher will be retired. Agreed?"
"Alright man, if that's what you want. But don't half ass this tonight, take it as far as you can."

After it was all over, Gus watched Papi walk the cold, shaking, and crying woman back to her car. Papi looked back at him and gave him a thumbs up followed by the peace sign. Gus understood it as "good job man" and "a deal is a deal."

******

Three days after the phone call brought the memory Raymond "Papi" Carter back in her life...

Sweety grabbed her $10 bill and keys off the counter and rushed to open the door for who she assumed was the Chinese takeout delivery guy ringing the bell. This was his fastest time yet. But her eyes meet a visitor she wasn't expecting to see. Knowledge the God, the beautiful man who had brought joy into her world then took it back when he disappeared mysteriously, stood there with eyes reddened and tired from crying or lack of sleep, or both.
"Knowlege? Hey." Even though she still cared for this man, there was something very eerie in the atmosphere, so much so that she was thankful that her burglar door was locked.
"Sweety, I...I...I'm sorry about leaving you hanging like that. Oh man, wow, I know I gotta do this but it's hard."
"What's going on?"
"I stopped calling you because I was starting to fall for you and my guilt couldn’t let me reciprocate."
"Guilt over what?"
Knowledge put his head down as he struggled with the right words. "We didn’t meet at the bookstore, we met in Manor Park. I'm the man who drug you to the pond." Knowledge’s voice cracked and he dropped his head in shame.

As strong as Sweety was trying to be on the inside, her entire body began to tremble. She began to feel dizzy and grasped the burglar door for support. Knowledge reached out to gently touch her fingers but she jerked them away.
"Are you serious?"
"It was me."
"How can this be happening? Why are you doing this to me? Are you after more kicks? Come on, after a year? How sick are you?"
"I haven’t talked to Ray since that night. I don't do that anymore, I swear."
"So when we met at the bookstore, what was that about? Were you Knowledge, or a wishmaster?"
"Knowledge. When you and I started talking, I realized who you were. I wanted to walk away, but knew that I had to repent in some kind of way by showing you the best person I could be. Then after a while I got scared. I'm not here for kicks, Sweety, I’m here because I care a lot about you."
"And you don't associate with him anymore?"
"No."
"Why, because of me?"
"Not entirely. You just change."
"Just like that? How do I know this isn't part two, or that you aren't trying to hurt me?"
"I came here to make amends for taking things too far, and then not telling you who I was before now. Forgive me for that. But if you want to treat me like I'm some monster who kidnapped an unsuspecting woman, let me remind you that you cam eon your own. I know Raymond and I'm sure he didn't ask you to meet him for a candlelit picnic. You were holding the teddy bear, which meant that you must have read the note that was attached to it. Remember the note? "If you untie me from this fence you consent to play" I wrote that, that's how I know what it says. I was trying to give you an out, which you didn't take, because I wasn't convinced you knew what the Terror and Pleasure Garden was really about."

Sweety unlocked the burglard door as the delivery guy sprinted toward them with her takeout order. He offered a pleasant greeting, but the transaction remained silent as he observed the couple's stoic expressions.

Sweety wanted to close the door and leave Knowledge standing there, she really did. But his stare was so intense and communicative that it was captivating. Here stood a man who in such a short period of time had helped her expand her knowledge of different cultures, music, and schools of thought. Brutish wishmaster turned profound poet, fellow bookworm, seeker of enlightenment, and rare soul who took direction from his heart instead of his eyes.

"Well I should go and let you enjoy your food. I just wanted to look you in the face and tell you the truth about what I did, and to tell you that I enjoyed getting to know you, but if I can’t be honest with someone, I have a hard time being in their presence. That's why I left. I came back to see if...nevermind. I hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me." With that, Knowledge turned to leave.

