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aubrielegault-blog · 5 years

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TV vs. Table

Our TV did not work tonight.

Picture a “no power” situation, as if you were sitting in a thunderstorm with candles lighting your hallways. Okay, so we had power, just no TV. We had started a fire before we knew our TV was out so our ambience was already set. Typically we have dinner in front of the TV, watching... something...anything. It can range from movies to new TV shows, to something on Netflix...to reruns of Big Bang Theory. Almost all of our dinners are in front of the tube. Which I use to love, I use to look forward to the day being done and to just sit mindlessly and relax with a meal. But in the past few months, I have been experiencing a change- I’m not quite sure what to call it or what to reference it to, but just that I needed a change in what I was doing with my downtime. See- we don’t have kids. So we don’t “need” to sit down to a table for our meal and talk about our day. Or so I thought. I thought that allowing our brains to have a vacation every night from work, from life, from thought, from just about anything (picture a flat line on a cardiopulmonary monitor... beeeeeeeeep) was good for us. It was a much-needed break from reality. We didn’t have to think, we didn’t have to do much of anything but sit mesmerized by flashing pictures and sound coming from a rectangle screen. (Sorry, but “box” isn’t cutting it anymore for the shape of a TV- we’re all rocking a 2:3 ratio now.)

Now, first, you’re going to think to yourself that my marriage is a piece of shit. When I say “we” I am referring to my husband and myself (and my dog). I already mentioned no kids. So it’s just the two/three of us. It sounds like we ignore each other and are focused on TV shows. Which, to be honest, is probably the case come later evening. But- I want to cushion the blow a bit and tell you that it’s nothing like you’re assuming. We go to bed with each other every night, we always sleep together, we cuddle in the beginning, there isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t kiss and even flirt (boob grabbing, ass smacking, teasing, the whole bit). We have sex on a regular basis- although I would have it more- but I am a rare, randy/horny female.... and my husband is 9 years older than me. When we are not “traveling” (or for me, at a shoot) we work from home- so we see each other and we have a good idea on what is going on with our work lives. We also love to go on drives and hikes (more so in the summertime) and that’s where we do one of two things- we either enjoy music (occasional podcasts) or we chat- about all sorts of stuff. So it’s not like we don’t have conversations. We’re also both independent people- in the sense of we don’t need to share or divulge every tiny little thing to someone, we’re perfectly fine with what’s going on in our heads... and we also are perfectly content with enjoying our own muses. Like- my husband can watch YouTube videos on Jeeps climbing boulders, the best way to chop wood, tiny houses in Alaska and drummers with one hand. And I- well I can swim, do yoga, read, write, listen to music.... shit, I can go to concerts, movies, dinner, you name it- by myself. And it doesn’t bother me. ...As I said, two independent people. On the flip side- I rely on David for many things (outside of just good ol’ companionship) and he relies on me for things as well. Basically, a long-winded paragraph to say, that I don’t think there is anything wrong with my marriage or my relationship with my husband. Could it be better? Always. When is that not the answer? Usually, things can always improve. But I am not writing this as a red flag to my marriage. More of an observation.

So back to... our TV isn’t working. It started off with each of us enjoying a gin martini while working- David was working on setting up the new TV and I was finishing some editing. The fire was already roaring and most of the dinner was cooking. I cam out to finish dinner- throw some salmon on the skillet and steam some broccoli. David could not get the TV to connect. So the centerpiece in our living room was a black hole for the night. I joked that he might actually have to have dinner with me at the table- which is now shoved in a corner and will only fit two people comfortably unless I pull it away from the wall. (I did this on purpose- more open space.) ...And so, we did. I plated our meal and we actually sat at the dinner table. We happened to have a growler of our all-time favorite beer, so we poured that and enjoyed a nice 12% Triple IPA with our salmon and baked potato. It was nice- like a typical dinner at a restaurant where we chatted and enjoyed a beer... only we didn’t have to tip and we had to load our own dishwasher. I knew instantly though, that we needed to incorporate this back into our lives. Do we need to do it every night? No, I don’t think we do. I’m fine with finding some sort of happy medium between enjoying some TV programs and having dinner with conversation.

