I’ve always known … but have mostly quieted the voice that tells me so… that I will eventually be a published author. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll write – but I know that one day I will write something spectacular. It will be read by many and if I’m lucky a few will even identify with it. I like books that are written from one of the character’s perspective. I like hearing how the person talks – and seeing how others react to the main character. I like the dialogue – and novels written in that type of a voice always strike me as so much more …connected and real, somehow. I tend to like movies that are written like that, too. The narrator is always a person in the story. Even though it might be easy for the narrator to know all – she/he doesn’t. They only know more of what they are doing – what is going on inside of their head – and that has always intrigued me, too. There’s always 2 sets of dialogues going on at the same time in all of us, right? That inside more truthful and vulnerable dialogue – and then there are the words that you really aren’t afraid to mutter out loud. The PC dialogue. The relationship between the two – the similarities and the differences – and how they are able to exist inside the same person and both be “true” has always intrigued me.

Perhaps my heroine in my story will be like that, too. Maybe all the things that she thinks will be ungodly funny – but when she speaks she’ll do so with a depressed tone – a quieted voice – a resigned voice that has somewhat accepted her “fate”. I find contrasts like that – erotic.

I thought about this at my geography class. I know that in the beginning of any class, the teacher is suppose to kinda break the ice by having us introduce ourselves to the other kids in class – but not before they step up to the podium of 10 seconds of fame – and put in their two cents about themselves. My geography teacher did this with much umph. She said what her name was – explaining that she was recently married – and made a sound like … I don’t know what. Like a celebratory kinda cheer. She could have done a back flip and then a standing jump or whatever for all the enthusiasm she tried to “hide” inside. She was really excited. I started to wonder if this was her first marriage and looked at her like – um… was it a close call with “Old Maid”-um or what? She looked to be about … I don’t know … 50 something. She wore these jeans that were super tight, though … not to accent her figure at all – but more like just bad fashion sense. But then – what do I know about fashion? Not a whole heck of a lot. I’d prefer to be in a great pair of sweats with my hair tied back and a nice tank top or tee. Bare foot. She had on sandles – and I’m pretty sure she was wearing socks with them. She stood at the podium and talked about her kids, though – and how many she had and where they were. Divorced? One of her children had moved to New Zealand. I couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to be so far away from what seemed like a pretty cool Mom. My teacher kept on making these animated kinds of faces – the kinds of faces that on a child look cute and entertaining but on adults just look forced and unnatural. I was immediately embarrassed for her. I hate feeling embarrassed for people that have no idea how embarrassing their actions are. I started to – at that moment – write for her. I wrote her dialogue that was coming out of her mouth one minute – and then in another split instant – I wrote what she was thinking, then in another what I was thinking she was thinking.
Like this:

Her dialogue: “So – I found myself with my kids and really wanted to do something else with my life. I thought – why not go to school!”
She thinks: “I know that alot of the kids here are a lot younger than I am – but I only know this one speech, damn it. Make it work… make it work…”
I think she’s thinking: “Shit – why the hell am I teaching Geography – I would so prefer to be teaching Sex Ed or something. Instead I’m sitting here talking about rocks when I’d prefer to talk about getting your rocks off!”

Her dialogue: “So I took a class – and I stumbled upon Geography – and I really liked it!!! (bright big smile inserted here). I took a few more classes and my professor told me – Hey… why not MAJOR in Geography. And I told him NO WAY – I’m not smart enough! He said … well – what are all these A’s???!!!”
she thinks: “Geography is so damn interesting – I know that I can express just how interesting it is to these kids. I hope they caught that part about how brilliant I am – and how I got all A’s!”
I think she’s thinking: “Am I connecting with these kids at all? They look like Geography is the last thing on their minds – and did that kid in the last row just pick his nose and eat it. I’m going to vomit!”

I realize that I write like this often… sometimes – as insane as this probably sounds – I do this to myself, too. I try to remember what I think and what I actually say – and I try to determine and then later remember if the two are related (even somewhat) to one another. Maybe I’m trying to, for the sake of my own sanity, determine if these two voices can be contained with in the same … I don’t know the right word/idea for it – PSYCHE? perhaps? I’m not sure if this is a sign of craziness – or brilliance. I’d like to think brilliance. But then I remember that alot of insane people think they are brilliant and they are just plain nuts.

But yeah – I’d like to write.

I don’t say it often. But I’ve always known it. Always. I’ve always written things like I mentioned before. Started when I was little with some neighborhood girls and my best friend, and continues here – on line – and in my journals that I collect and then eventually abandon when a prettier journal comes along. I taught myself to type – really fast – so I could keep up with my brain that seems to be on speed lately – jumping from one topic to the next like mighty mouse on crack. I’ve kinda played around with writing erotic for the time being – but … truthfully – unless it’s something that comes out of my head naturally – writing erotic can just seem so – typical, really. Doesn’t it? I’m not sure I’m witty enough to write for an advertising agency – and besides – I think the pressure of coming up with something witty is close to the pressure I feel writing something on an online diary read by a few die hard fans of CeCe. I don’t think I could handle that pressure. Maybe a novel or two or three. Maybe a television sitcom – if I could just give an idea to someone and collaborate I might be able to withstand the pressures/rejection. Maybe I could write a screenplay – or a play – or a one woman show.

I would just like to be published. To be heard. To have a diary page that could go on for hundreds of pages if I wanted it to.

Wow. A big smile just came on my face.
She says: “I would like to tell some stories”.
She thinks: “I would LOVE to tell some stories!”