Mean Girls

Thoughts from a nice girl about mean girls...

There are days when I wonder “Why can’t I just be like the mean girls?” The ones who say whatever they think and feel without filter or tact. Or the ones who can mean mug you through a plate glass window and somehow make you feel like your sole purpose is serving them.

And then there’s the people, hundreds, maybe even someone reading this, who will either correct my grammar (no biggy) or correct my thinking with a happy quote like “No one can make you feel anything” Except that’s not entirely true.

Mind over feelings is foolishness. Feelings are important and valid and healing. Without them we aren’t whole. And let’s not forget that quotes from famous people aren’t necessarily true. They aren’t magic. They’re just something someone famous once said.

I do my best to live and be the best version of me since there is no other version out there. Apparently, I serve a purpose. I'm needed by the mean girls because without nice girls meanness would mean nothing.

And in the end when I have a bad day and I’m hurting because of a mean girl, I dream of things I’d like to say, mean things, and naughty things, and things with four letter words in them. But I don’t because, all in all, I’m relatively nice, and most of the time fair.

I do, however, have some plans for two mean girls. They will find themselves in a book that may never be read, but will definitely be published. And something yucky will happen to them. Not fatal, or maiming, just yucky.

Does that make me a mean girl? I hope not. Their names will be changed to protect their non-innocent mean mugging selves. So there's that. As for me it's a great real life lesson in body language.

Writers don't let anything go to waste. Somehow all feelings find their way onto the page.

~Shannon

Nothing Goes To Waste

 

There is an understanding among writers, at least I hope so, that nothing goes to waste. Not a fight with your neighbor, a bad waiter, a rude barrista, a friendly squabble, even a bad bout of depression. Before the Prozac sinks in, I will sometimes write down how I feel. I call it journaling. It ‘s therapeutic and useful. Even if I never come back to it, somewhere in my pea-brain it hibernates just waiting for the perfect scene.

For almost a week I’ve been sick. Good news: after fighting to take off 8lbs I’ve managed to lose the last 3 without trying (I don’t recommend it). Bad news: it’s kept me from writing. Even my characters are silent. And they’re never silent. Never, never, never. You know that far off look I get…yeah, that’s my characters speaking. Now, it’s me in a Nyquil fog.

My future characters, some whom I’ve yet to name, are running for the nether regions. Wading through the Nyquil fog, hiding behind headache mountain, because they don’t wish to be ill, they don’t want to be on their death bed speaking like a southern belle with a hand dramatically draped over her forehead. And the truth is, I don’t want that either.

Don’t worry my forever-inner-voice-buddies, I don’t have plans for you to fall ill, but if you do, I’ll be ready with the right amount of phlegm, cough attacks, and under the weather euphoric drift to get us all through it.

Be well my friends.  

Shannon

Toodles is just happy I'm sitting at my desk again. Notice the electric blanket, unfolded towels, and odd shoes, not to mention the tape measure... This will be my wellness job.

Toodles is just happy I'm sitting at my desk again. Notice the electric blanket, unfolded towels, and odd shoes, not to mention the tape measure... This will be my wellness job.