After dinner... we still didn’t have a TV. At one point both of us were on the floor in front of the fireplace. We stroked our dog and spent a little time with him, after all, he is dying of cancer. The fireplace was nice. I busted out my foam roller and rolled out my back and did a few stretches. David cleaned up the kitchen. And then, we grabbed our devices. David sat down on the couch and pulled out his phone. I was inspired by the way our night went + books/podcasts that I’ve been listening too on minimalism and less tech that I grabbed my laptop to write this piece. I will say that I didn’t grab my phone and I actually did not open up my laptop and look at any social media or email sites. I simply started writing.

Even so- here we were on a random Wednesday night and after some quality time spent together we couldn’t help but to retreat to some sort of technical device. ...Or vise. And that’s really the overwhelming theme of what I have been listening and reading about- this technology that we own in our pockets are vises and we cannot live without them.

Me included.

I am slowly trying to grasp and practice this idea that life doesn’t revolve around my iPhone or my Instagram or my Facebook. Instead, those apps can be included, sporadically, into my life. And yes, I have to have Gmail to conduct business, there is no other way. But emails and social media and the internet, in general, shouldn’t BE my life.

I have a long way to go. The world has a long way to go. But I can see a small shift in how we treat those wonderful little things we call smartphones. Over time I think a lot of the population will come to the realization that we were inundated by the sheer brilliance of this technology and we were mesmerized by what it could do for us that we let it consume our lives. And, after some time, perhaps a long honeymoon phase, we are now slowly realizing that our attachment to these devices is not as worthwhile as we thought. We need balance in our lives. (One of my all-time favorite words for life is a balance.) We need to be able to use our smartphones and our technology to benefit it us in business aspects and perhaps to make a few tasks in every-day-life a little easier. But we also need to step away, turn off the TV, turn on the fireplace, and put our phones away and enjoy one another.

Random Thoughts (and quotes) on Minimalism and Less-Tech Lives

Just by trying to read a book, a good book that I am generally interested in reading, it has cut my screen time down a lot. Over the past month every time my “screen time analysis” pops up it says I am down ___ percentage. It’s been going down consistently for weeks now.

The book, Bored and Brilliant, is so far... brilliant and not at all boring.

I took a few very nice (like Portland boutique expensive) clothes items out of my closet this week. Sometimes- it just looks fantastic on while in the store and then at home, it just doesn’t work. This is what bothers me about clothes shopping... I’m all for quality over quantity. I am the type of person that doesn't mind dropping $$$ on a great pair of pants or a perfect blouse if I know that it will last a while and stay looking nice after I wash it ten times. I don’t need hundreds of options in my closet. Um, I don’t even need more than ten options. But sometimes- I fail. I buy something that in the end just doesn’t work out. And those are the pieces that are so hard to let go of. Even though I don’t love the clothes and I don’t wear them I don’t want to give them up because they cost a lot of money. ...But what good are they doing in my closet? They are taking up space. Which in the end, it takes up my time. And I want all of my time. So... the three shirts that I was clinging to, are now officially out of my closet. Now there is room for something I WILL wear.

I will have to continue my thoughts on this phenomenon- and share a lot more about the book, Bored and Brilliant. But right now, my bed is calling me. That 12% beer is telling me to close my eyes, and so I will obey its command.

#notv #minimal #minimalsim #boredandbrilliant #marriage

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aubrielegault-blog · 5 years

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Photoshoot

We were standing in a parking lot at night. But it wasn’t dark, it wasn’t filled with cars and it was not silent. Behind his head, I could see a food truck with a girl handing out a gigantic ball of pink fluff rolled on to a cardboard stick. She was wearing yellow clown glasses and popping pink bubble gum. She handed the cotton candy down to a gentleman who I could tell was trying to hit on her. To the right, I could hear the dunk tank. Or people at the dunk tank. Whoever was sitting on the stool had not fallen into the water yet. I could hear clunks and clashes as the ball tried to hit the bullseye. There was a lot of laughter. Next to me was an upside-down wine barrel, currently being used as a table for garbage. I started to lean on it as he came closer to the side of my face. I could smell leftover mustard and bourbon. Behind me, there were tents- filled with delicious food like corndogs. Not just any corndogs though, after all, I was at a food event. These were corndogs from one of the top chefs in Seattle. I am sure the meat was not an actual hot dog, but something more spectacular. And the outside layer was probably a special cornmeal batter that the chef made from scratch. It’s hard to imagine a fair filled with legit, delicious, made-from-scratch food. Only foodie events can pick a theme like “circus” and turn it into something just shy of fine dining.

