This is going to be the last piece of crap I post on this blog for a while. I don’t want to post anymore op ed pieces spouting my opinion on stuff. I don’t want to post anymore shitty fragments of garbage. I have to get my head back on straight and write good erotic fiction. Since it seems I can’t do that at present, I’m going to stay quiet until I can. Either I write something I can be proud of, or nothing at all. So… I’ll leave you with a parable.
Once upon a time there was a woman who loved words. Not only was she in love with them, but they loved her in return. She kissed them and stroked them, fed and nurtured them. She held them in her cupped palms and pressed them to her breasts. She let them crawl over her body and lay eggs in the crevices of her soul.
She built houses, towns, cities and whole worlds with words. And then she populated them with people woven from them too. She created tastes, touches, breezes, scents, and even made a sun of words to warm the world she’d made. Jungles grew in the wake of her dancing fingers as they skittered over the letters of her keyboard. Mountains rose up, clouds formed. People were born, grew, loved and died, only to be reborn again with new names and new faces.
She looked at what she’d made, and she saw that it was good. So good in fact, that it was far, far preferable to the real thing. In the word world, the air was warmer, the oranges brighter and sweeter, the lovers more interesting and the orgasms more earth shattering. Year by year, she spent more time in the word world and less in the real one. Her own world got bigger and bigger and the inhabitants grew in number. It was so much more pleasant and easier to live in it.
One day, the woman fell in love. Not with one of the people she’d made in the word world – she’d done that many times – but with a real person. She fell in love because he was so much like the characters she tried to create. She thought that, if she could have made the perfect word lover, it would have been him. He was so much smarter, complex and stranger than anyone she’d ever met or made. It was impossible for her not to fall in love with him and so she did.
In falling in love, the woman began, day by day, to dwell in the real world a little more, because that was where her lover lived. And the real world seemed, somehow, a better, more interesting place than she had remembered it to be. Perhaps, she reasoned, it was because he was in it.
The world she’d created of words seemed less and less important. Its landscape faded, its sun did not shine quite as brightly. The people who lived in it seemed like cardboard cut-outs.
Believing that things that are not freely offered are of inferior value, the woman never asked her lover for anything. When he offered her things, she would refuse them, wanting him to understand that she loved him for himself and not for what he might give to her. But, one day, after expressions of mutual affection, she got up the courage to ask for something she really wanted.
“Will you give me one thing?”
“It depends what it is.”
“I want a word. Just one word.”
“Which word do you want?”
“It doesn’t matter. Any word will do. I just want you to say it to me. One word.”
Her lover laughed. “It might not be a very nice word.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “Just one word, from you.”
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll have to think about which one.”
“Take your time,” the woman said, not wanting to press him.
Weeks went by, and the woman waited patiently for the word. But none came. After a few months, she screwed up her courage again and asked. “Hey, where is the word you said you’d give me?”
“Oh, I’d forgotten,” he replied. “I’ll get it to you.”
More months went by and all this time the woman waited for the word. Each day she thought, ‘Today might be the day he gives me the word.’ But as time went on, it became clear that no word was forthcoming.
“Why haven’t you given me the word?” she inquired one day. For she was sure there must be some reason for his hesitation.
Again he laughed. “Oh, yes. The word. I’d simply forgotten it again. I remembered a while ago, but then I didn’t know how to deliver it to you, so I let it go. And then I forgot. I’m just forgetful about some things.”
The woman was hurt. She wanted to believe that there was some hurdle, some barrier, some mistrust that stopped him from giving her the word. They had a fight and she demanded to know the real reason for his refusal. Being a person who built worlds out of words and wove great and dramatic complications, it suited her pride more to believe that there must be some mysterious cause underlying his refusal.
But in the end she tearfully acknowledged that, no, it was exactly as he said. He’d simply forgotten. He’d forgotten the word. Forgotten her desire for it. Forgotten its importance to her. And her.
At first, everything went on as it had before. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the woman began to shrink. At first it was hardly noticeable. She woke up to the real world, and it just felt a little bigger than she remembered it. Buildings began to tower over her, her dresses seemed too loose. Either everything was getting bigger, or she was getting smaller. The woman knew which one it was. And, although she still adored her lover, she was becoming a smaller thing to love.
