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We are BACK for the FINALLLL BODY BACK update! This book has haunted me since February and it's time to finally stop talking about it (lying)! Harrison wrestles with sonhood, contemplates shame, breaks a heart, & more!
Update under the cut!
Logline:Ā Unwilling to confront reality, Harrison--at what may be the expense of Jeremiah--arrives at a house party where he unexpectedly examines his relationship with his estranged father.
Update 1Ā |Ā Update 2Ā |Ā Update 3 | Update 4
BODY BACK taglist (since this is the last update this list will no longer be used!)
The phrase "Harry's son" originally appeared in the first draft of the chapter 2 bathroom scene. In that draft, Harrison told his mother, "Harry's son? I'm nobody's son," THOUGH I eventually revised it so this became internal narrative instead after a critique I agreed with.
The meaning of the name Harrison is quite literally "son of Harry" and I was intrigued by what Harrison thinks of that, considering his strained relationship with his dad. While his father's name is not literally Harry, I was interested by what it meant for him to be named, in a sense, after his own sonhood.
During my chapter 2 revision, I removed the āHarry's son" dialogue, however there was something deeply vulnerable about Harrison admitting he felt disconnected from sonhood to me, and I wanted to emphasize that more in the draft. That's how I settled on naming the final chapter!
Theme informs plot
Thematically this chapter explores sonhood and naturally, fatherhood. The relationship between father and son wasn't a theme I'd explored previously in BB, but the chapter title of course warranted that exploration.
It was therefore most natural to start with a flashback between Harrison and his father (who is no longer in his life), and I LOVED seeing how this single theme alone informed the rest of the plot. We get to see how sonhood informs how Harrison interacts with himself, particularly in his relationship with intimacy (in adolescence and now also in his 20s RIPPP JEREMIAH).
The writing process
I lowkey struggledddd with this chapter, which is strange because it turned out pretty much exactly the way I wanted it to! Endings are always weird for me, no matter how clear of an idea I have for them. I had to edit and tweak MANY scenes in order for them to feel whole, and I didn't think I liked this chapter until I gave it a long, long rest.
The plot
CW: abuse, drug use, bullying, assault, homophobia, trauma
Harry's son starts in flashback, but the timeline is technically shortly after the end of No Christ!
Scene A:
In a teenage flashback, Harrison recalls his last memory of his father.
Scene B:
In the fictive present, Harrison lies next to a sleeping Jeremiah. Angry at himself, he plans on leaving but on his way out steals Jeremiah's magic mushrooms (which he takes lol bruh).
Scene Ca:
Tripping, Harrison ends up at a house party in need of release. He meets a man he instantly clicks with but who rejects him upon recognizing Harrison's frenzied state. Offended, Harrison and the man argue and the experience is oddly paternalistic.
Scene Cb:
Startled by what the man has said, Harrison recalls an early relationship he had with a boy named Valentine. Breaking out of the flashback, the man asks Harrison about shame to which he runs away (lol so real).
Scene D:
Frantically looking for a way out of the party, Harrison ends up in a bathroom where he runs into a man he quickly realizes is his own reflection.
Scene E:
On the lawn outside, Jeremiah wakes a dazed Harrison up. Biyu who is with him convinces him to leave and he eventually does (aka Haremiah breakup!!).
Scene F:
Sober and alone the next day, Harrison, with nowhere else to go, heads to a church.
Excerpts:
The full first scene! Also his childhood home being a bungalow makes no sense but like <3 I love that word <3 CW: implications of physical abuse.
The last memory Harrison has of his father is blurry, a moment shaken like a snow globe. He couldāve been nine. He couldāve been fifteen. But heās sitting on the curb of his childhood homeāa mid-century bungalow on the corner lot. His nose is bleeding. Heās not sure why. If he walked into a wall. If he asked for orange juice the wrong way.
Sun glazes the neighbourhood and heās there, legs outstretched on the resealed driveway, holding a palm to his upper lip. His dad mows the sparse grass behind him, but itās been so long that he canāt see his face, or maybe itās too vague to process as he weaves between the lawnās birch trees. A neighbour blasts the radio up the roadāMariah, maybe Oasis.
His father waves at a passing woman. Her hair is redder than Suzās, her crowās feet sharper, like knives. She delivers the neighbourhoodās papers. Sandra? Kristen? She lives three houses up, gives out full-sized Kit-Kats on Halloween. Nice weather, she might sayāall he remembers is her smile. Every single tooth visible and narrow like rosary beads.
Blood drips into his mouth. Heās not sure where to find tissues. He should get up now. Wash his hands. Run north. Find his mother.
His father turns off the mower and leans on the handle. Want to come inside for lemonade? he might ask, fingering his shirt collar, the line from his wedding band long tanned over.
Whether the woman says yes or no doesnāt matter. The moment she rounds the sidewalk, she spots Harrison and is so startled she clutches her chest and breathless, asks, āIs that a ghost?ā
Harrison analyzes Jeremiah in the dark:
Harrison listens to Jeremiahās heartbeat. In the moonās silken light, he traces his chest, fingers absorbing each thud, thud, thud. Asleep, his breaths are lighter than usual and it dawns on Harrison that heās aware of this differenceāhow he inhales when awake, how he inhales when he laughs, how he inhales on Mondays before an early shift at Greta, how he inhales when heās winning at Scrabble, how he inhales when heās losing at Scrabble, how he inhales when heās on a karaoke stage, how he inhales the moment he walks off, how he inhales before saying grace, how he inhales when kissed.