“You know, you didn’t need to introduce yourself to me again.” He whispered in my ear. Or maybe he said it at normal auditory level. It reminded me of a whisper since he was so close to my face. Our cheeks grazed as he pulled away, but he didn’t pull away far. He was extremely close to my face staring at my eyes, waiting for my response. He knew I would have to lean in and talk to his ear- as the vibrating noise around us was like being at a concert.

“We’ve only met once. I assumed you would briefly recognize my face and in a panic forget how you knew me so I re-introduced myself.”

The left side of his lips curled up slightly. He wanted to laugh. Or maybe he wanted to relax, he couldn’t do either. He was very tense. He looked like he wanted to grab me by my triceps and shake me vigorously.

When I first walked through the balloon archway into the parking lot I spotted Gabriel. He was talking to a group of people. We briefly made eye contact and he turned back to his friends. I figured he recognized my face and quickly pushed it aside, knowing we probably would not actually speak to each other. Just past the balloons, a line had formed, which I stood in patiently waiting to waive the badge around my neck to the doorkeeper. My pass was rare- red in color that said “staff” in bold black letters. There were only a handful of these passes roaming around the large weekend food event, Seattle Eats. I secretly liked having this pass. Every time I would approach the entrance attendant they would pause and look at me. They would wonder to themselves how I had a staff pass. They might quickly contemplate the idea that I found it or stole it. The only other people that had staff passes were the select few that ran the entire event and everyone (at least everyone in the food scene) knew who they were. And I was not one of them. No, I wasn’t in charge of the event. But I was in charge of documenting the event. I was one of two staff photographers. They found it easier to give us a staff pass so that there was no question on whether or not we were allowed inside.

And just as in other entrances, the woman scanning the passes paused when I showed her mine. She looked at my face. My face did not register and she looked at the pass again. If I have all my camera gear with me they usually put two and two together and waive me in. My camera was not strapped around my neck, so the attendant looked suspiciously at me. I told her I was one of the staff photographers and that I had the night off. My co-photographer was assigned to this particular party. Anything we were not assigned to we were encouraged to still attend and enjoy ourselves.

The attendant waved me in and told me to have fun. She said I deserved it. I stood still for a moment, taking in the scene before me. There were lights swooping across the black sky from one tent to another. A man on stilts walked by throwing pins into the air. The smells were overwhelming- too many to decipher exactly what I was smelling. I had a quick moment of... not quite panic, that’s too strong of a word. But that feeling where you’ve just entered a huge party and think- I know nobody. I reached for my camera, that wasn’t there. Typically in moments like these, I can hide behind my camera. The moment quickly passed as Nicole walked up to me. She was a food blogger and assisted me on a few shoots in the past. She asked me what events I photographed today and exclaimed how tired I must feel after I told her. When she assisted me on day-long photo shoots she would complain towards the end how tired she was. I knew she wasn’t quite cut out to be a full-time photographer. Blogger suited her just fine. She could bake banana bread, take a nice photo using natural light and post it to Instagram and not have to worry about lugging huge lights into an empty space and build not only a background scene and lighting scheme, but also build a composition using food and props. That was too much for someone like her, but for me, it was my life.

Frank, the other staff photographer, walked up and joined in on our conversation. He asked me the same thing Nicole did. Instead of stating how tired I must feel, he empathized with me and said he couldn’t wait to go to bed.

Frank ventured off to take more photos. Nicole and I started walking towards the bourbon tent. I could finally have a drink. I ordered it neat. It was a new brand of bourbon and I always try new whiskeys without ice first. We were joined by a few other bloggers. They talked non-stop about all the great food they tasted. I was in a daze, not thinking about what I ate, but what I captured as their busy words swarmed around my head. My trance-like-state was interrupted when one of the bloggers shouted at Gabriel, who was walking by with the same group of people I saw earlier.

