Truly bad mad woman raving

It’s not that I was particularly looking for a man. In fact, it’s not that I was looking for a man at all. I’d had men approach me and when it came right down to it I couldn’t. Do it. The dating thing, I mean. Never mind IT. They were not my type. Did they even bother to read past the *Must wear pants* bit?

Have you ever noticed how when the man of your life dies and you’re young—or especially when you’re young—or maybe not, I don’t know. Have you ever noticed that when the man of your life dies or is gone—divorce or whatever—that everyman suddenly has his eye on you? It’s like you’re a piece of meat that’s been given new packaging. It’s not even like they wanted you or admired you particularly when your man was alive, or around. Or maybe they did, but you didn’t really know it, or notice it. But wham, just let that man die, or divorce happen. Predators coming out of the woodwork. People, well, men, who you thought were friends, getting a little too close for comfort. They look at you in a different way, as if you’re a piece of merchandise, a new item on the market. Not every man, though. Or at least, I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t like that at all. Maybe it’s not that they want to be where the good guy had been. Maybe it’s not that they wonder what you had that made the good guy want you, love you, cleave to you above all others. Maybe they want the secret of what had made the good guy happy. Or what the heck, maybe it’s just that you weren’t available and suddenly you are.

Aching behind the shoulder blade. Aching? Pain? Stiffness. In the neck. I do a head turning around. Crackling. Crackling. Bacon spitting. A remnant of the hog’s aliveness. A recessed memory of the hog that lives on in slivers of flesh sliced from its back, its hindquarters. Spitting. Evangelist spitting with fervour. Rod Stewart spitting his music into the audience, shaking sweat off his face and arms like a dog coming in out of the rain. The wet spit of someone who loves to eat the fat of pigs. The dry spit of an old man’s hoarse screams at his adult son who has committed him to a personal care home as far too many elderly are. In the antique business old is good. In the human business old is past it, passe.

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

that last paragraph was, what is the word????when you are drawn to something. pulls you in, can't stop reading. whatever the word is. I like it. I want some bacon, my neck cracks too, want to read it again.
the other part, well I guess the woman should be sort of glad men notice her.
It could be worse I would think. but maybe it doesn't matter if men notice her so then she could be pissed about it I suppose, like the what the heck are looking at anyway. get lost buddy kind of thing.

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

Thanks for commenting, Jenni. I like the last part as well. The rest, well, I must have been thinking about something a friend had told me recently, that just after she and her husband separated, her husband's brother, who she thought was a good friend, practically raped her. She had to fight him off tooth and nail (or whatever the saying is). It was pretty awful for her.

I like bacon too. I love the smell of it frying…

Ruth

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

This is such a fantastic example of what can happen in the writing process.. just writing.. you just never know what will come up, and if you are willing to let it come up as you did here, Ruth, wow.

I like it all, but Jenni's right there is something about that last paragraph that is truly extraordinary. I could read pages of that and I want to, I want to see where that energy takes me.

It feels like three different pieces in a way, but not. The character of the voice seems to focus more with each paragraph, getting down to something in a non-logical way. I feel like I've been dropped by large chunks into a very very interesting cave. Three levels here.. each one actually leading to the other although it's not that clear how or why, but I'm willing to go there, I'll go as deep as it takes.

S.

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

Thanks, Sandra. Hmm, I think you're right—even the last paragraph is connected at some level to the first two. I hadn't seen that, I thought I essentially had three different pieces, maybe two.

I like it all, but Jenni's right there is something about that last paragraph that is truly extraordinary. I could read pages of that and I want to, I want to see where that energy takes me.

I find myself actually very interested in writing like that. I've seen you do it, and when I've tried it, it always seems contrived somehow. I guess that's because I'm trying to achieve a certain effect. In this case I wasn't trying. And voila, it worked. But it didn't come right off the top of the writing session.

The character of the voice seems to focus more with each paragraph, getting down to something in a non-logical way.

So I'm seeing in my own writing the different levels of diving. The first, quite a shallow dive—just a way of getting into it, teasing at the words, any words, to show themselves. In a way, holding the blank piece of paper as a carrot that will draw the words out one by one.

Then pretty quickly, going on to the next level, which is still shallow, a mind dive, in a way, clearing out what's sitting there, like writing morning pages clears the clutter to enable us to better access the place where creativity lives. I spent some time here.

The third level is almost a surprise coming up. It is so obviously not a mind dive, although I recognize some stuff there (from my mind). But it feels in a way like playing a lightning fast game of word association, too fast for the mind to get involved. I mean, I feel that way now, I wasn't aware of it while writing.

So I'm getting that sometimes it takes a shallower dive to get the impetus for the deepest dives. For me, anyway.

Ruth

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

It's great to read your response, Ruth. I like this subject!

So I'm getting that sometimes it takes a shallower dive to get the impetus for the deepest dives.

This is often the case for me too, actually. When I'm in a writing retreat I can sometimes 'go deep' right off the bat, but I think that has to do with the focused, meditative environment and shared intention which happens in such groups.

I'm also musing that perhaps there is another place where the writing comes from: another kind of 'mind uninvolved' place, a place where perhaps 'witness' is involved so the writing comes slower, and I am not mentally engaged in a particular way but it isn't the lightening fast experience either. Not sure I can describe this right now, jet lag is catching up on me!

S.

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

Wow! That was an extraordinary ride, seeing and feeling from another pair of shoes, to being prey and seeing 'predators coming out of the woodwork' along with 'being a piece of meat that's been given new packaging' is quite intense from this point of view. Nice choice of words and very insightful. I find this very illuminating and would like to see a continuation of this………

Re: Truly bad mad woman raving

Thanks for commenting, Will. I hadn't planned to really, but I'm thinking that one of these days I just may dive more deeply into that part of the story. Thanks for the encouragement.

Ruth