Harrison considers his own vulnerability (CW: descriptions of a dead animal):
When he was younger, he and Suzanna watched a nature documentary about hyenas. A group of cubs feasted on the head of a giraffe, left its body hollow. Heās not sure why he thinks of it now. Perhaps the look in his eye. Something dead, or perhaps startled. He leans forward, grips his jaw until heās wincing. Jeremiah just touched him here, kiss satiny, elegant. He hadnāt commented on the bruise around Harrisonās throat except to blow on it like a mother might blow on a busted knee and say, almost inaudibly, āIām so sorry this happened to you.ā
Harrison hadnāt considered that anything had happened to him. He happens to other people. Heās not that oblivious. But still. He wasnāt sure what motivated Jeremiah to kiss his eyelids, tell him he was angelic, a beautiful boy. He couldnāt tell if he deserved that grace. Why heād ended up next to a man so willing to soothe his faults he forgot to guard his own. Harrison held him like he was an hourglass losing and gaining sand simultaneously.
Jeremiah tries to comfort Harrison because he's actually a really nice person:
Harrison cried when Jeremiah kissed the gash on his forehead, told him he was safe here. What had he done to warrant protection? Jeremiah kissed his stomach and said he was warm, worthy. Jeremiah twirled one of his curls and said he had a good heartāstrong, covered with daisies. That was what, a few hours ago? How fast can goodness wear off in a man? In the dim mirror, Harrison should see that person Jeremiah describedāworthy like a knight to valour, romantic as a damask rose. But heās just someoneās son, a copy-and-pasted scattering of his motherās nose, his fatherās eyes.
Harrison thinks about identity and a future with Lonan:
The last time he knew who he was, heād been wrestling with Lonan in a tent, his smile so wide it hurt. Heād been so sure of everything back thenāhe would drive Lonan from Oregon back to Boston, or Brooklyn, or wherever he wanted to go. Theyād rent a brownstone in Sunset Park, spend half of move-in day making out in a scarred bathroom. Screen Langās Die Nibelungen on a projector in the kitchen. Adopt a cat. Buy each other the same socks year after year for Christmas. But Lonanās not here, disappeared in some inaccessible plane. And if that is true, then Harrison must also be gone.
Harrison robs Jeremiah (the last line is on the BB dust jacket! - CW: drug mention):
He stoops to Jeremiahās jacket at the foot of the bedāterra cotta suede. He pockets a loose nickel and a strip of gum, then yanks out his wallet from the breast pocket. He tells himself heās going through it only for that baggie of Tylenol Jeremiah had pulled out at the restaurant. Even when his fingers brush up against twenties, fifties, heās committed only to the painkillers. But the instant he touches something elseāa different baggie bulging with mushrooms, thereās no doubt heās going to break that promise. What other choice does he have? Heās just a man after all, and who sins better?
In Harrison's head, this is the Haremiah breakup:
In the dark motel room, Harrison looks up at Jeremiah. Heās a good guy. A good friend. Looks even younger when asleep and even less aware.
āI love you,ā Harrison whispers to the still air. He doesnāt even mean it. āI love you.ā
One day, he hopes heās nothing but a story Jeremiah tells. Someone to laugh at over mimosas, to curse while knee-to-knee with an improved lover. Jeremiah, this world doesnāt know what it has. Jeremiah, hold yourself dearly. Jeremiah, Iām not coming back. Jeremiah, forgive me when youāre older.
Harrison again thinks about Jesus... fondly lol:
The houseās walls whorl like a spinning top. Suzanna bought him one of those when he was a kid, wooden, painted rainbow. He should call her. Find a phone in someoneās throat. Beg to go to voicemail, to be picked up, to be kicked out of her place where he can rot on the side of the road. He passes a room with two couches stacked on top of each other, or perhaps those are just people, mewing against bare skin like cats. His jaw is slack, hungry for somethingāJesus? Or any other man?
Harrison seeks vengeance against his father and also thinks about Lonan again:
He needs to find his father right now. He couldnāt have gone farāperhaps heās still in that suburban fever dream, mowing the lawn. Harrison could find out. Once, he was so motivated to drive a man back east with much less than eight hours of sleep and he could do the same for himself now. He needs to crouch in a musty closet. Pray to a god he doesnāt believe in. Kill his father with his bare hands.
Harrison bumps into "the man" and needs to chill! Also the "one man show" dialogue is parroted from Perry in chapter 3:
Maybe they kiss on their way to the kitchen. Maybe Harrison bites the manās jewelry off with his teeth, chews, swallows. Heās starving. Why does it matter? The air is florid and gelatinousālike walking through a vat of womenās body wash.
On the kitchen counter, Harrison finds a cyan punch bowl. He loads up another glass as the man watches him, downs one, then another. Under a bar light, the man is easier to seeābrown-skinned, hazel-eyed, the stud on his upper lip shaped like a star. He could be beautiful. He could be the kind of man Harrison wouldāve drooled over as a teenager. Older. Harder. Wiser.
āYouāre like a one man show,ā Harrison says, then yanks him closer by the elbow. Maybe heās hiding God in his mouth.
Harrison being embarrassing in narrative:
Harrison swipes at his lips, breathless. āWhat are you doing?ā His eyes feel like the centre of an optical illusion, eternal even if you know exactly where the end is.
āHow old are you?ā asks the man. His stare is resinous. Unyielding.
Harrison pushes forward, but the man is too strong. He feels like a child when he tries again to no avail, his body thin, useless, and even younger when the best thing he can think to say is, āGuess.ā
āLook,ā the man says, already turning his back. āDoes someone know youāre here? A friend or something?ā
14-year-old Harrison flashback when his father disappears for a couple days ft. Valentine!! (CW: self-harm mention):
It was June, the air so humid it was like walking through a spiderās web. The most Harrison could do to entertain himself was read the same copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer his father kept on the dining room table. Heād tried solving the 1000-piece puzzle of Big Ben that Suz had bought his father years before but gave up before he even finished the frame. By Tuesday, he was so bored he considered slitting his own palms to at least keep himself busy for a few hours while staunching the bleeding.
He went on a walk instead. A five-dollar bill heād pocketed a year before from his dadās wallet crinkled in his pocket. It doesnāt matter where he was trying to go or what he meant to findāif he meant to find anything. Who he ran into was Valentine, a scrawny, towheaded boy whoād had a growth spurt that year and frequently smelled of bleach. They were in the same grade. Hadnāt ever said hello to each other.
Valentine stood at the intersection near the high school, probably on his way to the convenience store for a packet of Cry Babies. He wore a red fleece vestātoo hot for the weather. His chin was pocked with acne scars. One moment, Harrison was staring, shielding his eyes from the sun, and the next, he and Valentine were crouched against a dumpster, their mouths hot and wet like a winter glove chucked into the dryer and taken out too early.
Things take a saddddd turn w/ Valentine (mini ramble here to say I'd never thought much of Harrison's EARLY experiences w/ his sexuality/the joys and difficulties he encountered in his explorations and this section of the chapter almost killed me lol THIS MAN NEEDS LOVE):
It didnāt seem possible, then, how Harrison had invited Valentine back to his house, both aware his father had been gone that day and the day before and the day before, both sweaty, doe-eyed, panting, young. How they shouldāve walked past Gingerbread House in Bay Ridge on the long way home, chatted about who they were backing in the ā98 NBA Finals. How Harrison knew there was a half-eaten packet of Schneiderās hot dogs in the fridge he could doctor into something more substantial with a single frozen TV dinner. How as they approached his house, he didnāt even need to see his fatherās pickup to know he was there. From twenty feet away, he heard the radioāthe Sean Hannity Show.
He shouldāve run. Everything buzzed inside him to, and he couldāve, scooped Valentineās hand within his own and sprinted down the sweltering sidewalk until the sun went down. They couldāve gone anywhere, hitchhiked all the way to east Indiana, or west Texas. They couldāve spent the rest of their teenage years eyelash to eyelash, sour mouthed and in love on Sunday mornings.
CW: Physical abuse - Baby Harrison contemplates faith (sooo interesting considering he was raised an atheist):
Days later, when Harrison lay on his bed with a bag of frozen peas on his eyes, heād considered the possibility of divine intervention. A god had tipped his father off. A ghostāperhaps the ghost of his mother. It was nonsensical. He couldnāt see through that eye until the end of July.
CW: assault - Baby Harrison is jumped by Valentine's older brother:
After a half hour, he was so dizzy, he thought he was dying. He wouldnāt see his mother again, would he? Heād tallied every day sheād been gone on sticky notesāheād already gone through an entire pad. Suz wouldāve known exactly what to do if sheād seen him like this, bound to the ground like a tacked butterfly. Her jeans muddying with dust as she crouched to her son, her hands warm, gripping his face, her saying he was beautiful just the way he was, he was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. He wanted to believe that vision into reality. But no one was coming for him.
CW: implied homophobia - Baby Harrison hopes for help in an adult who happens upon the above scene. && WHO SHAMED YOU:
He stood over Harrison, whoād started to cry. His mustache was woolly, belly round. A cigarette dangled between his fingers. There was something soft in his eyes. Harrison thought it was pity at first. Then he said, āUp now, boy. What did you expect?ā and he knew it was disgust.
Now, the man from the party stands in front of Harrison. For a second, he has to blink to ensure heās not still there in that lot, staring up at a man he hopes will help him. His headās falling off. His eyes are on fire. What had they been talking about? Thereās something about shame.
The man steps forward. Harrison recoils even though no one has touched him. Some partygoers have entered the kitchen now, all congregating around the punch bowl like Harrison had. The bang of music from outside follows them as they chatter and the noise is like an ice pick to the brain and Harrison wants to tell them all to leave, Harrison wants to bolt from this city, Harrison wants to be someone elseās son for a day just to see if that might fix him.
āWho shamed you?ā asks the man.
Harrison inhales, aware he feels like a deer just about to be shot. He glances at the others here with themātheir golf ball eyes, their pearl necklaces, then glances at the door. He canāt look at the man again. If wisdom is a weapon, Harrisonās a prey animal, so gullible, death a requirement of his life.
The man opens his mouth again.
Harrison runs.
Harrison's "excuse me while I run I really gotta get out of here" moment (FUN FACT is this first sentence is an exact mirror of the first sentence of the book!):
Harrison doesnāt need a god so much as he needs a way out. He parts glittering people with his elbows, his heart a pendulum ticking. He needs an exit sign bleeding in neon letters. He needs to cab back to Brooklynānot to find his father, but to hide. He needs to go back to Elizaās apartment and sit in the parking lot for hours until someoneāanyone, a shadow of a man with cold hands, a phantom who sins as much as he praysācomes out.