Sweety had to make a decision, but feared whatever she chose would only have her doubting her judgment. If she banished him, she'd wonder if he was her meant to be; an odd and less than magical first meeting, yes, but her soul mate nonetheless. And she did agree to be a player in Papi's game, request it even, right? If she forgave and agreed to continue where they left off without first putting him through hell and back, he might lose respect for her for making it too easy for him. She was very experienced with the consequences of not acting the part of the angry, neck-rolling, car-keying, out for revenge bitch, who interestingly, men claimed to despise yet found utterly irresistible. Was she insane? Who in their right mind would even be standing there pondering an option other than slamming the door?

"I went to see Rakim El perform at Dojo last week, I remember you telling me about him." Knowledge looked back with a surprised smirk.
"Wow, really. He’s phenomenal, did you enjoy it?"
"Yeh. And I even understood a little of what he was saying because of the lessons we used to talk about." Knowledge smiled like he was proud of her. There was the guy she remembered.

The adrenaline that was dispatched in apprehension earlier had now received another assignment from the control center. One that left Sweety feeling helpless as the corners of her mouth began to tilt upwards, and her system began to receive frantic messages from her senses, which had started processing the warm, earthy aroma of the homemade body oil Knowledge's skin had absorbed, the firm but gentle tone of his voice, the fact that this man was the first one to ever show up at her door of his own accord. The first who just had to see her.

"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
“So let’s eat.”
Knowledge appeared hesitant to enter her apartment.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Sweety. It’s so very nice to meet you.”
"Hi, Sweety. My given name is Gus Josephson, but I ask that you refer to me as Knowledge the God, or Knowledge."
“Would you care to come in, Knowledge? I need some help devouring my steamed vegetables and fried rice?”
"Why thank you. But, I need to know something, for real, Sweety...do you forgive me?"
"I forgive you. Come on let's eat." Sweety Fisher bit her bottom lip in appreciation as her eyes followed the former wishmaster's impressive frame.

The bizarre god who controlled her world was at it again, never satisfied with the cruelties he directed her way. Surely, the reveal of the man she had fallen for as the masked one who had held her under water should have been frightening, driving her further into depression. But strangely, Sweety welcomed this surprise. She stopped trying to make sense of her life long ago. She'd come to realize that her life would consist of bizarre opportunities to step out of her boring character, to make her fantasies reality; and that she could either choose to ride the wave and enjoy it, or run away and hide. She wanted to start riding. To indulge that insatiable appetite that Papi had correctly surmised existed inside of her.

Though she'd blocked out Papi's face and the events of that night, her body kept a back up file and remembered what it felt out there, gentle hands on her breasts, a firm grip around her neck. When Sweety attempted to relive the pleasure at her own hands, she couldn't even come close. And now, the person who could make it happen had returned, and whether he would want to or not, would have no choice but to play a new kind of game, one that would ease her nagging suffering...over and over and over again.

The End

*And there it is folks. I started this blog to help me overcome frequent bouts of writer's block. I didn't know what I'd be posting about, but I knew that I had to keep posting, to keep writing in hopes that it would transfer over to my private efforts. Writing about Sweety has helped. And now I'll see about what I can do to advance the other people who live in word documents on my hard drive, crying out for completion just like Sweety and Papi and Grand Punisher turned Knowledge the God. Thank you for reading my little creation. Another one might come soon, but don't quote me on that. Anyway, please enjoy my other musings as they come. --Love, Jennifer*

Summer Reading: Not Every Kid Hates It

I was musing the other day about the past, like I usually do, when it occurred to me that I've read only one book this summer. I know there are a lot of folks who feel fortunate to have time to even finish their newspaper's metro section, but given what I used to accomplish not so long ago, one book should have me bowing my head in shame. And I'm wondering if I can even count this book because I didn't quite finish. It was the J. California Cooper book I wrote about in July. It is indeed a good read, but toward the end I was tired of the build-up and was ready for her to start answering some of the questions I'd formed a hundred pages back. I gave up, but I'll dive in again soon. Besides, with my new job and trying to transition to the new environment, the only things I feel like reading when I get home are my own literary creations, news stories on CNN.com, and the threads of my favorite messageboard.

