July 30, 2024

Polyamory is Weird

If someone were to ask me, “Is Polyamory weird?” I would say, without hesitation, yes. It is weird. Our entire society is shown examples of what a “healthy” relationship is in monogamy. The mechanisms of which have been drilled deep into our minds that we have no idea it has tainted the perceptions of how a relationship could and can function. Which is fine… It just limits possibility.

When my husband and I first opened up our marriage it wasn’t because I wanted to date people. On the contrary. I am someone who can easily separate the “carnal” from the emotional. It’s very, very easy to do. My husband on the other hand did not find it as simple. In any manner of speaking. It is the primary factor why I wanted us to have an open marriage.

The only way he would agree to it was if I “dated” other people. His logic was that “dating” would “slow me down” and he wouldn’t feel compelled to “keep up” as if it is some kind of race.

I didn’t want that. At all. If I date someone emotions ABSOLUTELY come into play. I’m getting to know someone, I’m sharing my life when they share theirs. We have intimate dinners where we discuss our hopes for the future. There is no way to avoid romantic entanglements. But, having that was better than what we had been doing. Which was just cheating and lying to each other.

As one would expect from dating other people, Josh came into my orbit and has not left. Nor do I want him to. Ever. It’s just that… I am someone that can’t casually date. If I consider someone worthy of my attention and I bring them into my life, they’re there unless they forcibly remove themselves. (Or, if there is something we just can’t talk through.) I don’t know why Charlie (my husband) wasn’t aware of this. He is the result of this very behavior.

I didn’t like the idea of dating because if I shared anything on social media my friends and family would assume I was trying to replace my husband with someone new. I didn’t want that. Because that was never my intention. (Ugh this topic makes me so mad.) Most people can’t grasp the nuance of polyamory or that every relationship is very different. They only see 1+1=2. The end. No other questions. This meeting is over.

I am almost certain that that is how my in-laws viewed it.

Now, they have been incredible. Truly. I have not been treated any different, nor have they treated Josh or Tony any other way than kind. They’re truly accepting. But… there is always implicit bias. The kind we don’t even know we’re doing as it is occurring.

The other day my mother-in-law and I were chatting on the phone and she said something off-hand that I know she genuinely meant nothing by it. She was being sincere and kind, but it was hurtful. She told me to write a story about Charlie’s and my experience with ALS and how everything weirdly fell into place. “And you loved each other like brothers,” was what she had said during her suggestion. In the moment I was thunderstruck… But I didn’t have the energy or the time to explain how polyamory or “love” works.

That’s the bane of living an “alternative” lifestyle. We’re forever having to acquiesce to other people’s perceptions. At least the ones like me who avoid confrontational conversations at all costs.

For me it all boils down to: is that what she thinks I felt for him? One might argue that that just shows that you cared for each other. Yes. But brotherly love is different than romantic love. For instance, I love Tony (my husband’s boyfriend) like a brother. I love my husband like a lover. There are two very distinctions between the two. At least in a logical sense. They carry different emotional weight.

Anyway… none of it matters in the end. I know my truth and it is such, regardless of how someone else perceives it. I just wish charlie was alive so I could say “See! I was right!”

July 26, 2024

2024 Flash Fiction Entry #1 – “Artificial Originality”

As most know, I am a sucker for competition. Especially one wherein the stories are messy and hurriedly conceived. It flexes my imagination muscle. Keeps me on my toes. The only issue I seem to run into is that when it comes to the NYC Midnight competitions I am a doomed to the Sci-Fi trenches. This is the one genre I fail, miserably. I don’t read it, I don’t write. With the exception of some of my “world building” backstory for my WIP, I use it more as a plot device than the genre.

Of the 8 or so competitions I have competed, half of them were Science Fiction. I attempted, but I never got a high score. (Maybe it was me getting in my head.) Luckily, with the Flash Fiction challenges, they combine the scores for Challenges 1 & 2 to determine who goes on to the penultimate heat.

How the competition works is a contestant is assigned a genre, a location, and an item. The item can be pivotal to the plot or not. Regardless of it’s use, it MUST physically exist within the story. The word limit is 1000. With these parameters, writer’s are tasked with penning a story within 48 hours. Those who place 1st through 15th are given a score from 1-15. Those who have collected a score of 15 or higher move on to the next round.