In despair, the woman, now barely able to find her way through the monstrously large real world, turned inward, to the world she’d once built out of words. But so much time had passed, and she had neglected it so cruelly, it had turned to desert. The countries, and cities and buildings had all crumbled away. The air smelled stale and dusty, every colour was bleached to sickening shade of beige, and all the beautiful, complex people she had created seemed to have died or left, for the word world was utterly empty. She stood in the centre of what had once been a lush and regal boulevard and watched the wind play with sentence fragments and make dust devils out of all the words she had so lovingly crafted the world with.
“I should have never left you,” the woman cried. But no one and nothing answered. Even the wind had no whisper.
She fell to her knees and wept. And in her bitterness, she reminded herself that she had always known better: things not given freely are never worth having. But the woman, in her greed, had been willing to trade an entire universe for just one word. Now she had none left.
People who do that sort of thing deserve to live in a desert, and so she did.
I will freely give you one word: Brilliant!
The word world will miss you but you know where we are, and how happy we will be on your return.
That’s a very nice word! I’ll take it and raise you. Hugs.
You never asked me for a word but I will give you one “friend” I give it freely and without reservation.
Oh, my very dear friend. Thank you Soldierboy. Perhaps I never needed to ask because you always gave me lots. *smile* Thank you.
Adoring you. Just yesterday a woman told me that perhaps Ohio will be my desert. She said that. She said, “Perhaps this is the “dark night of your soul. Sometimes the desert can be beautiful.”
We shall see.
You are my beautiful poet and weaver of mystery no matter what universe you dwell within. x
Thank you, Melissa. Still, deserts are over rated. I’d rather have dessert. 😛
Stunningly beautiful.
Taking the parable with your introduction, would the word be ‘mojo’?
Why not. Mojo is as good a word as any!
More.
Fuck! That is the word I give will give you as it’s my absolute favorite word and also my reaction to this beautiful story. Amazing! Stunning! I loved this.
I’ve never commented before but I do now because I think I know what you’re feeling. I have no answers but you do have my empathy as a poem-less poet. I will be watching for your return because your writing challenges me in my own.
As a poem-less poet I think I know how you’re feeling. Your writing has challenged me in my own so I’ll be watching for your return.
Peace.
I’ve only commented a couple of times Remittance Girl but have always appreciated your world and your words.
Please don’t cut yourself up too much.
Take care . Good luck and I will keep coming back to look for you
Cheers
The woman was human – not greedy. That’s why the words will come back. That last sentence strikes me as too harsh. The desert doesn’t last forever & the real world is shrinking on a hot wash/fast spin.
A very touching parable and so true. It reminds me that recently scientists have identified that people who are depressed see in a form of black and white rather than in full colour.
Perhaps they simply have no word world to live in?
Anyway, it’s obviously time to write again. Bon courage.
Dear Remittance Girl:
I love so many of your stories. I’ve shared them with lovers and friends, read them while alone and thought about my favorites at the odd moment.
Thank you for it all.
Best to you,
Lass
First there was the word that allowed more words to stream forth… above and beneath forming a Beautiful tapestry. Please continue so that I might exhale.
Not one word, but a flood.
I have for months, possibly years, read your work. I am refreshed anew at the vistas, the vision, the imagination of your world. I have at times dreamed fragments of your dreams in my own, so clearly crafted that they could be real. I have carried echoes of your world in my body, crackling from my eyes, softening my limbs, aching for release.
I think I can offer two words.
Thank you.
one word for you;
Love
I await your return. I love you.
I’m one among, I’m sure,many of your devoted readers.. You are the only erotica writer whose work I keep reading and rereading. I’m looking forward to many more stories and continuations to several of your series!
I hope that your muse returns very soon. This is the word I offer:
Inspiration
Much love, A
one word ~ forgive
Powerful.
I never commented on your stuff very often, and I’m sorry for that. But no doubt I love everything you’ve put on here since I discovered your writing. I will miss you tons, because I always look forward to the days where I got your updates in my emails.
Take the time to find whatever you need to find. I’ll be waiting anxiously with open arms for you to return.
Full of love and pain. I feel for her, and how wrong she is about her worlds and her place in them.
I’ve lurked anonymously for a long time. But I have three words for you:
Write.
Create.
Survive.
Thank you for putting your words, worlds and creations out there for us to share.
Personal parables are dangerous; didn’t you know that?
Since I am not your lover, it may be presumptuous to offer a word … but, what the hell: Cherished.
I’ll continue to check your site — patiently — for your return. Be assured that you have far more readers than commenters, and that we enjoy lving in your world of words as much as you do.
exquisite.
