Dear Vicky Luu:

You are my partner in crime in The Undeniables. If we are the New Kids on the Block, then you, my dear, are certainly Joey McIntire (but much cooler, more attractive, and maybe a better singer–I’m not sure about that last one because you’ve never really sung in front of me). I have no idea which New Kid I’d be because I honestly don’t know all that much about them. The only reason I had a New Kids T-shirt when I was in elementary school might’ve been because they were available at the 5 for $10 store, probably a poorly-screened one from the store around the corner from where I grew up.

You were the first other person I told about this project, and you jumped into it right away. I’ve known you for almost exactly three months now, and in that short time, I’ve come to sincerely trust you. Maybe it’s because we’re kind of in the same place, working at jobs that are only vaguely related to what we’d rather be doing or should be doing. Maybe it’s because we spent HOURS AND HOURS together with Claire the first time we hung out. Maybe it’s because you listened to my poetry and cheesy essays and didn’t laugh, and you seemed genuinely interested.

Or maybe, just maybe, you’re just AWESOME.

Even though you told me that my new WordPress address foranovel.wordpress.com was “BORING.”

MEAN.

Seriously though, when we read out your script together, I was impressed. Your talent motivates me. And you’re encouraging and nurturing. And you’re witty. You’re good.

The one thing that bothers me, though, is that you won’t punch me in the face. I’ll keep working on that one.

I’m glad that you’re in this. I’m glad that you’re jumping into the novel. I just hope I can keep up with you.

Love,
N

Dear Skin:

You are, apparently, revolting against me. This is a problem. Then again, it’s probably a reflection of how poorly I’ve been treating my body for the last few years, and it’s come to a head. Time for a change. Please, stop inviting insect bites and strange aberrations. I’m too old for this.

N

Dear FAMSA:

It’s fun living next to such a furniture store. At the moment there is Latin music blaring from your parking lot, the sound of laughter and fun floating through my window at 10AM. I smell charcoal burning, there must be a barbecue going on or something. One of these mornings I’m going to have to wander down there and see what’s going on.

N

Dear Insects/Spiders:

Please. Stop stinging/biting me.

I have no real idea where you’re coming from, whether it’s from eating lunch outside at work or maybe you’re lurking somewhere in my apartment– I don’t care. I just want you to stop. I don’t understand why I’m the only one of my coworkers being bitten. Is it all the caffeine and sugar and nicotine I consume? Maybe you are addicted to my blood because of all the different chemicals running through it.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor about these, but the soonest one I could get is for next Thursday, and it’s not even with the person who is supposed to be my Primary Care Physician (sigh, hooray for HMOs). I’m hoping these giant, alarming swellings will be gone long before then. Insurance is a funny thing. I’ve already paid over six hundred dollars to the insurance company and this will be my first appointment. I feel like this might be something worth going to urgent care about, but my co-pay for emergency care is $250 and I feel silly going in for insect stings, even giant, scary, tingling ones like these.

It seems like healthcare shouldn’t be such a complicated thing. The government is so concerned about people using health insurance to pay for healthcare that they don’t seem to actually think about actually providing access to people. Shouldn’t it be as easy as walking up to a clinic, needing help, and getting it? It’s upsetting that it isn’t that simple, that health care is not at all affordable unless you have insurance, and even then, it still isn’t.

Big questions not meant for little creatures. Just stop biting me.

Thanks,
N

Dear Session Four:

The free-for-all session. The one where we get to decide whether we want to write novels or poems or letters or maybe some other idea we might have for a writing exercise. For two months this time instead of three. I’m glad that the session length was shortened because I’ve only been a member of this session for half of it and I’m feeling the strain.

I toyed with the idea of doing one flash-fiction story per day as a way of getting out plots and stories and scenes, for their own sake as much as for the sake of possibly turning some of them into longer works. Then I thought about how long I’ve been putting off really working on a story with any length, and how much I whine about not writing enough, and I decided to stop being a coward about it and take on a novel for the next session. Granted, in two months, unless I work at NaNoWriMo speed, it’s not likely that I’ll have enough writing for a novel, but I’ll have a serviceable chunk of manuscript to work with. If I can manage to crank out at least 200 words a day–which isn’t too much at all– that’s a 12,000-word story. 12,000 words is not a novel, not even a novella really, but it would be something. And it would be something created among other people who want to create something.