Hold up, I'm such a hypocrite. I just got on Cooper about circling the globe twice in her book, and here I am in the second paragraph of my post and haven't gotten to my point either. So here it is:

In school, teachers would give us summer reading lists so we could prepare for the upcoming school year's English curriculum. The first book I remember reading for a summer break was Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene (the best young adult fiction book I've ever read). I still remember how my emotions (and hormones) were all in a frenzy over the forbidden friendship between Patty and Anton. I have so much appreciation for writers in the young adult/juvenile genre. Appealing to this group isn't easy, yet every preteen/teen-targeted book I read when I was that age absolutely enthralled me. Speaking of books I read as a youngster, the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark series by Alvin Schwartz still stands as the most thought-provoking and eerie collection of folklore I've ever read. Check them out, the stories and illustrations are appropriate for anyone who enjoys having their imagination captured.

While I would like to boast of always appreciating books and wonderful stories and all that good stuff, the summers of my earlier years are marked by a dark and embarrassing summer reading secret: I lied to get McDonald's fries and ice cream cones. I feel bad about this. Keep in mind this was years before my literary palate had become refined. My home town's public libraries offered a summer reading incentive program where students would receive coupons for free food and other cool stuff based on the number of books they read that summer. And it was all based on an honor system (i.e., they believed you and your parents would tell the truth). My mother can speak more eloquently on my shameful behavior, but I'll do my best. I would obtain a form from the library and keep it all summer long. When the time approached for kids to turn in their forms filled with the titles of all the books they had read and their guardian's signature of confirmation, I too would proudly stand in line with my form that contained such titles as Mary and the Red Hen, Julie and the Magical Ball, Ms. Clara's Birthday Surprise--all made up by an imaginative little girl named Jennifer, who also had a knack for duplicating her mother's signature.

When I would present my mother with my coupons for free fries and other treats, she would scold me for my actions and look genuinely disappointed in me. And I suspect--don't tell her I said this--she thought that after the lengths I went to and the pure fraud I'd masterminded, all for a prize of small fries, that the guilt would eat away at me. She was wrong.

The crispy and salty potatos would taste so good as we pulled away from the drive thru, the deviousness of it all serving as a cool drink to wash it all down.

Feeling at Ease: When the Body and Mind Agree

I've been working on Sweety's finale for three days now and I think the reason I'm having so much trouble is because I put too much pressure on myself. The other installments came so easily because it was random literary freestyle. But I feel like I'm forcing the ending for the sake of not letting too much time go by. For those who are anxiously awaiting, it's coming. I'm sure my fellow writers can appreciate the need to feel truly ready to unveil a creation. If something seems off, it probably is. And that's how I'm feeling right now. I want to feel at ease. Wow, it's only taken me seven lines to get to the point of this blog post.

Feeling at Ease. What is this?

For me, it's when my mind and body agree. I have written before about the tension that exists between my mind and body. Neither seems to want to do what the other wants. When my body is tired, my mind is fussing and pondering and keeping me up. When my body wants to attend a networking event, or go somewhere to socialize with peers, my mind could care less and presents strong evidence of the possibility of my being bored, wasting my time or money, or how fulfilling it would be to open up a book instead. Right now, these opponents are arguing yet again over whether Jennifer can afford to give in again to being human. My mind says no, citing past experiences that indicate Jennifer is one of those women who can't do what the others can. That she won't get the results the others seem to get. That she will still be in search of satisfaction.

My body disagrees, as usual, countering that this time would definitely be different. Yeh right, poor thing, it can't see that the mind is 100% correct. Those in the game aren't held to the same standards as Jennifer. Without even asking for it, she's placed on a pedestal by the powers that be, and in this position there are rules to follow. Rule #1: "You are a good girl and will not be viewed in any other way. So don't even try it." Rule #2: "Respect is contigent upon following rule #1. Failure to do so by requesting to be treated like any other healthy woman will result in the immediate removal of said respect."

