Novel Idea, Day 4

So here it is, Friday of week one, and it's been a great few days of writing.  I guess that must mean it's time to handle one of those tough ones I've talked about.  Why are they on the list of prompts?  Something I have come to understand in my own writing is that it's SUPER-important to understand how all of your characters THINK.  Understanding this helps provide a consistency with their actions, and enables you to create their arc throughout the tale, no matter its length.  If you're male, this means you have GOT to understand what it's like to write as a woman, for example, and vice versa.  That brings me to today's theme!!

Theme: Write as the opposite gender, difficulty: first-person point of view.

Thoughts:  What do I know about being a woman?  I know what things like "fat days" feel like, but I know those as a man experiences them.  The fact is that I can liken any experience I want to being female, except that - well, it's always filtered through the gender bias of being male.  I know some folks going through gender re-assignment, what must life be like for them, to be looked at as one gender but somehow feel like you should be the other?  I had an English class in high school where the teacher challenged us to look at ourselves from the opposite gender point of view.  I remember that.  OK, this will be an interesting ride.  I have some ideas.  From the first-person ought to be interesting.  Wow.  Tougher than I thought.

     I woke up early, my head pounding and my stomach knotted up so much I thought I would vomit.  It actually sounded like a good idea, so I went to the bathroom, still undecided, but I needed to pee.  The seat was cold.  I sat there shivering in the cold morning, trying to replay everything that happened the previous night.  At least I woke up in my own bed, and all alone.

     That’s what I get for being the only one of the girls who would rather be single.  I get to be the wing-woman and the responsible one.  It’s like being the therapist in a room full of mental patients when they get together, and I NEVER get to have any fun.  I even have to keep them sober when it’s my birthday, if only because I don’t want to be woken the next morning because Samantha ended up in a strange hotel downtown and can’t find her purse, or Charlie brought home some stud or other. 

     Don’t get me wrong.  I love my friends, and will drop anything for them, and I know they would do the same thing for me.  Hell, they would even kill for me if I asked them to.  The problem is they would then turn the next three months into an extended edition of “Thelma and Louise,” and they would think this is a good idea, particularly if it involved killing a man.  I worry about them.  Constantly.  Maybe it’s because I’m the smart one, or the one who developed later, so I totally missed the pre-teen infatuation with everything “boy.”  I don’t know, but every time they want to get together, there I am, making sure one of them doesn’t drink red wine, and other just doesn’t drink too much and go home with some random serial killer.  Just like last night.

     I cleaned up and went to make my coffee.  WHY is it so damned cold in the house?  It’s JUNE, and I am freezing.  I need my sweats.  Or a blanket.  And a puppy.  A book would be nice.  On the shore.  With no one else around.  An island, maybe.  Yes, that’s what I want.  I want an island.  And once a month, a cabana boy.  A girl has needs, and I would need someone to clean.  I just want to watch it happen, nothing more.  He can bring the groceries from the mainland, too.  Crap, I need to play the lottery to make this happen.

     Thank God for coffee.  I love the way it feels on my hands when I hold the cup, getting warmed by it.  It’s always too hot when it comes from the pot, so I get a few minutes to just absorb that heat.  I love the way it radiates through me, sending that tingle through my body the way being kissed just the right way does.  Oh, I’ve been there.  There’s nothing like the right kiss by a man, with just the right amount of stubble that scratches just enough but not too much.  There’s also nothing like the wrong kiss.  I’ve had way too many of those kinds of kisses before I found that right one.  It still sends that shiver through me.  Coffee feels like that, too.  Wine feels like that when it’s going down, sometimes, but too much wine makes me feel like I do this morning, with my head pounding and my knotted stomach, and WHY IS IT SO COLD?

     Crap, that’s my phone.  A text.  Wait just a moment before running to it.  Listen to see if there’s another one first.  If this is one of those morning texts where there’s a whole string of them before I can answer the first one, I’ll be glad I waited.  No.  Just the one.  Good. 

     “Are you ok?!”

     How much did I have?  Why is Charlie sending this?  She was way more wasted than I was!       “Seriously, are you ok?”

     What the hell?  “Yes, just waking up.  Had a little too much wine last night.”

     “You went out last night, too?”

     “Ummm…you were there.  Friday night with the girls and wine?”

     “Oh shit – you must have been further gone than we thought!”

     “What do you mean?”

     “Jamie – it’s Sunday morning.  What happened to you?”

OK, be gentle.  I've never done this from the first-person before.  Yup, it's kinda of a nightmare situation, on the whole, and maybe I am being stereotypically "male" on this.  Frankly, I'm not sure I can tell the difference.  It was a fun exercise, though!!!!

Thanks for reading,

Me