Your words craft universes of minutely detailed insights into people’s souls. Don’t doubt for one moment how wonderful and talented you are.
I’m sorry I haven’t commented as often as I’ve read, but know that I’ve loved every sublimely shaped phrase.
the real world is far more cruel than the word of worlds that we can create, and where we have the feeling of control. The trick is not to apply that cruelty to oneself, at least, not for longer than it takes to bring yourself back to focus on your task.
be well.
I have always enjoyed reading your posts, thoughts and stories, and have generally been one of the silent multitude who do not comment or make waves. I wish you peace in your desert time, and remember that after some good rain the desert transforms itself into a place of amazing beauty and hidden treasure. I hope you get a refreshing and invigorating soaking in the near future. All the Best 🙂
In reply to your starting comment, I’d like to say that even though your blog hasn’t contained any big works of fiction recently it’s still been thoroughly enjoyable.
Especially love your poems. Thankyou
Just dropping off a tanker of water, to help the woman in the desert. Once she revives, surely she will create a even grander and shiny new city.
dear rg,
the words will be back. in the mean time, here’s another word to add to your comment collection: *hugs.*
faithfully,
lou
I ditto everything that has been said before me, and add this: when you are ready, we will be waiting. Please don’t keep you to yourself for too long. ~hugs~
Your erotic writings have been eye-opening in my own journeys of sexual discovery. They have shown me frankly that all my secret dreams and fantasies are also someone else’s secret dreams and fantasies. That is huge. It gave me the courage to make them not so secret anymore. Thank you so much for sharing your words.
A word: admiration
Another lurker here, who is far far less eloquent as words fail me … but wishing you all the best.
Beautiful.
I have never commented before, but I have been reading your work for the past year or two. You weave such intricate and wonderful (and seductive) stories, which has inspired me to write some of my own. I can’t express how much I love your writing, but thank you!
The word world and I will be waiting for your return…come back soon.
~A
lately I have been reading your blogs and they are breath taking! everything you write speaks to me and makes me believe that I should recieve everything I desire, at the moment I am not in the happiest of places so thankyou for creating a paradise I can dwell in.
Your declaration at the outset of the parable brings to mind the pledge(resolution) you made to yourself at the beginning of the year.
Good for you; your talent is superb, and focusing it on good quality work that is your passion will reap great rewards, I am sure.
Good luck to you.
I want to swim in the words of your parable.
No desert can hold the shimmering waters of your creative genius.
I wear my admiration on my skin.
To submerge in the word of your words.
The word I would hope for is ‘redemption’ ~ not easily given, not often successful, maybe not even possible. The romantic, hopeful side of me wishes that she would rebuild and cherish the world she’d created evermore. My pragmatic…. cynical? side thinks there is no chance of anything but suffering in her future. I love this. Amazing writing.
Perfection.
No one has ever said it better, understood it more profoundly. Thank you.
I found this post far later than I would have liked, but my word for you, dear RG, is Precipitation.
Beautiful.
I am a Vietnam veteran…I thought improperly..that I could live in a real world…reading is a real escape…those who have the gift yes gift . of the word placed properly by the following word … are far more important to real life than food…makes real life bearable rather than useless ….we live in the real world bombarded by our deeds …. past and present….. we can fly any where any time with properly placed word by word..
Exquisite!! Thankyou!!
Hugs. My word, to comfort and forgive.
Found your site by accident and saw your heading. Out of curiosity I picked this story first. Made me step back and think. When any story can make you s that it is more then a story, it is a work of art. Thank you.
Ineffably profound. vocabulary falls short for an adept appreciation of this masterpiece.
When I discovered your collection and writings, I kept my expectations very very low. I apologize for my jaded approach, but to be honest, it is a great way for me to be enthralled by what I didn’t expect. Far too many times I have been disappointed by modern or contemporary writers who so much prefer to proclaim themselves as a ‘writer’ without any credible work.
This is my first reading of your story, this is the very first story i just finished, and it is a great first impression. I’d like to talk to you further on your writing because I have been looking for shorts and that too in the erotic categories for a reason. What would be the best way to correspond with you?
Best
K
金繕い (Kintsukuroi) – or “to repair with gold” An artform that repairs broken lacquerware with gold.
To me, this is what you do- create something new, beautiful and whole out of brokenness.
Thank you.
I have tried several times to leave a word for you. Perhaps you don’t want it so long after the fact.
Wow. Magnificent storytelling. That was incredible. Thank you so much for sharing!