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YOU ARE THE REASON
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I love you
subj. v. obj.
I want to be loved by you saying, “I love you”
how can I be loved when I have to become you, the object
I also want to be capitalized—You who also loves I, who also loves You when saying, “I love You”
i used to eat fear
i collected scary stories and stuffed them into my pocket
crouching, hovering over ants watching them trail along the sidewalk
snacking on the crumbs of the one story about a girl with split lips or the one about a haunted classroom
dancing from desk to desk a haze from chalk dust in the air i begged my friends for another story
then fear ate me
unfamiliar desks and a new language
climbing inwards and only ESL vocabulary flash cards to break my silence
i am haunted by the American horror stories
my intestines folding into itself wound-up tight and stuck— clockwork gears i can’t move
there are nightmares in daylight
fear swallows me whole
to ghosts
1. We were in third grade and in the rainbow-colored room at church. I was too shy to make friends, so my mom forcefully introduced me to you. You wore those white framed glasses, and whenever I tell this story, you always tell me to never remind you of them.
2. I learned what a broken home is from you.
3. You sobbed on the phone, slobbering words about Dumbledore dying in The Half Blood Prince. I always teased you for crying so much over sappy, mushy scenes and characters, but I was really amazed that you didn’t sob on the phone about your father’s other family.
4. Do labels have any significance? You called me your best friend, and I called you mine. But sometimes, I was scared I wouldn’t live up to it.
5. Senior year in high school, and I was on a run. It was 2AM in the morning, and you silently listened to my huffing and puffing, like I was the wolf trying to blow down straw houses. I ran because I was afraid of numbers defining me, because rejection letters meant I wasn’t good enough for all those four years, because I was disappointed and I didn’t know at whom.
6. We were in the parking lot in front of your house. Not knowing what to say, I awkwardly blurted out, “See you later.” And you left with your backpack and closet and dorm room sized furniture.
7. Did time erode us? Or is it the elements that keep chipping away at the Grand Canyon? I didn’t realize that our “Let’s keep in touch” were ghosts—they haunt me when I remember you, when I talk to friends at school, when I forget to text someone back.
8.
Yann Martel once said in his novel that closures are important. I for one wished he’d explain to me how to say good-bye.
I’ll be watching you

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I hunger to commit the act of touch.
Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (via themotherofrevelation)
Actually
The question I get the most is how I write characters that feel like real people.
Generally when I’m designing a human being, I deconstruct them into 7 major categories:
1. Primary Drive 2. Fear: Major and Secondary 3. Physical Desires 4. Style of self expression 5. How they express affection 6. What controls them (what they are weak for) 7. What part of them will change.
1. Primary Drive: This is generally related to the plot. What are their plot related goals? How are they pulling the plot forward? how do they make decisions? What do they think they’re doing and how do they justify doing it. 2. Fear: First, what is their deep fear? Abandonment? being consumed by power? etc. Second: tiny fears. Spiders. someone licking their neck. Small things that bother them. At least 4. 3. Physical desires. How they feel about touch. What is their perceived sexual/romantic orientation. Do their physical desires match up with their psychological desires.
4. Style of self expression: How they talk. Are they shy? Do they like to joke around and if so, how? Are they anxious or confident internally and how do they express that externally. What do words mean to them? More or less than actions? Does their socioeconomic background affect the way they present themselves socially? 5. How they express affection: Do they express affection through actions or words. Is expressing affection easy for them or not. How quickly do they open up to someone they like. Does their affection match up with their physical desires. how does the way they show their friends that they love them differ from how they show a potential love interest that they love them. is affection something they struggle with?
6. What controls them (what they are weak for): what are they almost entirely helpless against. What is something that influences them regardless of their own moral code. What– if driven to the end of the wire— would they reject sacrificing. What/who would they cut off their own finger for. What would they kill for, if pushed. What makes them want to curl up and never go outside again from pain. What makes them sink to their knees from weakness or relief. What would make them weep tears of joy regardless where they were and who they were in front of.
7. WHAT PART OF THEM WILL CHANGE: people develop over time. At least two of the above six categories will be altered by the storyline–either to an extreme or whittled down to nothing. When a person experiences trauma, their primary fear may change, or how they express affection may change, etc. By the time your book is over, they should have developed. And its important to decide which parts of them will be the ones that slowly get altered so you can work on monitoring it as you write. making it congruent with the plot instead of just a reaction to the plot.
That’s it.
But most of all, you have to treat this like you’re developing a human being. Not a “character” a living breathing person. When you talk, you use their voice. If you want them to say something and it doesn’t seem like (based on the seven characteristics above) that they would say it, what would they say instead?
If they must do something that’s forced by the plot, that they wouldn’t do based on their seven options, they can still do the thing, but how would they feel internally about doing it?
How do their seven characteristics meet/ meld with someone else’s seven and how will they change each other?
Once you can come up with all the answers to all of these questions, you begin to know your character like you’d know one of your friends. When you can place them in any AU and know how they would react.
They start to breathe.
y is it so hard to figure out your own motives and your own thoughts
hoping he wouldn't mind the fact that she was not prepared; that tough she could remember desire, she had forgotten how it worked; the clutch and helplessness that resided in the hands; how blindness was altered so that what leapt to the eye were places to lie down, and all else was interference.
Toni Morrison, Beloved
standing at the edge, looking over the Grand Canyon, i watched the silence below, the cracks and crevices from centuries of being washed away, slowly carving out bits and chunks of it, eating the canyon away and still the canyon stood resilient and silent; i wonder if the canyon ever resented the wear of time

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that moment when we were all sitting in the back of the truck, parked next to the garages at midnight the music trickling from my phone and us mumbling and singing along the moon is just above our heads, night sky is steeped dark violet
we felt invincible, filling up the empty neighborhood with our laughter so sure that nothing can interrupt our purely mundane bliss
for the boy who defies metaphors
do you remember?
in the glass walled library, you and i sat i was reading Hamlet and trying to understand what it means to be “is” and not “seems” you were multiplying binary numbers and simulating processors
you and i are a dichotomy and yet
you and i have become we
when you talk about your chess AI projects and when i tell you about the theme of conformity in 1984
we are us with our differences
even Homer saw heroes in the skies— filling in the empty spaces between the stars to weave unto them Perseus’ heroism stitching and spinning and etching in stories and constellations trying to forge significance from nothingness while i listen to Them say, “believe” but never explain how
we were driving on the ramp for the 57 N and my mom said to me, “Korea doesn’t have skies like Southern California does” and right in front of us was a car front window filled with the spotless blue sky not one building in the way, just racing up the ramp until we could only see the sky
living in a foreign country, raising her two daughters, separated from the culture she grew up in, “You must miss it, mom”
“But Korea doesn’t have skies like Southern California does.”
happy new years everyone

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William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
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PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE