Questions I get as a writer

What do you write?
Depends. Do I feel like traveling all over the place? Killing and/or haunting characters? Adding some magic or mind control shit? I like to keep things interesting and don’t stick to anything specific.

How much money do you make?
Let’s just say, I didn’t quit my ‘actual’ job. If you’re a writer or starting out as one, don’t expect to make anything. If you do, it won’t be much.

How many copies have you sold?
Maybe a dozen or more. I don’t know. I don’t look at numbers. I’m an indie writer, not a best seller…

How much of this is true?
Of what is true? Are you referring to the one ‘fictional biography’ I made of myself? Maybe a little, maybe a lot, maybe all of it… I’m not going to tell you publicly.

You’re twisted.
Well, yeah most of us are. I think to be a writer or at least an interesting one, you have to be. You have to be able to put yourself in different places. If you’re not willing to go there mentally, don’t write about it.

Drunk comments

“I want to suck your pie
— I mean dick”

“Why don’t you bite me?”

“Why won’t you bite me?”

“I write 10,000 words a week. I don’t have time for another boyfriend.”

“I don’t want to get pregnant again I just want sex.”

“The ground is moving.”

“I took my shirt off because I feel like it.”

“I need new boobs.”

“Why don’t you choke me?”

“I like it rough.” *laughs and almost falls on ass*

Because I’m pregnant

I don’t get special treatment
no one holds the door open for me
people increasingly like to cut me off when I’m walking

People at work
still expect me to do everything
like I have been
I still got frowned upon my
nosey coworker when I take a break
though she takes multiple

People I’m associated with
through marriage more so expect me
to worship the ground they walk on
and kiss their ass
and talk shit about me when I’m
on the other corner of the room
or behind my back

Strangers say ‘congratulations’
as a way to greet me

People at the gym need to comment
on how impressed they are
I workout or point at my stomach
like they’re 4 years old and they
haven’t seen a pregnant chick before

Acquittances need to greet me
with how big I’m getting
like I don’t have eyes and an mirror

My husband is still my husband
and will fight with me regardless
I don’t have ESP

There’s not a day I’m not either
invisible, in the center of the floor, or someone’s target

And some of them want to see
pictures or the baby
and I’m thinking, you know
pregnancy hasn’t affected my memory
or ability to put
one and two together
y’all treat me
like shit or talk shit about me behind my back
and you think for a second or two
you try to kiss my ass,
it’ll change anything?
I might be blonde but
I’m not a fucking idiot

All this time I have kept to myself
kept my I don’t give a fuck persona
and dealt with you crazy people
treat others how
you want to be treated
they say
if you were pregnant,
would you want to deal with this?
I’m glad (not really) I’m bringing a child in this world
full of hypocrites but
she’ll know the truth

Walk Away

I could say hello but I’m not interested in small talk
seeing your number makes me want to vomit
seeing your face makes me want to bash it in a million pieces


I could explain why I stopped talking to you out of the blue
but I refuse to be interrogated for something I didn’t do


I could rant on and on about the things you said and did
that no other man, a stable respectful man would do
you want to say it’s part of your culture or religion
if that were true, you give your people a bad name


You don’t listen or take a clue


I told you numerous times
you and I would never work out
I don’t like high heels
I don’t want your hands around my neck
I don’t appreciate the comments about
you having a threesome with my younger sister and I


I would never convert to Islam
or make an effort to learn your language
you forced high heels on my feet like I was
Cinderella and you were Prince Charming
(yeah, right)
you choked me and slapped my face
you showed me a knife and made a joke
about taking my life
I saw less and less of you
you began to stalk my younger sister and
her friends on Facebook
I told you that was the last straw


I told you I didn’t like you as much as you liked me
you proceeded to ask me out
I walked away without answering your requests to see you again
or answering your question, “Do you have someone else?”
I responded, “None of your business.”

Psychoanalyzing Literature

I found this on the desktop. Old essay I wrote for a class, I was psychoanalyzing someone. I had some fun with this… commentary trash talk. Don’t shoot me. 


The Vanishing Lady (A story about a lady with an eating disorder?)

In “Never Marry a Mexican,” the narrator, Clemincia, struggles with relationships with her mother, father, and love interest. (She wants to have sex with everyone?) She masks her feelings well as she goes about her secret plan to vanish and deceive. Like her mother, she becomes a “Vanishing lady,” due to “The Name of the Father,” a man. (She wants to have sex with her father?) Clemencia demonstrates her feelings of guilt and anger in symbolic order with metaphors. (What the fuck does that mean? She’s crazy.)

According to Zizek (Who the fuck is Zizek?) we effectively become something by pretending that we are. (Zizek) (Why am I writing names in parentheses, it’s dumb.) The mask we wear in public symbolizes who we really are behind closed door. (What mask? I just don’t want everyone to know who I am fucking.) In “Never Marry a Mexican,” Clemencia’s mother told her that she imagines her father in his fanfarron clothes because that’s what he was. (Don’t marry a Mexican because he likes to fap off? How is that different than any other man on this planet? Fanfarron,” is a metaphor to describe how Clemencia’s father really was. (A drag queen?) He was a fanfarron (flame-thrower?) with his flashy shark-blue suits, tweed topcoat with big shoulders, and heavy British wing tips with a pin-hole design on the heel and toes. (Cisneros) (I get it, he dresses in drag.)“Fanfarron,” is a metaphor to describe how Clemencia’s father really was. (A drag queen?) He was self-conceited, arrogant, and materialistic. (Was? You mean IS?) It wasn’t possible that the mother was happy. The mother ignored his behavior and did nothing about it, she ceased to exist. (I would too if I was his mother.) She became one of those vanishing ladies Zizek would refer too. Vanishing ladies seem to have control over us as they tap into our psyche somehow. They are convincing, irresistible, and ladylike in nature. (Zizek 79) (Zizek wants to have sex with his mother.) 