It doesnāt matter who he nudges, if one is a woman who looks vaguely like Biyu, if she curses when he shoves her out of the way, if one is a man with a shiny upper lip who says Harrisonās kind of cute and would he like to kiss him? Heās no Jacob fleeing Laban, heās just a man trapped in a party, his vision pooling pink, orange, neon green. Who shamed you? He hates the shape of that question. His mother is disappointed in him, his father tooāthis is their white flag. A failure with Jeremiah, a failure at this party, a failure in sonhood. As he moves, that question bleats. Down a set of stairs. Who shamed you? Back up two. Who shamed you?
He's kinda going through it? (CW: violence) this is one of my favourite parts of the whole book!
Heās too aware when heās high but worse when heās not, the losing player in his own zero-sum game. Heās a loserāhe is lost here, the walls around him shaped like a mouth, two mouths, three, all slick and shouting the same wordsāwho shamed you? Who shamed you? Who shamed you?
Harrison gapes, unable to escape. Someone tells him to watch where heās going. Someone grabs him by the throat. Someone helps him up the stairs, and someone else kicks him back down. Someone reads his fortune on a daybed, tells him heās been dead since yesterday. Someone holds his face and says heās the most gutless person theyāve ever met. Heās going to die here. Heās already dead. Heād like to die in the starlight. Heād like to take his last breath to the pulse of Take On Me. Heās laughing. Heās crying. When he splits a joint with someone on the roof, heās naked but so clothed he could suffocate. Heās under the earth. Heās hovering above it. Heās lost in a glut of bodies. No one is here. Someone could be. He screams for a mother. Mourns a father. Chews his nails on the landing. Begs for forgiveness with his eyes spread open.
Saddest part of the book probably (resurrecting badly is one of my favourite phrases EVERRR):
His eyes swerve like Halleyās comet. Heās not the man he once was. No Christ, no Jacob, no Jeremiah, but something much worse. Heās sprouting something evil, his face glitching right ahead of him. Panic lurches up his throat and he reaches for himself to say heās fine, someoneās here for him, someone loves him, nothingās going to make him vanish here, heās here, heās happy, heās going to be, heās worthy of gentleness, heās really not, heās got an ugly smile, heās nobody here, heās losing himself, heās better than ever, heās dismantling no matter how hard he tries to keep himself together, heās wearing another manās earring because heās over him, heās not, heās never going to love someone else again, heās in chrysalis, heās in autopsy, heās got someone elseās nose, eyes, hair, heās resurrecting badly, heās turning blue and nothing can stop him, heās Jesus when he wants to be and Lonan right now.
The mirror shatters before he realizes heās punched it. Fractals of glass starburst off his fist, splay across the counter. Heās not Lonan. Heās kinder than that. He doesnāt lift people by the chin and then twist off their heads. He drives a man across the country out of his own volition. When his mother calls him generous he understands why. He does not leave the man who sees something soft in him. Heās a good person. Heās a good person. Heās crying as his own face splits into a million pieces.
Haremiah breakup starts now...... !!!
He wakes dazed under starlight. What he knows for certain: a honeysuckle flutes behind his ear and man hovers over him. If these two things are related, he doesnāt know whyāif the flowerās a gift from the man, if the man is a gift from the flower. How beautiful is that idea? Man not a duplicate of himself but birthed from a petal like a pearl from a clam. He could be a glorious by-product, couldnāt he? This question matters less than the throbbing light ahead of him. He squints at its blurred edges. Gabriel coming for him? The headlights of Suzās car? Perhaps just a streetlamp. Or, God doesnāt have a faceāthis could be his arrival.
This is a direct continuation of that (JEREMIAH IS NOT HAPPY)!!! ft. the iconic drawing:
āHarrison?ā
He blinks. Someoneās shaking his shoulder. Heād like for them to stopāeach movement is like being hulled out of his skin.
āHarrison?ā the voice repeats. Harrison. who is that? Harrison. He should know. Harrison. Heās heard that name called on velvet midnights. Heās heard that name aimed like a gunshot. Uttered like a prayer. Harrison. āCan you hear me? You stole my shit.ā
You ever wake up high in the grass and then call your current bf who's a hair away from breaking up with u the name of ur ex bf bc you actually for a second see your ex who is literally not there:
Heās in the grass. Staring at a face now thatās getting closer, closer, attached to a neck thatās attached to a shoulder thatās attached to an arm thatās attached to a hand thatās nudging him. He could stay here forever. That face is pretty as the silverbells he and Suz used to hang on their Christmas tree. Prussian blue eyes. Oil spill hair. The last time heād seen this face, he was amazed at how delicate it could look in dappled light. Features sculpted precariously like a China doll. Harrison used to imagine a future with that face. Harrison used to see himself reflected back in his pupils.
āLonan?ā he asks, eyes lolling. His heartās racing. He needs to tell the truth. He wants to hold him but his hands arenāt moving on command. What if he misses this shot? What if heās a set of full fingers and this man is sand sifting right through them? Please donāt leave, he wants to say. Please donāt let me go.
(^^^ I'M HURTTTTTTTTT)
Harrison thinks about Jeremiah fondly AND THE ILY DROP (also biyu in the bg like HOLD MY POPCORN):
Harrisonās gotten used to himāhow he hums Lionel Richie hits in the shower, how he softens his vowels when talking to his seven-year-old cousin on the phone, how heās wise but still youngāhow heās lost nothing from knowledge. And maybe thatās the problem. Itās impossible to keep a good thing thatās been around for too long.
Harrison finds a face, his fingers clammy, clumsy. The moment he contacts skin, Jeremiahās face clarifies as if emerging from a cloud. Soft skin, his brows waved in worry, mouth taut with what might be anger, or what might be devastation. He should be angry. He should be devastated. Harrison would be angry. Harrison is angry. Devastated too. Heās a good person. He keeps being dealt bad cards, keeps getting paper cuts on the way. Itās not fair. None of this has ever been fair.