And so the mind wins out. The concensus being that Jennifer shouldn't go outside to play with the others (even though she really wants to). She's clumsy, can't play too good anyway, and will just lose her glasses with her blind self. And then how will she find her pedestal? How dare she think it's okay to even get down from there in the first place.

In conclusion,

My mind knows what it needs, but realizes that the universe refuses to allow for it at this time. And in its withdrawal, my body looks for alternatives to relive its suffering--little sweet temporary fixes known as Jelly Bellies. $3.99 a bag at the corner Safeway.

You Were Meant For Me--Donny Hathaway

I'm relaxing at home listening to music, allowing the soothing melodies to do for my mind and soul what a soothing bath does for one's tired body. I love Donny Hathaway. One of my favorites of his is You Were Meant For Me. I just felt like sharing the lyrics and the link to hear the magic for yourself.

I'll call this an illustration of the "labor" of love on this day before Labor Day. And such is the blog post of a silly romantic with time to fantasize and dream.

"You were meant for me

No one else could come between this love, I know

Cause I'll never let you go
You and me... it seems

Never have a problem we can't overcome

Cause you'll always be the one
Never thought I'd be so happy

Loving you has made feel so fine

I can see my friends turn green with envy

Everytime I tell them, I'm so glad you're mine
You were meant for me

No one else could come between this love, I know

Cause I'll never let you go
You and me it seems... never have a problem we can't overcome

Cause you'll always be the one... yeah
Never did one thing to hurt meYou always understood my ways

If I could, I'll stay right here beside you

With your hand in mine, making love for days
You were meant for meNo one else could come between this love, I know

Cause I'll never let you go
You were meant for me"

Hear it here: http://www.actionext.com/names_d/donny_hathaway_lyrics/you_were_meant_for_me.html

You know what, I'ma give you another one 'cause I love me some Donny Hathaway. Check out another one of my faves, I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

"If I Ever Leave You...You Can Say I Told You So
And If I Ever Hurt You Baby... You Know I Hurt Myself As Well

Is That Any Way For A Man To Carry On
Do You Think I Want My Loved One Gone
Said I Love You
More Than You'll Ever Know
More Than You'll Ever Know

When I Wasn't Making Much Money
You Know Where My Paycheck Went
You Know I Brought It Home To Baby
And I Never Spent A Red Cent

Is That Any Way For A Man To Carry On
Do You Think I Want My Loved One Gone
Said I Love You
More Than You'll Ever Know
More Than You'll Ever Know

I'm Not Trying To Be
Just Any Kind Of Man
I'm Just Trying To Be Somebody
You Can Love, Trust And Understand
I Know That I Can Be
Yeaaahhhh
A Part Of You That No One Else Could See

I Just Wanna Hear Ya Say
Its Allright
Yeahhh Yeahhh

I'm Only Flesh And Blood
But I Can Be Everything That You Demand
I Can Be King Of Everythang
Or Just A Tiny Grain Of Sand

Is That Anyway For A Man To Carry On
Do You Think He Wants His Little Loved One Gone
I Love You Baby, I Love You Baby
I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

If I Ever Leave You... You Can Say I Told You So
And If I Ever Hurt You... You Know I Hurt Myself As Well

Is That Anyway For A Man To Carry On
Do You Think He Wants His Little Loved One Gone
I Tried To Tell Ya I Love You Baby, I Love You Baby
Yea I Love You Baby
I Love You More Than You'll Ever Know

I Love You
I Love You
I Love You Baby
I Told You So Many Times Before
I Love You
I Love"

Here this one here: http://www.rhapsody.com/album/a-donny-hathaway-collection/i-love-you-more-than-youll-ever-know/lyrics.html

I'm tired of doing all the work

I'm sitting here listening to music (Anthony Hamilton, Cappadonna, and Slum Village to name a few), looking over the online version of a style manual that may help me in my new job, and wondering if I should get off my bum and go for a walk, get on my exercise bike, or put in an exercise DVD. I've been involved in a lot of community service these past few months, and have kicked up my efforts to plant social and professional roots in the soil of this city that I can only describe as "quick, hurry, busy." And for the most part, all of it has been very rewarding. But I've given more than what has been replenished. I'm feeling drained, like I need to go plug myself into an outlet for an hour or two. Too bad the body and brain don't work that way. They are a complicated pair that need many things (nutrition, rest, exercise, the sun's rays, water, validations and ego boosts, noise, quiet, mental and physical stimulation) to perform at their best--to be "fully charged."