“Gabe- your pork belly dish was delicious.” She said peering up at him. Gabriel was tall, everyone peered up at him. He thanked her, sounding annoyed. I assume chefs, at this point, are tired of seeing people swoon and are completely over their simplistic compliments. They have heard it all day, have had to smile nod and act cordially to everyone. At the after parties, I am sure they just want to be left alone and drink. I wasn’t going to say anything to Gabriel. And then the blogger asked if Gabriel knew everyone. He said no and quickly looked at all our faces. He was about to say something when a second blogger stuck out her hand and introduced herself. The third followed. And then it was my turn.

“I’m Andrea, one of the staff photographers for the event. I did photos for you...”

“Andrea, you don’t think I remember who you are?” Gabriel asked sounding more annoyed than when the blogger gave him an empty compliment. He cocked his head to one side and gave me an odd look. Like- half hurt, half perplexed. The bloggers giggled. “She’s always this humble, Gabe.” one blogger said. “Your photos were gorgeous by the way, Andrea. Didn’t you think so, Gabe?” she peered at his face, wanting his attention. He was still looking at me. He was pissed.

My memories of the day we spent together slammed into my mind- like a stenographer chucked a stack notes from the day and heaved it at my head. I buried that day with Gabriel away and didn’t think about it again. Well, okay, after about a week of thinking about the day, I then proceeded to bury it. It had been months since I did a day shoot with Gabriel. He won Seattle’s Magazine Chef of the Year and I was assigned to photograph the story. We spent a good six hours together that day, just the two of us. So at the time, it felt intimate. But I didn’t want to assume the chemistry we shared was anything more than a weird photographer-client moment. Those happen from time to time. I sit behind a lens and stare into someone’s life, they are completely exposed and vulnerable. Sometimes they end up sharing their life story with me. Sometimes we laugh and have a good time. Usually, most relax and feel comfortable with me. Sometimes we find things in common and bond over a certain aspect in our lives. Very few times, but it does happen, there is an attraction.

Gabriel turned to the bloggers and said “it was nice to meet you all” and then just walked away. I looked at the bloggers.

“Andrea, you’re so funny. It was just a few months ago that you did that photo shoot with Gabriel, right?” I shook my head yes. “And don’t you spend a lot of time with the chef when you do a shoot like that?” I nodded my head yes. “Why would you think he wouldn’t know who you were? Not to mention it’s not like your some newb off the streets, you’re a very well known food photographer.” I shrugged.

“I didn’t think he wouldn’t recognize my face. I figured he would have one of those ‘oh shit’ moments where you know the person but draw a complete blank of their name or how you know them. So I thought I’d help him out- just take the pressure off. I can’t assume that everyone remembers who I am.” I finally said.

“You are so different than other photographers. They are always so aggressive and arrogant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. They laughed and walked away, telling me to drink more bourbon and enjoy the night.

I strolled around the tents, nibbling on the bites, sipping on my whiskey. I thought about Gabriel again and then told myself not to overthink anything. After our photo shoot that is exactly what I did. I dwelled. I pondered. I even pleasured myself thinking about him. And after an absurd week, I shoved it to the deep black corners of my mind where I locked the memory door with a key and didn’t reopen it. I wanted to at least apologize to him. Apologize for reintroducing myself? That sounds strange, but that’s what I wanted to do. I found myself up against the wine barrel table, scanning for his face. And that’s when I saw him walking over to me. I tried to look at the girl in the clown sunglasses and think about cotton candy.

“You know, you didn’t need to introduce yourself to me again.” He whispered in my ear.

“We’ve only met once. I assumed you would briefly recognize my face and in a panic forget how you knew me so I re-introduced myself.” I saw the grin spread on his upper left lip and the aggravation fill his demeanor and added “I apologize. I can be very forgetful with names and so I tend to make it easier on people and just reintroduce myself.”

He leaned in again to my ear. “Andrea.” He moved his hips closer to me. He placed his pointer finger on the back side of my hand and my arms lit up with goosebumps. He waited a few seconds and then said: “Your whole body is covered in goosebumps.” I just stood there feeling the bumps and hairs on my skin rise.

“That pretty much just answered my question.”

“What question was that? “ I asked.