Clemencia does not think of her mother as ladylike in nature, however. She uses the metaphor “little finch,” (little dick) to transfer her guilt to intend something to be other than what it really is. (Cisneros) She compares her mother to a little finish because she once had one for a pet. She twisted one of its legs off in the bars of the cage. It was still able to live for a long time without it with its little red stump as a leg. (very small dick) After her fathers death, Clemencia’s mother got remarried to a white man with children. (a common boring guy) Clemencia’s mother lived paralyzed for a long time to the extent it affected her mentality. Her memory of her father’s presence is gone and dried up like the bird that lost its leg and lived a long time without it. The reference to the “little finich,” and “red stump,” is also a metaphor to her own life. (She sees a lot of little dicks and very small dicks in her life.) (Cisneros) Clemencia feels small and wounded. (I would too if I was surrounded by dicks with small dicks.) She tries not to miss or feel anything as she remembers not to marry a Mexican man. (She doesn’t want to marry a Mexican man because she fears they have small dicks like white men?) Clemencia’s attitude suggests that the “white man,” is the one to blame for her affair with a married man, Drew. (No she is the one to blame. She doesn’t like small dicks, why does she keep fucking them?) (Cisneros) When really what is to blame is her mother, father, and self.

According to Lacan it is the lack of the, “Name of the Father,” or father in Clemencia’s case, that allows there to be signified, delusional metaphors. (She still wants to fuck her father.) It involves an imaginary couple from the imaginary disaster until the level is reached at the signifier and stabilize. (She fanasties about a man like her father.) (Lacan) The imaginary couple involves a ego-object or ideal-reality where the subject field is from the aggression it carries out. In this case, Clemencia’s ego-object becomes Drew. The ideal-reality becomes her memories of him when he is gone. The subject field in the end is Drew and Megan’s son. How can Clemencia live with herself when she is reminded that she slept with Drew when Megan was pregnant for him? (She has more issues than me. Finally I found someone that does.)

Clemincia tells us about the time Drew called her his Malinalli. (Cisneros) Although it was a joke, it served as a private unconscious game between them. Drew played the role as the “Name of the Father,” while Cleminica played as the “Vanishing lady.” (Now she is pregnant and doesn’t know who the father is.) Drew was the “white man,” Clemincia’s step-father. (She is racist against white people because she calls Drew a white man.) The perfect, idealistic looking man with potential. Cleminica was now the ladylike women in nature. This time she played the role as a phantomlike figure while appearing as a woman he can admire. (Zizek)

Clemincia appeared to be beautiful and ladylike with her coursean and dark skin. Drew, on the other hand, was pale and looked like a Corte with his black beard. As he kissed her he would call her “Mi doradita,” and “Malinche.” (Cisneros) (She wanted to have sex with him because he can say things in a different language.) Clemincia then started to play the role of her mother and Drew played the role of her father. (Foreplay.) In this case, the role of the father is redoubled in the place of the signifier which allows the symbolic order of things to continue. (Lacan 207) Like her mother, Cleminica was not satisfied because the amount of care he showed towards her was not enough. (She wanted more sex.) She wanted the ideal partner and he wasn’t making her feel loved and worthy of living. Cleminica and Drew were a imaginary couple, all in her head. Drew was married to another woman, and they were going to have a baby. (Everyone is whore in this story.) Have he cared it wouldn’t have been that way. He was like her father who cheated on her mother. The relationship between Cleminica’s mother and father was also imaginary. Her mother had no memory of him. He was showing-off in his expensive clothes somewhere distant from her.

Clemincia transfers her anger out on Megan’s son. She believes that her child is nothing without her, created from red spit and red dust. “Red spit,” and “red dust,” is a metaphor for blood. (Cisneros) (No, it’s a metaphor for you’re dead.) They both suggest the symbolic order of thing. Spit is a natural substance from your body. Dust is dirt that can be blown any direction. (She wants to blow Megan’s son.) Clemincia is telling us that she is mad and planning to deceive the boy. She made him by sleeping with his father behind his mother’s back. So he is a “smudge of paint,” that can be revised and tossed aside just as relationships and people. (She wants to change him.) (Cisneros) When it is all done and over she will disappear like her mother and father has in the beginning. (She is extremely fucked up, I still don’t know what she is trying to say.)

In the end, it is clear that Clemincia is a victim. (No, it’s clear she is psycho.) She was cheated on many times by men. Left hurt, bitter, and lonely she learned how to play the game. In order to break the symbolic order of things she has to strike back. That’s not easy when everything is masked in a world that enlists masks, metaphors, and delusions as part of human nature. The way to break nature is to go along with it. (Why because she don’t really care about life or herself?)