The Confabulator Cafe

Author: ajaquays

  • Books Are for Boring People, Not Ten Year Olds

    I’ve done research. I’ve spent hours in a library, flipping through books so dusty I couldn’t stop sneezing for weeks after touching them. I’ve gotten lost in the stacks of my University library, fearfully glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. The flickering lights and echoing silence of the building can’t help but make me feel like I’m trapped on the set of a horror film.

    I’ve done research. I’m familiar with what it takes. But that’s for writing boring papers. That sort of research is what you do when you have to worry about being factually correct.

    It isn’t the type of research that you do when you’re ten years old and you and your best friend decide you’re going to write a novel. (more…)

  • Throwing in the Towel

    I groaned as the last box thudded to the ground. Sweat pooled uncomfortably in my bra. All I wanted was to take a long shower and scrub away the evidence of my hours of physical labor. I’d forgotten how much I hated moving, but when you catch your former roommate fucking the guy from the truck stop in your bed, you know it’s time to part ways.

    Two weeks later I had paid the deposit on a two bedroom house for rent over by the old churchyard. The place was a bargain, it had been empty since the previous tenants moved out in the middle of the night, leaving behind all of their possessions. Some minor trouble with the law, the landlord had said, but he wouldn’t quite meet my gaze when he said it. It didn’t matter. The place was available and within my budget, especially after I had to shell out nearly a grand to get out of my previous lease.

    Six days later, I had packed all of my belongings. Everything fit into the back of my SUV. I’d left the bed behind—some stains just don’t come out—and didn’t have any other furniture to move. She’d already had everything when I’d moved in with her two years earlier. (more…)

  • Perplexing the Perspective

    When I’m reading books, I recognize the importance that point of view can have on the story. Having something written in first person creates an automatic connection with the reader, while a story in third person allows the reader to leap from one head to another. Multiple character viewpoints can be used to create a broader look at the world, allowing the reader to put together their own theories based on what they know about the beliefs of the characters.

    While I recognize the importance that point of view can have in the telling of a story, it rarely factors into my decision about what perspective to write from. Sometimes I just feel like a story needs to be written from a certain point of view, but generally it’s not even that sophisticated a reasoning. (more…)

  • Going to See the Godmother

    I needed to see the Godmother. The Godmother would fix everything. She would make it all stop hurting. She would make him love me.

    The Godmother grants wishes to those with worthy causes. And what could be a more worthy cause than a broken heart?

    I’d heard about her through one of my friends whose cousin’s boyfriend’s sister had gone to see her. I didn’t know what the cost would be. I didn’t particularly care. All I knew was that I wanted results. I needed results. Desperately. And the Godmother promised guaranteed results. (more…)

  • Awakening Without a Dream

    Dreams slip from my mind upon waking like dry sand through my fingers, leaving only the memory that they had been there. I wake with the memory that my sleep was filled with fascinating dreams but I have never been able to recall the details. Any attempts I make only succeed to chase them further from my mind. To this date, I can only vividly recall two dreams and both of them nightmares from my childhood. Dreams that left me screaming as I woke, too terrified to sleep.

    I have woken knowing I have dreamed that dream before. Yet still I have no recollection of what the dream itself was. My mind lives a dual life in my sleep, one that I will never recall.

    I’m slowly learning to accept this, though I find that I frequently will attempt to force myself back into sleep in hopes of continuing the dream I was having. Because even though I do not know what it was that I dreamed, I remember that I enjoyed it. That I wanted to experience it again. Perhaps I live in hopes that if I manage to complete the dream, that will be the one that I remember upon waking. (more…)

  • Auditioning

    I’d been living in LA for three months now and still had yet to receive a single audition. I hadn’t even made the cut at open casting calls. The money I’d carefully scraped together to live on while I looked for work was long gone. I’d thought I had enough for six months. I could have lived for nine months on it back home. Longer if I’d been frugal with it.

    But everything was more expensive in LA. Even the coffee. Three months of showing up to casting calls with my hair perfectly styled and my makeup done. I was on my third can of hairspray for this month alone and my fourth tube of concealer. Costs added up.

    This was my last chance. If I didn’t land this audition I was going to have to admit that I couldn’t make it. I’d have to go home.

    That was unacceptable.

    There was no help for it. I was going to have to do whatever it took to land that role. Regardless of the consequences. I didn’t expect to get a major role. But it would be enough to get my name out there. Maybe land another role and then another. Soon I’d be in Hollywood films. An A-lister. But I had to land that first role.

    I dropped my last twenty into the hand of a photography student after reviewing the digital images. Perfect.

    I couldn’t go wrong with this. The casting director would have to give me the part.

    I clicked send on the email, “Consider me for your next movie.” Attached were a series of pictures ranging from a head shot to full nude.

    The next morning, I received a call.

     

  • What Went Wrong

    It’s pretty obvious how you make your zero draft readable, right? You highlight everything and hit delete. Then you pretend that it never happened.

    Okay, so not really. At least not for me. Then again, I’ve only done NaNo once and therefore have only ever had one draft zero. I’m also pretty sure the process I did didn’t work out super well for me.

    My first mistake was that I started editing about five days after I finished the draft. Yes, I started with the sections that I’d written back in May, but that still meant that I didn’t ever actually take a break from it. (more…)

  • It Starts with an F

    Did I ask for your opinion? No? Then why the hell are you giving it to me?

    I handle unwanted critiques very poorly. I take them as personal attacks on my person. It doesn’t matter what the critique is about, if I didn’t ask for your opinion, don’t share it with me.  Unless you’re telling me that I’m awesome, then by all means, please continue.

    “I’m sorry that you feel that way,” is my frequent response when somebody criticizes one of my creative endeavors, especially when it’s in the early phases and I didn’t ask for an opinion.

    I’m a bit more gracious–with most people–when it comes to critiques that I’ve asked for. Usually with my writing if it is being critiqued it’s because I sent it to somebody and asked for their opinions. I want them to tell me what they liked. But even more importantly I want them to tell me what they didn’t like. But don’t tell me you didn’t like something if you’re not prepared to tell me why it didn’t work for you. Because otherwise it will go right back to feeling like an attack on my baby and therefore also on me. (more…)

  • Whispering Secrets to the World (Flash Fiction)

    She’d been keeping it secret for so long, and she wasn’t really sure why any longer. At one point in her life, her fears of rejection wouldn’t have been unfounded. But now… now things were different. There was no reason not to tell them. Except that finding the right words were difficult.

    No. The words were easy enough. It would only take three. It wasn’t finding the right words to say. It was finding the right time to tell them. Finding the right time to reveal everything.

    All of her friends knew of course. They’d known for years. There was only a small group of people left to tell. The most important group of people.

    The people whose reactions meant everything to her.

    And she was a coward. (more…)

  • Step Four, Sigh More

    I have never had the opportunity to critique a completed story outside of a classroom setting. Maybe if I did, I’d have a better opinion about my ability to critique, I don’t know. What I do know, is that my experiences with critiquing other people’s writing have been absolutely miserable.

    I read, almost exclusively, genre fiction. Somehow, when you’re sitting in a classroom of twenty-nine other students you suddenly realize that not a single damn one of them write anything that I’d ever pick up for myself. Great. I could already tell that was going to be a great experience. Still, I was being graded based on my ability to give them honest feedback. So there goes nothing.

    I’m assuming that problem I’m facing right there is precisely why editors will only accept certain genres. It’s difficult to give something a chance if the subject doesn’t inspire you. And in my undergraduate degree, I only ever read a couple of short stories that captivated me. (more…)