āListen to me,ā Harrison says, gripping Jeremiahās cheek harder. His eyes flare at the blood dripping down his knuckles and the specks of glass that glitter off them like rhinestones. āAre you listening?ā
āJJ,ā comes the voice as a car door slams. āHeās not worth it.ā
Jeremiahās jaw trembles. He shouldnāt be here. He shouldnāt suffer. āIām here.ā
āYouāre a good person,ā Harrison says. He drags his fingers down to Jeremiahās mouth, digs miniature ships into his bottom lip. In another life, he couldāve gone anywhere with this man. A private tour of a glass museum. Griffith Park. A supermarket cereal aisle. Bora Bora. The fabric-softened sheets of his double bed. āI love you,ā he says, ignoring the second voice that again suggests they leave. He tries to get onto his elbow to get closer to him, to kiss him, to stare till his eyes tumble out like marbles, to take his chin and say I find the best parts of me in you, but the farthest he gets is a weak buck of his chin. āI love you, I love you.ā
āJJ. We need to go.ā
Jeremiahās staring right at him. Heās never seen his eyes like this beforeāso focused itās like theyāve pressurized and could crack like amber at any moment. He looks like he wants to say something. Harrison, stay with me. Harrison, youāre not your past. Harrison, youāre surviving. Instead, he shakes his head, then starts to rise.
(^^ I FIND THE BEST PARTS OF ME IN YOUUUUU STOPP)
WHAT NOT TO SAY WHEN YOU COULD'VE SALVAGED THIS YOU FOOL:
Harrison snatches his wrist so tight his hands shake. āBelieve me,ā he says. His chest is airy. Heās dying. Heās dead. Falling from a great height. He smooths a hand up Jeremiahās eyebrows. Beautiful man. A living picture in his own right.
Jeremiah glances at his arm wound by Harrisonās fingers, and when he looks back up, his eyes are shimmering. āWhy did you go?ā he asks.
And why had he? He couldāve spent forever against Jeremiahās ribs. Built a future with him over spiked lemonade and foolish nights at karaoke bars. Jeremiahās built for movement, late nights, orange sorbet mornings, moonlit swan paddle boats, a thrilling midlife career change, dinner parties with near strangers, weekend hikes of Yosemite, bustling hostels in Amsterdam, desserts with almond liqueur and crĆØme fraĆ®che, sunsets in Montego Bay.
āYouāre bad for me,ā Harrison slurs.
Jeremiahās face slackens.
last image of Jeremiah:
So he doesnāt try when Biyu stands and helps her friend do the same. He doesnāt try as he watches Jeremiah paw off his eyes, as he watches Jeremiah look at him a last time before turning away. He doesnāt try as together, they walk toward the car, mumbling things Harrison canāt hearāthat heāll never find out. He doesnāt try as Jeremiah opens the passenger side door, and before he gets in, takes one glance back at him on the grass. He doesnāt try as Jeremiahās lip trembles, doesnāt try when he ducks into the car and slams the door shut. After all this time, it feels like the least he can do.
Harrison-Jesus parallels:
The crowd goes mild, focused forward as the processional begins. Harrison looks to Jesus crucified behind the altar. In his last moment, he gave himself to his father. Harrison will never see his father again, unlike Jesus, but both their mothers have been left to weep. And yet theyāre both sons. No matter what theyāve done.
AND THE ENDING (the choir's singing Here I am Lord) ft. chapter 1 & 2 parallels (& credit also to @dallonwrites who gave me the idea for this ending months ago literallyyyyy worked out so perfectly):
This morning, he woke on the same grass heād last seen Jeremiah on. He didnāt need anyone to tell him not to go back. The difference between him yesterday and him today is heās a man without a place to go. No shepherd to follow. No man to hold. He understands what he is. A failure. A disaster. A sad, bitter person. He doesnāt need anyone to tell him any of this. Not Jeremiah. Not Biyu. Not Suzanna. Not Lonan.
The music swells. Harrisonās eyes burn.
In August, leaving Lonan was an inevitability as much as it was a new beginning. Now, he knows heās not going anywhere. After this, heāll go back to Suzanna whoāll greet him with a plate of papas, twirl his hair while he cries in her lap on the couch. Theyāll buy tilapia on sale at the grocery store tomorrow. Adopt a betta fish, wince at the normalized hypocrisy. He wonāt think about Lonan. What heās doing in that apartment. If he remembers what itās like to hold someoneās hands like theyāre your own, what itās like to mistake someone elseās reflection as yours. Heāll never speak to Jeremiah again out of courtesy, write him a postcard from a Grand Canyon gift shop when he and Suzanna visit like typical mothers and sons, but never send it. He can manage in his forever and ever and ever and ever amen because heās okay. This horribly pleasant, horribly easy life will be okay.
The choir asks who will bear their light. Offers themselves to God just as Jesus did. Harrison gasps. Once, he mightāve convinced himself he could be like them. Someone so committed theyād do anything for the person they love. Heād done that beforeāgiven everything in him to a man even if it almost killed him. Now he doesnāt know. Who he is. Where he went. Jesus in the tomb. Body gone. Body gone. Heās missed his chance at glory.
When the choir swells, their voices clattering off the domed ceiling, he laughs. He doesnāt mean to. But there he is, virtually alone despite the passionate churchgoers around him. Heās no Christ, no Jacob, no Jeremiah. No Lonan. Heāll never be even if he wanted to.