My body is tired, but my mind never wants to rest; I'm lacking something crucial to bridge this gap, but I know not what it is. What I think I need remains as elusive as world peace. The path to what I'm told I might need wasn't created for me at an early age, and now as an adult, forming it by myself is proving difficult. What I've noticed is that I try to fill my life with things that my simple mind understands as "what's probably best" to ensure my happiness, success, and well-being. But these things ultimately, and disappointingly, fail to help me bring my mind and body together again for a sense of contentment and completedness.

My questions to the great universe is why do I continue to pursue these exercises in futility, or expertly act out the definition of insanity? I wish what I needed was more clear and, most importantly, accessible and receptive to me without hindrance, barrier, or confusion.

I would like to experience a little thing known as reciprocity. Just once, it's all I ask.

And maybe for the sun to offer me the extra light I need to get to work on that path. Whatever folks say is at the end of it must surely be something special.

With all the sincerity my little heart can muster,

Jennifer

Wig On a Barbed-Wire Fence

We've all had one of those moments where we run across something that makes us say "Seriously?"
Yesterday morning I spotted a wig chilling atop a fence. I had to pause momentarily and smile. I love things like this. It was a mystery that I could muse while at work. How did it get there? Does someone know it's missing? Allow me to describe the area where this fence resides. It's located near downtown, right across from a new condo building. There's a bus stop a few feet away from where the wig rests and a liquor store and an exotic dance (strip) club sit on the next block. It's on a well-traveled street in an ethnically diverse neighborhood.
During the remainder of my day, I played out some scenarios in my mind of how this wig could have made it to the top of a fence. Below are the top two. Which one seems most plausible?

Scenario #1

A group of teenage girls, "frenemies" who live in the same apartment building, are walking down the block. As they act rowdy, laughing and cursing like they usually do, they haven't seemed to notice that one of them, let's call her 'A,' has been visibly annoyed for a while. When the topic of conversation turns to the cute boy on the 4th floor, A can take no more and decides to tell 'B' that she doesn't appreciate B "poking" her man on Facebook. B, the most temperamental member of the group feels disrespected, and strengthened by the number of her allies in relation to this one detractor, decides to throw a blow at A. Fighting ensues and moments later as A lies crying on the ground, B rejoices in defeat. Much like the legendary warriors of tales past, the winner seizes a sign of victory: the wig from her opponent's head. She twirls it in the air and yells out tribal-like gibberish before slinging it as far as her arm strength will allow. Its final resting place a few feet away: the top of a barbed-wire fence.

Scenario #2

An exotic dancer is leaving the club after a disappointing shift. After waiting around for too long for her ride to arrive, she angrily decides to walk to the train station after realizing that the last train will be pulling away in 10 minutes. Because it'll take her almost 20 minutes to walk there wearing her 5-inch stilettos she quickly takes them off and swears out loud. As she approaches the new condo building a sadness overcomes her. She wishes she lived in a nice place like that instead of her cramped studio in the worst area of the city. When she started working, she had imagined that the money would allow her to upgrade her life. But after nearly a year of pole dancing, there she was. walking barefoot along a fenced sidewalk on her way to public transportation--after only collecting $30 in tips. An SUV slows down and the male driver asks her if she needs a ride. Had she not been in such an awful mood, she would have just said "no thanks." But instead she stops and shouts "no I don't need no damn ride! I don't need nothin' that you or anyone else wants to put in my thong!" With that she snatches off her wig and slings it as far as her arm strength will allow. Its final resting place a few feet away: the top of a barbed-wire fence.


Note:Yes, I have an overactive imagination. *sigh* If only I could use my power for good.