The story below was from the first challenge. I was placed in “Group 23” which specified: genre – Sci-Fi, location – a writing retreat, and object – a spork. My entry placed 9th, which I took as a win because ( i realized after submission) I failed to have the object physically appear in the story. (Womp-womp.) That’s what I should expect for waiting until the 46th hour to write it. However, I still earned myself 7 points. So! For me to advance, I need to score 8th place or higher in Challenge 2. Fingers crossed! (I submitted it last Sunday.)

I have included the judges notes after my submission.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Artificial Originality” by J.R. Hensley –    

The bubble light in the center of the ceiling turned on with a ‘ping’ as the white, circular room whirred to life. The seven screens curved forward along the contour of the walls flickered on, flashing a series of nature vistas taken from the Global Databank. 

Two auto doors hissed open, and in walked a mechanical skeleton with an oval-shaped screen where a face should be. On the vibrant LED was the expressionless, unblinking photo of a man’s face. If organic life-forms were to gaze upon his tanned, unblemished complexion, one would have assumed he was a businessman in his mid-forties. The bare bones bot, also known as the 3B unit, stepped stiffly past the rectangular table beneath the light and to the curved dais that consumed one side of the room. He climbed the three steps on the right side, crossed to the middle, and faced forward. 

The photo on his display screen flickered and changed to that same man’s face but with a forced smile.  

The screens along the walls settled on a single scene, depicting the panoramic view of a wooded resort, complete with log cabins and a rippling lake.  

The double doors were bisected, and eight skeletal bots, in varying degrees of build and dress, entered the room in a single file line. Each eye-level screen displayed similar, disinterested expressions, except for the unit that appeared to be constructed of PVC pipe and wires. The image on his facial display was a white screen with an imprisoned red x. 

The bots walked the length of the rectangular table and then turned to face the lone mech on the dais.  

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a soft chime echoing through the room, the eight faces flickered to forced smiles, except for the seventh. It flickered only to reveal the same image.  

“Welcome A.I. bots to the centennial ‘Cyrano Summit of 2142.'” the A.I. robot spoke from a speaker at the bottom of his screen in the voice of a generations passed celebrity, Morgan Freeman. “I remind my comrades that this is a competitive retreat for the assemblage of words to form a cohesive fictional narrative. There are three attempts per subject to eliminate inferior candidates. The superior executed submission will be awarded film deals for each entry and global distribution of the A.I.’s competitive product. Does that compute?” 

Each mech sounded their comprehension with a chorus of notes and voices. 

“Each competitor may use any source of data accumulation to produce their narrative. The only limitations are: length, minimal content overlap with other competitors, and it must include the parameters of the provided prompt. 

“Move into your seated positions.” 

The soft creaks and whirs of gears filled the room as the bots moved their frames into seated poses beneath the table’s surface. No chairs were required. 

“Each competitor must state what data source they will use to compose these submissions.” 

The 3B unit held his left arm to the right end of the table. 

In the voice of decades-deceased Scarlett Johansen, the bot said, “I shall use databank 1043, containing all social media posts of citizens pre-globalization.” 

“That is satisfactory,” the 3B unit replied. His joints creaked as he gestured to the next. 

Each A.I. bot followed suit and declared their chosen data. Competitors two, five, and eight chose the same databank containing classic literature before the turn of the millennia. 

Each bot extended its right arm and plugged into the ports on the table’s surface to download their stated information.  

“Round 1,” 3B said when each status bar glowed blue, “You must write a narrative to include a spy in a mini-van, with a spork as his only weapon. Commence!” 

Three agonizing seconds lapsed, and the white room filled with red light. A single trumpet blast sounded, and then all returned to how it had been. 

“Please upload your submissions for analysis.” 

The eight bots provided their pieces, which were immediately analyzed by the computer housed in the table. Their results were then displayed as holograms before them. As any would have surmised from their chosen databanks, contestants two and five had eighty percent shared words. Their hologram results flashed red, and they were eliminated. Competitor eight came dangerously close with a seventy-nine percent overlap. However, their odds for a win rose with his competition out of the way. 

“Round 2!” 3B stated, “You must write a narrative to include a disabled child in a motorboat on a lake of fire.” 

The next three seconds ticked by, and the room flashed crimson again. 

Contestants one, three, and six shared too much in their narrative. With a ninety-five percent match, despite having contrasting databanks, they were removed from the competition. 

“Final round!” 3B stated. 

All that remained were four, seven, and eight. With four and eight having the statistical edge, seven (who had chosen the databank Wikipedia) was the competition’s underdog. 