Tears flail down his face. He laughs again, though halfway, it becomes a sob.
The woman from earlier glances at him funnily, but it doesnāt matter. Heās not going to heaven. Heās never going to see Jeremiah again. The choirās heard their calling, but Harrison wonāt ever have one. He laughs with his eyes straight on the crucifix. People from other pews begin to turn around, puzzled, even the priest looking up from the altar. The church silences eventually. No one claps. All eyes turn to him. He weeps with his mouth wide open.
AAAAND that's it!!! Thank you SO much if you've been following this project & AN EXTRA THANKS to everybody who sent so much love and support my way. Like no drama, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have all that support earlier this year, so if you've ever said ANYTHING NICE about BODY BACK, please know you literally saved me this year! Thank you!!!! It's really a spectacular feeling to know you have a little village behind a project, and I feel so honoured and grateful that this project resonated with so many people. <3
NOW GO FORTH 24K HARRISON LIVES ON IN OUR MEMORIES <3 (where he should remain forever <3 lol).
chapbook progress, new publications, fellowships | Writing Update
Hi y'all! It's been a while since I've posted on here (this semester was busy!), but I'm back with some exciting news!
Your Body is a Hungry Thing
My first chapbook finally has 25 poems in the manuscript! It's a mix of introduction poems, dealing with body dysmorphia and trauma, and living in a Black female body. (It's a lot of body talk)
My plan now is to fully edit all of these poems, and then start organizing my manuscript so it will be ready for submission next year. I'm really grateful to all these poems and I hope I'll get the chance to share them with you all.
New Publications
"The Day I Learned to Garden"
I actually submitted this to a rejection contest and didn't win. But the editor enjoyed my poem so much, they requested it be accepted to their spooky zine.
You can read this poem on finally accepting the end of a broken friendship in Onwords Press' 'Things That Trouble Us' issue, here. Make sure you check out all the other awesome pieces in the issue too!
"The Ghosts of Summer"
This little poem is apart of Unstamatic's unconditional acceptance issue! There were 400+ submissions in this issue and you can click on random to generate a random poem from the massive collection. You can read my poem here.
"A Pantoum For Altar Call"
My last publication update is forthcoming in FEED Magazine! This was a tough poem to write! I'm not well-versed in form poetry, but I wanted to challenge myself to write a pantoum and this poem just blossomed into itself. There is a slight tw for hanging. It's implied, not necessarily an actual hanging. Once it's published, I will update this post with the link.
Poetry Fellowship
I recently applied to my first poetry fellowship through my school. It would be a big step in my writing career and would help me better my craft! The theme is reclamation, which a lot of my work centers on. Keep your fingers crossed for me please!
That's all I got for now. I know this was a bit long, but it's been a while since I've updated here.
Howās your writing going? Any new publications or ideas? Tell me all the good and bad! Until next time, peace.
Premise:
The new world is laid out before them, but freedom does not come so easily.
Two years after the promise is remade and the cattle children arrive in the Human World, Norman and Ray still search for Emma in hopes that they can fulfill their promise to each other from childhood - to survive and live on together. When they find Emma and discover the consequences of the sacrifice she made, the three of them have to come to terms and decide how to live for the new future given to them. [Post-Canon]
ā§ Character Bios ā§
This is a post-canon fic exploring how the three main characters of TPN adjust to the human world. Very ācoming of ageā-esque. I currently have published up to Chapter 7 on AO3 and aim to upload weekly with a minimum goal of 50k words (novel). Iām outlining as I go and just need to tie up Act III. Iāll upload themes and additional tags once Iāve finished the entire outline. Honestly, I havenāt even decided if thereās going to be romance haha
I started this project in Nov 2020 in hopes to finallyĀ complete drafting my first novel length piece. I hope to gain a better understanding of narrative structure, strengthen my prose and practice character development/interactions.Ā
So, haha. Iāve been writing. I have about a part and a half done of This Crazy Life. I think Iām going to stick with writing one series at a time, so before I work on other series, Iāll finish TCL.
I honestly donāt know how long this series will be but, Iām just letting my mind wander and run amuck and create something pretty cool for you guys.
I may also leave the story open ended to a point where there could be a sequel in the future if yāall wanted one.
Some one shots, etc. Iāll write in between parts whenever I feel like it.
I also donāt know how often Iād be posting. I may write out a couple parts and then post once a week. This will give me some leeway just in case something happens and prolongs me writing, cause you know, life sucks. Lol.
But I just wanted to let yāall know that Iāll be coming back very soon. š
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So I havenāt been writing properly for the longest time and I really miss it - I have a couple of novel ideas that Iām really excited for but Iāve just been lacking the motivation to do any work on them much at all?Ā
Anyway, with the fact in mind that I one day want to be a published author, I really want to try and get back into writing properly, every day again. Unfortunately, this is gonna be a kind of slow process as I havenāt had a strict schedule AT ALL these past couple of months, so my goal for the next month is to write every day. Iām not going to have a set word count, it could literally be 50 words, but it has to be every. single. day.Ā
Today Iāve written 571 words, not a lot, but I wrote yesterday as well, so Iām pretty happy about that.Ā
Iāve got a short story collection Iāve been working on for the last 8 months, as well as three novels currently in process, and two or three others that are still in the planning process.Ā
The first novel in process is Anathema, which is the first novel in a trilogy, and is a surreal sci fi thriller. The second is a surreal new age novel, Youāre Not Really Gone, which I actually posted about a couple of months ago, and the last one is a revamped novel that I worked on last year called Please Find Me, which Iām renaming The Fish Can Help Us Breathe - this is more of a magical realism self discovery novel, and Iām really excited with all the revitalizing Iāve done on it.Ā
Iāll be doing one writing update of one of my WIPās every single week, as well as posting some writing tips and tricks every two weeks. Iād really appreciate a follow from my fellow writers, Iād love to meet some people who are on the same journey as I am.Ā
No story updates tonight folks! I hosted book club this afternoon and had a super fun evening with my best friend and my daughter and I am exhausted. I have plotted the rest of the Sherlolly Halloween Mummy story on pen and paper so expect a chapter minimum each day this week.