“Girls don’t break out into a sheet of bumps when someone touches the back of their hand for a brief moment... unless there is something there. Some chemistry. Some interest, at least.”

“I’m cold.” I said.

“It’s 80 degrees out.” He looked at my eyes.

“I can’t do this.” I turned. He grabbed my arm by the wrist and pulled.

“Can we go inside?”

“Why?”

He rolled his eyes, slumped his shoulders, cocked his head and looked at me again. “Andrea, come on. Humor me at least.”

The circus-themed after party that was held in a parking lot just happened to be Gabriel’s parking lot. Or at least the large parking lot in the back of his restaurant. I followed him around the front, he unlocked the door and we stepped inside. He didn't bother turning on any lights. There were one or two small neon lights glowing somewhere- probably from a computer screen. There was just enough ambient light that when I let my eyes adjust, I could see his face. And he was upset.

“We spent five to six hours together.” He said coldly at first. And then his tone lightened. “Andrea, tell me if I am bat-shit crazy....” he looked down at me.

“You’re not bat-shit crazy,” I said.

“Okay, let me rephrase that then. We spent one hour together. And then we spent four hours together in a completely different way.”

I smiled. “Yes.”

“So it wasn’t just me, then, correct?”

“Correct.” I blushed. He couldn’t see that my face turned hot.

He stood close to me. His broad shoulders hovered above mine. His chin could rest on the top of my head, he was that tall. His arms gently grabbed my elbows. I looked up at him.

“Andrea- that photo shoot blew me away. The first hour was cordial. We smiled. We worked. You didn’t say much. I didn’t say much. And then I relaxed. And you moved my elbow out of your shot once. And we felt it. There was a spark. Shit, it wasn’t a spark it was a damn explosion. From an elbow touch. And everything changed. You laughed more. You flirted. I opened up more. I started to tell you things no one on this planet knows. And I don’t even know why. But I did. We had fun. We were attracted to each other. We bonded. I mean we almost kissed. You know we almost did. I leaned in. You wanted it. And then you walked out the door and left me standing there like a fucking chump.” His body stiffened when he said the last part. Obviously, I had hurt his ego.

“I... “ I didn’t know exactly how to respond. I had those two little people on each of your shoulders screaming at me. One said, “Do the right thing, Andrea.” And the other said “Fuck it, Andrea. Grab him and kiss him.”

I looked up at him and said, “Look. It happens from time to time. There is something about a photographer- when alone with his or her client- that sometimes things get heated. Sometimes you bond. Or other times there is a slight attraction. I’ve had a few times where I’ve become good acquaintances, even kind of friends with my clients. And it was probably just that you felt comfortable with me, and I enjoyed photographing you- and it felt... well more intense at the moment, but in reality, we were just working together.”

His finger touched the back of hand again. I flushed. Bumps scattered across my entire body. “That’s bullshit,” he said as he flung his arm around my back, pulled me to his chest, lifted my chin slightly with his other finger and kissed me. All I could think about was how amazing this felt. It made sense. It felt real. It felt right. There was nothing awkward about it. We didn’t hit teeth or use too much tongue. He relaxed. I relaxed in his arms. And we had an amazing few minutes of perfection.

Suddenly, I pushed him away. “We can’t do this,” I said.

He looked stunned. “Andrea. I’ll call her right now. You can call him right now. And then I will carry you up into my office and this” he motioned between him and myself with his hands, “this can continue. And it can continue until I walk you down an aisle. and it will continue forever.”

Most women, shit, almost all men would be extremely taken back by the thought of a proposal from someone you’ve spent about 6 and a half hours with. But I wasn’t. He wasn’t either. What he said didn’t scare me. He picked up his cell phone and hit one button.

“Kristi. I am deeply, deeply sorry.” He said with a mournful tone. “I will properly talk to you tomorrow morning because I do not want to do this over the phone, but it’s imperative that I do this right now. It’s over. I am breaking up with you. And yes, I will give you a full explanation tomorrow face-to-face.” And then he hung up the phone without hearing her response.