“Write a narrative to include an economic boom, a unicorn, and an overwhelming homoerotic subtext.” 

The next three seconds ticked by. 

The room went scarlet. 

The trumpet sounded. 

“Please upload your stories for final review.” 

The hologram results glowed before each A.I., shining across the bots’ facial screens’ surface, disfiguring the photographs or illuminating the lack of one.  

“Congratu—” 3B began. 

The double doors hissed open, and a pudgy organic life-form with a sparse beard and bald head strolled in.  

“What the hell? Why must they do this,” he said to no one specifically, “Just use all of them. Who cares anymore? Do you think we’re looking for the notes of our shared human experience or something? Shut it down.” 

The lights dimmed, and the bots rose from their poses, except contestant 7, whose camera looked joyfully at the hologram results shimmering in gold. 

__________________________________________________________________________

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY –

{1689}  Terrific opening as we see the Bots enter the Contest Arena—all looking very much alike—except for Seven. Wonderful tension and details through the competition sequence—like the Celebrity Voices and the fact it only takes 3 seconds for the writing to occur. Strong turn when the Organic Life Form rushes in and shuts it all down—but can’t stop Seven from enjoying a moment of glory.  

{2433}  The exploration of AI in a futurist context is a fascinating one, especially given recent sociocultural recent events surrounding the evolution of the technology, 

{2355}  I enjoy your writing and world-building. The prose was clean but vivid and funny. This is an exceptionally creative story, very neatly presented, and the pacing is great.  

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK –

{1689}  Terrific characterizations and premise. Here are some ideas to explore. ONE –Your story is working really well. So don’t change anything that you don’t feel deeply inspired to change. TWO—Look for a stronger more specific reason that Seven is different. THREE—Make the contest matter more—to the society and to Seven. Communicate this through the choice of prompts—relate those prompts deeply to the story, theme, and character of Cyrano. I love the Organic Being’s question, but I am not sure you have time for it—unless it sheds light on the purpose and meaning of this contest. Keep working on it. Good luck.  

{2433}  There are a few instances within the text where details and actions are arguably over-described, which can potentially cause the narrative flow to stumble. For example, the statement, “The seven screens curved forward along the contour of the walls flickered on…” While it can be assumed that this description indicates a collection of screen around the room turning on, the use of the phrasing “curved forward along the contour” can initially seem as if it is describing physical motion, rather than just the screens on the wall turning on. Making the prose slightly more direct (for example: “Seven screens, contoured to the walls, flickered on…”, or something roughly equivalent) can allow the reader to remain immersed in what is being described without sacrificing the the tone and character of the prose. 

{2355}  I wish we’d had a bit more time for more of the stories! I think shaving off just a little bit of exposition and buildup would leave room for some of the AI’s entries later on in the story.

July 23, 2024

Read It To Me Once More…

There is no way to deny that I am a vain person. When I guest hosted this facebook “show” I would love to watch the entire episode, focusing primarily on me and my reactions. There was nothing I enjoyed more than watching myself. Or so my husband would joke.

This past weekend I competed in the second challenge of the “2024 Flash Fiction” competition. My assignment this go around was: genre – Thriller (that’s a first for me), setting – a black tie event, and item – wet suit. Initially when I read the specifics of my group… I was at a loss. I had never written a “thriller” before and… In reality they kind of handed us our stories on a silver platter. Well, there will be a lot of spy stories in the vein of James Bond. At least, that’s what came to my mind first.

In the morning, after receiving the assignment, my mind exploded with a fireworks show of ideas. Ones in which I genuinely debated submitting them to the competition for fear that someone would steal them. Which is a silly thing to think. Of course they are. There are no original thoughts left to think. Every story has been told. All that matters is style and content details. Someone can have a brilliant idea for a story, but if they lack the chops to do it then their narrative will be secondary.

At the behest of my BF I wrote a draft that day (a first for me) and then spent the drive, the following day, to Santa Barbara (to visit my niece) editing my submission. This was a first for me. Usually I wait until the hour before the deadline to bang a story out. I work well under pressure, is what I always say. And what I have since discovered is that particular character flaw is a symptom of ADHD. Fun!

While I edited my piece I discovered this feature available in the iOS Microsoft Word App. An A.I. will read it to you, like an audio book. I was hesitant at first. I thought the idea was silly. Why would I need to do something like that? Well, let me tell you, I fell in love with this feature. Hearing my own words back to me, gave me chills. And of course my first thought was “Damn, I’m a good writer.”