After that I'll focus on Cadre ch 3-5, Elorcan TOG AU
And after that I cannot wait to start my next Sherlolly fic based on East of the Sun West of the Moon. I've plotted some elements already and I'm super excited to share them with you all <3 expect a long epic fantasy.
Also today would have been my dad's birthday if he were still with us so Happy Birthday Dad!
Accepting asks, and one shot requests for elorcan and sherlolly.
LONAN CLARK ERA LONAN CLARK ERA!! Welcome to instalment 1 of the Hallowed Bodies updates! :) HB is a literary fiction novella I finished in August (WIP intro) and a companion to BODY BACK.
Let's talk about magical beginnings, how life impacts writing, grieving potentials, & Lonan's internality!
Update under the cut!
Logline:Ā When his girlfriend leaves to travel, Lonan carries out his typical daily routine which includes visiting a church and walking a strange route home.
When I got the original idea for Hallowed Bodies, it was March and I was on the other side of the country at the intersection in front of my old apartment building. It was raining on my walk home from a journalism class and I was listening to My Dying Spirit by Greyson Chance when I had the thought... "okay if Harrison is alone in Las Vegas in BODY BACK, that must mean LONAN is also alone for a while in Las Vegas--so what's he doing?"
For about two days, I was really consumed with the idea of what this book *could* be--eerie church imagery, a contemplation of faith, an exploration of Lonan's relationship with his dead mother. Then time passed, I moved, life got weird, I finished BODY BACK, and by the time I got back to HB, something in me had changed.
With that said, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I stayed exactly where I was in the spring (which is an extremely Lonan and Harrison-core thing to consider LOL). In a way, a big part of writing this book was grieving what it could've been. I still have a distinct vibe of the early vision which is very similar but adjacent nonetheless to what I actually wrote. I think that's what made writing this project so hard because I didn't understand what I wanted from it--March me was conflicting with June me and in the end, what we got was a mixture of both!
A positive start... for now!!!
I've always heard of writers talk about "shiny new idea syndrome" but I never really understood it. However, drafting Holy Ground completely clarified what shiny new idea syndrome even is which left me feeling perhaps overly confident (honestly which I'm grateful for because I didn't feel that way again until the last chapter LOLLL).
I drafted the first paragraph of this book back in April, and the rest of it only took a day or two in June. It's very short (for me) at 1500 words and illuminated two structural elements for HB: short chapters and "vignette"-like scenes.
Inspiration & vibes:
Okay so SORRY if you already know this but Greyson Chance got me unwise & his music video for My Dying Spirit is MY FAVOURITE THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. I always thought of MDS as a really solid Lonan song, but the music video's Catholic imagery had me spiraling MORE. I basically wanted to recreate the vibes of that video in the form of a book.
We were really going for THIS as the vibe (from the video)!
Hallowed Bodies as Antithesis
One of the first things I knew about HB was that I wanted it to be a mirror of BODY BACK. I wanted to see how Lonan got to be a better person BEFORE FH in contrast to how Harrison becomes a worse person before FH. Thinking of Hallowed Bodies as the antithesis of BB is really fascinating to me! If BB is loud, HB is quiet. If BB is maximalist, HB is minimalist (as much as I could help it haha).
Internal narratives as a trap
Something I LOVE about this project in general is that it's SO internal. I don't think I've ever been so deeply rooted in Lonan's voice before, but Hallowed Bodies as a project warrants intimacy. Lonan's alone for a week in Las Vegas basically doing nothing, which is a precursor to Feeding Habits (the novel that comes after this) where he's really "settled" into being a completely subordinate person in his own life.
I wanted to use internality as a means to make the narrative feel confined, like Lonan does. Because of that, I focused on adding a LOT of descriptions that directly reflect Lonan's desires and internal conflicts (the excerpt with the couple reflects this the most). What he notices is EXTREMELY important. What do his observations reveal about him?
Listlessness and Lonan
Something that became clear to me early in the drafting process is that Lonan is soooo listless. Like direction? Drive? Passion? He has NOTHINGGGG. He's really living a settled, "domestic" life, and he clearly can't handle it. This is setup for Feeding Habits so it's not as intense as it is there, but this man is BORED and ready to romanticize ANYTHING for some serotonin. This is critical setup for later when we meet "the man" (whose name for efficiency's sake is Dallas bc he looks like Matt Dillon in The Outsiders <3 that was the reason <3).
HB is a really transitional project for Lonan. He comes off Moth Work a better person to others but not quite a better person to himself. We get to see him crave gentleness a LOT in HB, a feeling that seems so foreign to him, which I think also contributes to his feeling of displacement. In a way, it was also transitional for me--it's the first thing I've written in full as a graduate!
The plot
CW:Ā religious trauma (Catholicism)
Scene A:
In a church, Lonan recalls a memory of him and his father praying.
