Dialogue #2 — Why Is My Dialogue Awkward?

This week in the “holy shit I’m going to pull my hair out” section of writing frustrations: dealing with dialogue that is on the same level of awkward as watching a straight person introduce their friend’s girlfriend via “and this is Lily’s… roommate.” As I said in my last dialogue installment (which was uhhh four…

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it’s a living #13

CONTENT WARNING: implication of intent of nonconsensual sexual activity (i.e., includes creepy man at a bar). Please take care of yourself. I’ve been hanging out at the bar a lot lately. I haven’t even been drinking–Deanna’s Kip Shouldn’t Be Close Enough To Alcohol To Smell It policy is still going strong–but that hasn’t stopped me…

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fuck ur language conventions

Are you ready for a rant post? No? Too bad. Let’s start, as all white girl raging does, with a little bit of Shakespeare. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty According to my bond; no more nor less. That’s from King Lear, Act I. Spoken…

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it’s a living #12

I didn’t see the collision coming, didn’t suspect there would ever be one until I saw that dumb black beanie and hipster glasses over the chip shelf I was restocking. He’s talking on the phone, doesn’t seem to have noticed me, which gives me time to properly freak out. The last time I saw him…

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it’s a living #11

08.02.18   Grab N’ Go Gas Station, a capitalist machine. i’m not 100% sure what’s up with capitalism but i think it has to do with this hole that digs deeper in my chest as i stand behind the counter and listen to tinny synthpop: low persistent, infuriating i don’t hate it, but i hate…

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it’s a living #10

Sometimes the world crumbling around you doesn’t look like a shitty job and bad relationships and packs of ramen noodles that you lost the flavor pouches for. Sometimes it’s far more abstract: staring at the page of a book and forgetting how to read, counting out a customer’s change and willing yourself to not think…

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it’s a living #9

Trigger Warnings at the end. Please take care of yourself.  Deanna sits me down on July 25th, the day after my little sister’s third birthday. She grabs me by the shoulders and steers me to the couch, gentle, like I’m a porcelain doll that she needs to take care of so she can sell me…

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it’s a living #8

Trigger Warning at the end. Please take care of yourself.  I don’t know why it takes over a year for the reality of it to hit me; denial or repression or shock, take your pick. Maybe it’s Gabby, the only real connection to my past, sprawled on my living room floor, setting up her ancient…

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it’s a living #7

“Do you think,” Deanna grabs a jar of Jiffy peanut butter from the grocery store shelf, “That buying new underwear instead of washing my dirty ones makes me more or less adult-ish?” I pluck the jar out of her hands and replace it with an off-brand. “I think it makes you gross.” “Because, like, if I…

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it’s a living #6

I’m about halfway home. The bus is chugging along, industrious yet tired, and I’ve got my earbuds buried in as far as as they’ll go. I’m listening to a semi-decent 80’s playlist on Spotify, and the woman next to me keeps looking at me like she wants to talk to me, so I make a…

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