I thought it was harsh but at the same time, he was honest with her. And he is the type of person that would break-up with you face to face, but he simply could not do that. He needed me now, but he wanted to have me with a clear conscious. He looked up at me. It was my turn. He knew it would not be as easy for me. Not because I was more attached to my current boyfriend that he was attached to his girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend now. But he knew that my personality and really just being a woman that it would be harder to be that brutally honest. So he took my hand and he said “It will sting for about five seconds as the words come out. Get it over with, rip the bandaid. And whatever you do- do not listen to the response. You can say exactly what I said- word for word if you like.” I asked him if he had done this many times before. He said no, this was his first. And he said it would be the last time he will ever have to break up with someone.

“How can you be...” he knew what I was going to ask. He knew my last word was going to be “certain.” He interrupted me and simply said, “I know.” And then he paused, looked at me, and added: “And you know too.” And I did. It was the strangest feeling in the world. I knew I was standing next to the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. I dialed my phone. I said verbatim exactly what Gabriel said to his ex. And then I hung up the phone.

He interlaced his fingers through mine and led me upstairs to his office. He opened the door to his office and motioned me to walk inside. As I passed him he said, “That was one hell of a photo shoot, Andrea.” He shut the door behind him. “That it was, Gabriel,” I said. And we made love on his desk.

#shortstory photoshoot romance foodphotographer chef

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aubrielegault-blog · 5 years

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Minimalism Musings

I hate when I am hungry but nothing sounds appetizing. I’m not sure if this is a common occurrence for a lot of people. For me, it’s strange. Very rare. I like food- all the different ethnicities of tastes too. Chinese, Thai, Indian, Mexican, Mediterranean, Creole, French... I think you get my point. But tonight, I must not be feeling well. In fact, I think I feel one of my lymph nodes swollen in the back of my neck and my throat is starting to burn. I have a headache. Should I just eat a bowl of cereal and call it a night?

I’ve been...hmm...into Minimalism lately. There has to be a better word than “into.” Let’s see here... absorbed...engrossed...engaged...musing. Musing over Minimalism. That has a nice ring to it, not sure if that makes sense. (adjective. absorbed in thought, meditative.) I have been musing over minimalism lately. Sure that works. I think I’ll have more to share on this topic, but at the moment I just keep thinking about my headache. My hunger. And the word musing. I should use it more often.

I wonder what it takes to be a writer. Do authors sit down every day for hours and hours? I really don’t know an author, I’ve never spoken to one. I feel like in the right mood, I could just type and type and type and sometimes create something unusual. Something weird or romantic- maybe romantically weird. For the most part, though I probably would do... well, this. Ramble on about nothing.

I want to join a rock climbing gym. Try it out. Maybe build up some more arm strength. I should. do it.

I see writing prompts from time to time. Just words or thoughts and you have to take and run with it. Run Forrest. Ya, I must be getting sick. I thought maybe not feeling well would somehow to make me creative. But so far the only thing I’ve expressed that I am hungry with no appetite and that the word musing is cool. Cool? There has to be a better word than cool. Hip? Sufficient? A-Ok? Delightful. Musing is a delightful word.

Minimalism.

What? I mean technically that is a minimalistic paragraph on minimalism. ...I know, that was a terrible joke. Do you think you own too much crap? I will warn you- just listening/reading/thinking about getting rid of a lot of your items will drive you insane. Everywhere I look, I want to downsize, rid my life of like half of whatever I am looking at. I don’t need all this STUFF.

There. That was... kind of... a small pathetic musing over minimalism.

I should go eat cereal.

#musing minimalism random #Mus

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aubrielegault-blog · 9 years

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This town, she is a temptress A siren with gold eyes She'll cut you with her kindness Then she will bleed you with her lies She's been called a glistening devil And she's good at keeping score If you make it, she's your savior If you don't, she's a whore The roads to and from her heart are littered with creative souls They gave all their all And all they got in return was empty holes Sure we've all heard about Shel and Kris and Willie and the Bobby Bares She's smiled on the Johnny's, the Merle's and the many Music Row millionaires Like a beacon, she goes seeking seed For her loins so fertile To a free man, she's a prison To a caged one, she's a file She's the reason there's a "Sunday Morning Coming Down" "I Saw The Light", "Boy Named Sue" "He Stopped Loving Her Today" "The Pill" and "16th Avenue" The Ryman, oh she's a diamond In the crown of that wicked queen She was Roy Acuff's castle And Elvis Presley's broken dream It's not all bad, it's not all dark It's not all gloom and crass But to find gold in this silver mine It does take balls of brass For she's seen 'em come, seen 'em go And came herself a time or two But no matter how satisfied her screams sound She always wants someone new The next him or them or her or all With stamina to last the night To be a star in this lady's town You can f*#k or you can fight You see, it all comes down to money Not romantic art from days gone past If you forget that rule, you can bet your backside She will bury it in your ass A tramp, a slut, a bitch, a mutt A thousand pawn shop guitars A nasty little needle To a vein that feeds a singer's heart She lurks in friendly shadows But she's a junkie with a limp The agents are her bookie And the labels are her pimp I'll tell you a well-known secret In a tiny place known far and wide The devil walks among us folks And Nashville is his bride Of all the chaos he has caused and done His greatest trick is To every guitar toting dreamer The devil don't exist But me, I've shook his hand And I know that he is real So devil, you can go screw yourself And then go straight to hell

Eric Church “Devil, Devil (Prelude: Princess of Darkness”)

#ericchurch lyrics nashville countrymusic

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aubrielegault-blog · 9 years

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The First 820 Words

I’ve been writing a young-adult fiction novel. ...For fun. So far I've wrote almost 45,000 words. Here are my first 820 words.

I was completely surrounded by water. The crisp morning air was keeping my body from sweating too much. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled. I can’t believe I am back in Oregon. I opened my eyes and looked around. The sunlight peaked over the hill and casted an orange hue over the glassy water. The lake was pristine, quiet. The sunlight immediately began to warm my skin. I took a big deep breath of that beautiful Northwest air and thought about how much I love this great sate, I just didn’t think I would be back here so soon.

A quick splash of water interrupted my thoughts. I couldn’t believe I heard it because it was clear across the lake. I was irritated because I thought for once I would have this lake all to myself; wishful thinking. I squinted my eyes to see if it was a jumping fish or something with out gills. I could see movement, splashes. As the interference got a little closer I could tell it was a person swimming... unmistakable freestyle arm strokes.

Twenty, maybe even thirty minutes went by. I finally realized that I had not paddled my kayak since the freestyler entered the water. I fell into some sort of trance watching the person’s stroke. It was the best freestyle I’ve ever seen, the swimmers’s strokes were perfect and their underwater pull moved them like 10 feet per stroke. My body started to urn, I wanted to leave my kayak behind and jump into the water, spread my arms into a wide butterfly and kick my legs like a dolphin. I missed swimming. I chuckled. I was acting like I’ve been out of the water for years, it’s only been three months. Still, my body was aching for me to beat it up again. My legs missed that intense burn that only a butterfly set could stimulate.

The man, I could now tell it was a man, was very close to my kayak now. He was swimming straight across Hag Lake. He must be a triathlete or a marathon swimmer. They are the only swimmers I know that swim across a large lake at 6 AM on a Monday. I wondered if he even noticed I was there. He was in a groove, totally outside his body, floating on some cloud, just doing what came natural to him. Stroke, stroke, breathe. His arms were long and fairly slender for a swimmer. His underwater pull was fantastic. He swam right by me, even breathed to my side once. It seemed like he looked right at me for that brief moment, but I couldn’t tell with his tinted goggles.

I know, I’ll never find another like you, from where I’m going

I know, I’ll never find another like you, the winds are blowing

You’re the greenest grass growing

I scratched my head, laughed. I am always amused how song lyrics will pick the strangest times to pop up in my head. I can’t remember the last time I heard that song. I wasn’t surprised, Josh Radin is one of my favorite artists. His songs built a very large lake house inside my head years ago, the lyrics live there year round. I took one last look at the swimmer, he looked like a spec in the water.

“He’s Fast!” I gasped out loud.

I saw his head pop up all of a sudden, it turned sharply towards my direction. It was almost like he heard me, like I stunned him. ...Or he saw a really big fish. Just as quick as his head broke the surface it was buried again and his arms were digging into the water.

