"Writer-reader" and nerdy fantasies

If it was possible for me to read a book in utero, I certainly would have done so. It's the only stage of my life that I haven't been a bookworm, and that was only because I didn't have a choice. No matter what is or isn't going on in my life, books are one of the very few constants that remain. As bizarre as it may sound, books bring me the utmost comfort and stimulation....almost always more than people. How many people would say that? Like I said, bizarre...but true! I find things in books I cannot always find in family, friends, or lovers: Honesty. Grit. Inspiration. Diverse perspectives on "uncomfortable" subjects. Passion. One's true inner thoughts and feelings. Wisdom. Acceptance and understanding.

When I'm curious about something and want to learn as much as I can about it, I read. When I want to get a feeling for what an individual has gone through in life, I read. When I'm feeling disgusted or discouraged by the things I don't like about humanity and need to feel hopeful, I read. When I need an escape from reality, I read. When I need to feel grounded, I read. When I need to feel like someone (ie, a writer) understands me because he/she has gone through "it" too, I read. Yes, I read, read, READ!!!!

Considering my love for books, I suppose it was inevitable that my voracious appetite would morph into it's other half: writing. I started writing in a journal when I was a teenager. Nothing noteworthy or thought provoking, of course....but it got my pen in hand busy across the pages. It wasn't so much that I wrote something great, just that I was writing at all. I've read books about creative writing, writing non-fiction and fiction....and various books will tell you it's crucial to write every day, even if it's more worthy of going in the trashcan than in your notebook. I used to think that was a bunch of nonsense, however, I'm starting to believe there's truth in there. It's not a coincidence that the most writing I've done in my life thus far has been during the time I wrote in the aforementioned notebooks and while working at a bookstore (Can a bookstore be a muse?). Altogether, this constitutes...15 years of my life?! I need to discipline myself to get back into writing as much as I did back then. I miss it deeply. *Sigh*

Writing down the mundane on a regular basis exercises your writing muscles. You can "sculpt" yourself into being a better writer....one that focuses on details, one that writes by showing rather than merely spitting out an otherwise great story in a boring cookie cutter way. It has also been my experience that keeping journals/notebooks for several years allowed me the freedom to be totally honest with myself. I knew no one else would read what I wrote; there was something liberating in that. I could reveal things in writing that I wouldn't or couldn't speak aloud to any person.

Writing and reading go hand in hand for me, two sides of the same coin. Writing allows me to speak, to give, to let go. With reading, I can listen; I can be a voyeur. Writing is giving; reading is receiving.

This brings me to "nerdy fantasies." I wonder if anyone else out there is like me in this regard. When I read a book that consumes me with intense delight, I have a tendency to become a little borderline weird fantasizing about the author....and I don't mean sexually. It doesn't matter if it's a male or female author. I have a sudden and strong urge. It goes something like this inside my head (what my favorite authors would hear if I could speak to them directly): "Am I related to you?! I thought I was the only one that felt that way. Why can't I know people in my life like you that think about the same crazy and weird shit as I do?! You're hilarious/smart/bold/creative. You have balls to be totally honest! Your writing shows a likeable quirky side; I wonder if that's a side of myself I could as easily convey? Can we be friends?! Maybe if I were to write in your midst, it could be this weird osmosis kind of thing that just being in your presence would trigger some amazing writing material from within me! I really wish we were best friends. Really. You're my hero. I love you. Is that creepy that I love you? I guess I don't really know you, but I feel like I do because of your writing..."

This is usually followed by my fantasizing about having lunch with the writer, picking his/her brain with my own selfish agenda...either for entertainment or knowledge. At the same time, in my fantasy the writer wants to know just as much about me as I want to know about him or her. I fantasize about what the writer does in his or her everyday life. Is this person as fun and interesting as the writing indicates? Nice or arrogant? Just as passionate and inspiring in other ways as in what he/she writes? Would I like this person as much if I did really know him/her? Is the fantasy better than the reality? What if the reality is better?!

Screw celebrities. They're so boring and overrated. I can't help but roll my eyes when a celeb stubbing their toe or planning their wedding makes headline news. Who cares? Not me. Sure, they can be attractive to look at on the big screen...but writers are the ones with true grit, true substance. Writers are the only "famous" people I truly yearn to meet and know.

I want to write my own book someday...and I secretly hope there's a "writer-reader" (a term I just now coined: an individual that has a passion for both writing and reading)) of my future book out there who will be having the same nerdy fantasies about me.

The Standout

Compared to the general population, I've had few lovers throughout my life (though I suppose that depends on how one defines "lover," "sex," etc)...even fewer that were really passionate about me and satisfied me to the core (ie, mentally, emotionally, and physically). In fact, my experience has primarily been the opposite....selfish lovers with whom I went out of my way to satisfy, giving generously until I could give no more and often with little to no reciprocation. They weren't terrible men, just not emotionally intelligent men in the bedroom.

As I entered my 30's, I have yearned for something more....a man who can demonstrate as much sensual passion and generosity with me as I can with him.

It wasn't until I had a kiss with a stranger one spontaneous night out on the town in Chicago about four years ago that something was awakened within me...a spark of what I had been missing out on in my teens and twenties. I felt a strong chemistry and undeniable passion that night; it defied explanation (at least to me). A few months ago I kissed a guy I knew fairly well; I felt the exact same feeling (possibly even stronger than with the stranger). Sadly, both experiences only resulted in kissing (ie, no sex). Sometimes when I'm yearning for a lover in my life I think about those two nights, about the 'what if I could have been with that guy just once?' What if it had not stopped with the passionate kissing? If just kissing was that amazing, how much more could I have felt if sex entered the picture? Would it have felt like the cliches found in romance novels or erotic literature?

Fantasies are usually better than the reality...what it would be like to kiss or have sex with a particular person. I'm not sure what's better or worse though....to have a sexual attraction to someone, only to be disappointed when that sensual chemistry isn't ignited (I've experienced this on more than a few occasions)....or to have an attraction to someone that has built up strongly over time and then only get an amazing kiss that leaves one wanting more, a mere tease.

The loss of a desirable fantasy to a disappointing reality or the loss of real erotic potential that will never come to fruition? Which is harder to accept? What if we only get one or two opportunities for 'standout lovers' in our lifetimes? And what if they got used up only on kisses and not the whole sexual nine yards?

Are standout lovers only meant to be savored in fleeting moments? If and when they are found, can they "stand" the test of time?