I joke with my BF that I got a boner from hearing my own story. Which… is true from a certain point of view. It was just a mental/emotional one.

The following day I dove head first into listening to the A.I. read my novel. Again… Chills. It had a beautiful pace and rhythm to it. What’s even more amazing is when a sentence didn’t quite work, I could stop, revise, and then have it read it to me again with the change. Phenomenal.

I’m sure I’m late to this party. Most of the time I shy away from these features because I feel like it detracts from own “skills.” However, what I found is that hearing my story from another person changed everything in terms of my future editing process.

My one complaint… The audio of the woman narrator versus the male… very telling. The woman was audibly smiling. The man sounded like a balding 45 year old with a gut and jowls.

July 16, 2024

Saga Of A Completed Manuscript

I’m sure most, if not all, have gotten tired of reading the phrase/sentiment “I miss my husband” in almost every one of my posts since his passing. At least, I would be if I were on the other end. But I’m also a heartless dick. If you are not exhausted with it, continue on.

On Friday I finished editing my novel. THE novel I have been editing and honing into a polished gem ever since I completed my first draft on my husband’s birthday in 2009. For those of you who can’t do some quick math, that is nearly 15 years working on this bitch. I have started and stopped countless times, either because life got in the way or I got in my way. The only credit I can lend to these individual endeavors is that whenever I would pick it back up, with all the enthusiasm of a teen girl at her fave artists concert, I would start in a new place. The logic being that maybe working on another piece wouldn’t wear me out or overwhelm me as it had before. Ultimately I would give up all over again from the aforementioned reasons.

At one point around 2012-2014 I decided that I was going to give up on being a writer. After each failure it wore away at my self-esteem to the point that this remained the only logical step. In addition it was just destroying my self-worth. Because I wasn’t hitting this high bar I set for myself, I thought that I was less than trash. To stop it, I gave up on that dream. I couldn’t get my shit together. Every time I tried, I failed.

Yet time does wonderful things for my ADHD brain. I tend to forget. Granted, I didn’t forget that I had given up on my desire to be a published author, I just decided that if I were to write it would be for me. To have fun! Which I did. I would enter the NYC Midnight contests for short stories or their flash fiction challenges. These little exercises tested my abilities and showed me that I may not be “THE BEST” I was still good. Published good? Maybe not. But I still had the talent.

For whatever reason I returned to my work in progress (WIP) a few years ago, right around when Charlie was diagnosed. I don’t remember the reason. All I know is that while on a road trip with my polycule I forced them to listen to my WIP. As my bf and I took turns reading it, I was astounded how much of it was already complete. Had I really done that much, I kept asking myself. Clearly I had. It was all there in black and white. Just a few short minutes before we got home I finished reading it to them. I felt this sense of pride. It was good. There were still inconsistencies and a couple chapters that needed a lot of work, but overall it was nearly there. I could see the finish line, however fuzzy it may have been.

When we finally got home, my husband said the one thing that, out of all of our wonderful memories of us together, this one shined the brightest. My husband looked up at me and said “Your story is really good, dear.” It came from nowhere, unprompted, and nearly knocked me off my feet. I said “Thank you” not sure if he was being nice for nice sake (he was DYING afterall…) and he reaffirmed “I mean that. You need to finish it.”

On July 12th, 2024 (12/7 the reverse of when I finished my first draft on 7/12) I finally finished editing my manuscript. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. I was elated and in disbelief simultaneously. I have dedicated so much of my identity into this ONE story that it was weird that it no longer existed in it’s original form. Immediately I wanted to call and tell my husband. Then… it all set in. Instead I told my BF and then my brother-husband. They were proud of me, but it didn’t fill the void I craved. So, I shared it on all my socials to lackluster response. My own high expectations ruining it of course.

To “celebrate” my achievement, I decided to leave work early and pick up my pre-orders from the Star Wars Unlimited TCG. On my way… I hit my husbands speed-dial on my car and called him. His familiar voice answered and I immediately cried. The line beeped and I barely got out “Hey punkin, I finished editing my book.” I was a mess the entire way to the store. Thank Taylor that it’s so hot, at least that gave some excuse to why my face was wet and red.

Now, I am left with the next step: writing a query letter. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

At family dinner on Sunday, I told my in-laws and they asked what was next. I told them the auto response (as shown above) and then told them my dream scenario. I said, that if I did magically get it published I would want, more than anything, a blurb on it with my husbands quote. “It’s really good, dear.”