Scene B:
Lonan starts his walk home, aware the route is nonsensical.
Scene C:
Lonan recalls the last time he saw Eliza before she left for her week-long trip.
Scene D:
Lonan considers Las Vegas' warm autumn.
Scene E:
In memory, Eliza finds Lonan's father's rosary in her apartment.
Excerpts:
The first "scene" (aka vignette). This is one of my favourite openings EVER!!! It's just Hallowed Bodies core!
Lonan doesnāt pray anymore. At least not the way he used to. As a child, he and his father prayed everywhere: begging for forgiveness at Crater Lake, repenting in line for an oil change, supplicating in a windstorm. On Sundays, theyād wake before dawn and nestle in front of the bathroom mirror, recite the first chapter of Genesis, Paulās letters to Timothy, Psalm 22. Lonan preferred the Apostleās Creed. Heād watch his young mouth repeat I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, and he did believe. After hours of this, sunlight misting the open window, mass a half hour away, their lips would be so numb theyād have to pinch them until they were bloody mouthed and ready, at last, for God.
The truth is, Lonan believes in nothing now. Heās as fatherless as he is motherless as he is godless. This should be a good thing. But bowed against a pew, the church around him hollow like Jesusā empty tomb, his eyes trained on the dangling crucifix ahead of him, heās certain this is wrong. He needs a mentor, a shepherd, an idol. He needs someone to follow.
This is just such a typical Lonan and Eliza interaction:
Sheād left groceries in the fridgeāno need to go shoppingāand if he wanted, sheād also left a fifty-dollar bill on the counter for takeout. As he stared at the ceiling, she kissed him and complained about her motherās plans to go horseback riding that coming weekend. āI know what a horse looks like,ā she said, then explained theyād also be touring Stowe with a gaudy tourism agency. āSheās exhausting me already.ā She sighed, having gone completely still. Lonan didnāt notice until she took his face with her hand, squishing his jaw, and asked āAre you okay?ā
An hour later, she was gone with a pre-packed suitcase, and he was still lying in bed wondering if sheād been there at all, if heād been there at all, if in actuality they were both dead, or at the very least, both ghosts.
Do you fear bodies of water to the point where you practice holding your breath in full sinks so if you're ever close to drowning at least you're prepared:
Itās September in Las Vegas. The asters that grow outside Elizaās apartment building have started to bloom, shockingly purple. The severe summer heat has barely faded, weather Lonan isnāt used to. Sometimes he crouches right in front of Elizaās oscillating fan so it blows right in his face. At other times he ruffles up the freezer until he finds something suitable to drape on his foreheadāa bag of peas, a Ziploc of homemade perogies, a hard plastic ice pack Eliza almost always forgets to return after work. Though sometimes, he cranks the bathroom sink all the way to cold and fills it up, sticks his face in there like itās nothing, waits there for what feels like a few hours.
Lonan examining how fucking weird dating Eliza is lol:
Eliza doesnāt know about his visits to the church. He started his daily trips about two weeks back, ensuring he got home before she did from a shift. As they ate canned beef stew on the couch, as she spoke to him about an irritating coworker, as she rested her hand on his elbow then looked at her bedroom door, he kept this secret from her. Heās not sure why. He knows he doesnāt have to. Eliza already knows his father was devout to somethingāon the last day of August, she rummaged through a filing cabinet in her bedroom and pulled out a bronze rosary.
Lonan didnāt need to look at it to know who it belonged to. Heād learned to identify it by scent alone.
āThatās your dadās,ā she said, something sober in her voice. She was essentially providing him a confessionāa crime she unknowingly participated in. The rosary dangled like fuzzy dice from a rear-view mirror. When he didnāt move from where he leaned in the doorway, she stood and pocketed it. āI didnāt know. He gave it to me whenā¦ā Her voice trailed off when she realized he still hadnāt reacted. What had she expected from him? Heās not wholly illogicalāheād accepted that his father had likely given her things and that sheād kept them. Theyād dated. That was normal.
^^ (IS IT NORMAL THO I COULD WRITE A TAG ESSAY ON THIS)
Eliza backtracks (CW: implied abuse, blood mention):
Eliza promised sheād go through all her thingsāmake sure she didnāt have anything else āfrom Jason.ā Hearing his fatherās name said aloud like that was a normal thing felt even stranger than having his rosary.
Lonan took a step back that was really more a stagger; he narrowly caught himself on the bedroom doorframe. His cheeks were hotāwith embarrassment, but also tears, and the tears worsened the embarrassment which worsened the tears. He couldnāt explain to her that when he was too young to memorize a phone number, that rosary had been wrapped around his hand till his fingers turned blue. Or that one silty night, heād clutched the cross so tight under his pillow that his palms bled.
āSorry,ā he said, pawing at his eyes.
The aftermath of that scene:
In the end, he sat on the balcony, silently crying as he stared out over the city. He tried to think of ways to reverse timeāperhaps if he pretended nothing happened, Eliza would too. Theyād start the afternoon all over again, her kicking off her shoes at the front door, setting her purse down on the small dining table. āYou want to grab dinner?ā she wouldāve shouted through the apartment, already fumbling for the coupons sheād tacked to the refrigerator, knowing he was listening to her. Instead, he stared at his trembling fist.
And the last paragraph of this chapter! (Lonan really said "I don't have thoughts stop bothering me")
And that's it! I'm really excited to introduce y'all more officially to Hallowed Bodies! :) And because I vowed to make these updates feel more cozy, here's this Lonancore gif LOL: