enamoured: the name of a favorite Facebook group: Disney Gave Me Unrealistic Expectations About Love. (disney gave me unrealistic expectations)
[personal profile] enamoured
Way too freaking long time, way too freaking no post.

I'm working on a piece, trying to get back into the mindset of being a thirteen year old girl, and I'm looking at my own journals from that stage of my life and it's been rough. It's funny--I feel like I can remember being that age well, but having the words before me feels like sensory overload. I found an entry when I talk about a teacher having to take me into the hall because I started crying in class over some drama with either my best friend or this awful boy that I liked. That boy shows up a lot in this one notebook. Like, I wrote a song about him (I wanted to be a pop star at the time, so I wrote lots of lyrics), and one of the lines from it was "your halfway love is cutting my soul like a knife", and what in the world was that about?

Anyway, I just found this one part where I talk about how said boy would pretend to flirt with me and say, "Oh, you like that!" when I would be like, "Ugh, stop." And I wrote:
Oh God, I do like it and I just want to have him wrapped around my finger and just kiss him and mess around in his hair and pull him closer and just have the pleasure of knowing that I want him and need him to possibly go on and have the pure satisfaction of knowing that we’re together.

When I read that, I hear it in my head as a long, kind of breathless gush, and I love that it's written like that. There was something going on in my thirteen year old head that understood the urgency that that sentence had, and knew that I didn't have to put a comma in there even though it's kind of a run-on. I felt that my writing had to be conversational and in that conversational way, splicing the sentence wasn't necessary.

I still like writing dialogue like that. I love heightened emotion and trying to get that frenetic, crazy feeling down in a way that makes sense and can make a reader really get what you’re going for.

But Lord, thirteen year olds are a mess. Bless their crazy little hearts.

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