I hummed Radin’s song as I paddled my kayak back to shore. The sun was completely over the hill now and it made Hagg Lake sparkle. It reminded me of fireflies I saw for the first time in Indiana. I shook the thought away, I didn’t want to think of Indiana or Norte Dame or swimming. I refused to carry my depression back home to my sister, she had enough to deal with. Instead I forced a smile, told myself that I just had a great kayak trip... you can’t really do that in Indiana... and now I was going to grab some Longbottom coffee, the best in the world. (Well, in my opinion.) Longbottom doesn’t brew in the Midwest. There- two points for Oregon already this morning.

I strapped my kayak to the top of my Jeep. I glanced back at the lake, I couldn’t see the swimmer anymore. Was he already done? I was very impressed by his stroke and it was the perfect motivation for today. Today, I start a new chapter in my life. Today I retire my goggles and swim cap for a stopwatch and a clipboard. I can’t believe that I’m a swim coach now.

#firstnovel #young adult #fiction

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aubrielegault-blog · 9 years

Text

“Rollercoaster” (Writing Prompt)

My arm mimics the motion of a roller coaster. My fingers point down at the asphalt races by, my palm arcs in a slow motion and as soon as the tips of my fingers head towards the sky the wind jerks my arm up quickly to finish the ride. I do this motion over and over again as the sun fades behind the horizon. The hazy light flickers off the fields of wheat, the tips sway to-and-fro as it dances with wind. If I squint my eyes the fields turn into fireflies. Golden straws line the dirt road in a perfect symmetrical pattern. As my older brother pushes down on the gas pedal the lines swirl by faster and faster. I imagine my mind as a video recorder documenting the repeating pattern as it flies past my window. I lose focus with my eyes and watch the fields turn into a collection of bokehs and then I slowly bring my focus back to the fields as if I’m turning a dial on a lens. The sound of my brother’s old diesel truck gurgles in my ears. I try not to pay attention to the annoying rumble and instead concentrate on my imaginary video. If I could give it sound it would be a light piano trill. A few soft notes going back and forth quickly.

My brother breaks our silence by asking “Are you thinking about him?”

I ignore his question and return to my video. There is no talking in my video, but he doesn’t know that. He just wants to make small talk and make sure I am okay. I push stop on my imaginative video and speak.

“I was thinking about sounds. What if you could give everything a sound, even things that are silent to the human ear?”

My brother gave me an awkward glance and said “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“It’s not that strange of a question. For instance the wheat fields. Watch as they roll by your window. Now they don’t make an audible sound, unless you count the wind blowing their tiny bristles around. I would say that sound belongs to the wind though, don’t you think? Think of how many sounds the wind owns. Wind chimes, whistles, autumn leaves scattering along pavement. But the wheat itself has no sound. I decided to give these wheat patterns a piano trill.”

He glanced out his window as I explained my piano trill, how it would sound, light and cheerful but also a continuous pattern just like the fields.

“You really should study art or something that is creative, Beth.” He said to me.

“Maybe I could be a writer or a painter. I could paint my feelings of anguish right now with a huge paint brush, big hard strokes of black paint splattering on to a canvas and then throw scoops of red paint and watch it explode all over.” I paused. Took a deep breath in and said “I think that that would make me feel better.”

“Tomorrow we will head to an art store then. We’ll pick up some paints, brushes, canvases and whatever else you need. You can paint until your heart mends. And then you can paint pretty landscapes of the shoreline to hang on our walls. Those walls need some art.” My brother responded. He was trying so hard to be supportive.

“Do you think that painting would really mend this broken heart?” I asked, fighting back some tears.

“No. I think it will take your mind off it though, at least for part of the day. And during that escape your heart will start to mend. Time, little sister, time is what will heal a broken heart.”

“Is it normal to not want to heal? I feel like if I start to get over this heartbreak, If I try to forget about him and what he did then I will eventually forgive, forget and he’ll be out of my life completely. I don’t want that. I want him to stay with me forever.”

“No you don’t. It may seem like that now, but eventually you’ll let him go.”

I didn’t respond after that. Only in my head did I acknowledge the truth and the truth was that I was never going to let him go. I was never going to stop loving him. I stuck my arm out the window again and continued with my roller coaster ride.

#writing #creativewriters #fiction #shortstories #country #driving #wheatfields #heartbreak #healing #time #rollercoaster

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