I’ve always said that poetry was my main thing, and a part of me will always feel that way, but I’ve gained an itch for fiction. Maybe it’s because I never truly attempted fiction since I was ten until late last year. It’s new territory. I have to go there. Poetry has had its time with me, and will continue to have it privately, but it’s the novel I’m going to chase.

It’s going to be tough– I’m not even entirely sure I have it in me. I faltered a couple of times in the course of the Letters session, and I’m sure to falter a few times (at least) in the next session, but I’m ready. Because not trying has been worse.

See you soon,
N

Dear Kayla Crow:

I remember the first time I saw you– we hadn’t met yet, but you were sitting with Madison on the floor during the first Break The Silence I ever went to, barefoot, with your notebook open, scribbling. I know, it’s a bit creepy that I remember that, but that’s a part of why we’re writers, right? We remember so much and our brains seem to suck everything up and something inside us just wants to get it out again and make some room for the rest, the next batch of stimuli that’s going to bombard us. I think a part of why I remembered you so well is that seeing you there writing in the midst of all these people milling about and talking reminded me of myself a bit of myself, and I was also vaguely intimidated by you because you seemed so intense and cool. Plus I like the way you dress.

When you went up on the stage and read your poetry, I thought, “damn, this is someone who knows what’s up, who cares about what is going on in the world, who is willing to be angry and to show that anger.” I respected that.

We finally met during The Gun Shop, and we bonded over hookah and being queer and loving writing. We talked about various intoxicating substances and hallucinogens and San Francisco. Then we went to eat Thai food after Saturn Returns and had a really good conversation about owning our language and culture with Ish while he was sweating bullets over his meal. I mentioned The Undeniables to you at some point after that, and you actually joined. I’m really happy that you did. (I’m kind of amazed that anyone I asked actually joined, and actually kept up with this process.)

You’re special, in the good way, not the condescending way. I haven’t seen you in a hella long time because you’ve been gallivanting around the Northwest, but I’m excited to see you tomorrow.

And I think you should choose whichever session scares you the most. That’s probably the one that you want to do the most badly. I’ve talked to you enough to know that you have some winding story in you, and I know for sure that you have many verses in you.

Whichever session any of us chooses might kick our asses, but that’s why we have each other– to kick each other’s demon’s asses when we need it, and to give each other some nurturing when we need it.

So whichever you choose, I– We’ll be here for you.

Love,
N

Dear:

I hope that you know that I don’t hate you. In a way I’ve cut myself off from really feeling anything toward you. You are almost a stranger to me these days. Actually, we kind of are, considering the fact that there’s been no contact between us in about four months.

It’s so strange, isn’t it, that people can be so much a part of each other’s lives so suddenly, and then just as suddenly become so little?

I guess that’s always been a part of my MO– I run into people’s lives and take huge chunks of their time and lavish on the attention, then my social ADD kicks in or just life in general kicks in and I might suddenly disappear altogether. Often the friendship still endures to some degree, and sometimes actually remain very close despite the lack of actual face time– thanks to the magic of the Internet.

We haven’t maintained contact because I guess I feel like it doesn’t really matter to you either way. Like nothing really matters all that much to you either way. You let things go, you let people go, and you wait for them to come back to you. I’m angry at myself for having wanted someone whose character I would usually avoid. Maybe it was an experiment, an adventure. You were certainly a lot of fun.

The trouble is that our personalities inherently clash– I care too much, you care too little. I talk too much, you prefer to shut down. You can easily go out dancing and drinking every other night, I like to hole up in coffee shops and talk. I guess opposites attract, but they can only stick together for so long.

Anyway, the end of us was really ugly, and I think that we have too many personality conflicts to ever really be friends the way I am with so many of my exes, but I want to make sure you know that I hope for the best for you, and I do hope that you are happy, and I hope that you’re making art.

N