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Sanguine Goodbyes

Posted by Nuile the Paracosmic Tulpa , Dec 31 2012 · 101 views

And now that my reflections are over, how better for a writer to end a year than with a story? This is, in a way, a sequel to Polychromatic Frowns; it can be called such, at any rate, because it is of the same style. And so here it is, the last words I shall pen in 2012:
 
 

Sanguine Goodbyes

 
I lost the only girl I ever truly cared about today.
 
I gave her everything. I gave her all the time I could spare and all the help I could offer and all the love I could give. But it wasn't enough for her. I don't know what would have been and I don't know what more I could have done. She told me she was breaking up with me and I guess that's what she did.
 
But just look on the bright side of it all. Sure, I'll be upset for a while, but tears don't take up nearly as much time as phone calls at all hours to talk about so many things that by the time we were done I would have no idea what I was doing before she called, or than long walks that ache my legs and make my hand stiff from holding hers so long.
 
Sure, I'll never forget her, but memories don't cost as much as expensive dinners where the lights are so low you can hardly see your food without spilling spaghetti sauce down your front which of course doesn't matter because nobody can so you anyway; or gifts for birthdays or Christmases because even though it's superficial and mercenary commercial corruption makes it incumbent, which is so much as to say its absolutely necessary and can't be avoided, which doesn't matter because everyone does it.
 
I'm sure the pain--which feels like the anesthesia wore off in the middle of an operation and I woke up to find a surgeon with rough, cold hands and some very sharp, but very shiny and pretty in a way, object poking around my heart--will go away. And then I'll never be hurt again. At least not as much. I might fall down a staircase as I sometimes do or cut my finger while chopping vegetables or hit my thumb with a hammer, or I might even go skydiving and find my parachute was replaced with an anvil or I might get run over by a car whose driver is too busy texting to notice or I might get shot, but none of that hurts as much as this does, nor even does a paper cut.
 
And I guess I'll be spared of the jealousy I might someday have felt toward her because of her general perfection in every way from kindness to wisdom to shrewdness to effervescence to temerity to veracity to liberality to patience to optimism to humility and back to kindness and all over again two or three times.
 
And I'll never feel that sensation like there are a thousand monarch butterflies migrating south from my heart into my stomach again. At least not for her face, which was altogether too pretty, anyway. After all, she beauty was so peerless in all respects that staring at her would eventually have caused me to go blind, anyway, and I'm much better off seeing, I think.
 
And besides that, being with her made me so happy that eventually I would probably just burst with the joy, and that would be very messy and very unpleasant for us both and would have left her very sad and lonely in the end.
 
When you think about it, love is really a very impractical and very inconvenient thing and it should be far preferable to be all alone with nobody else to interfere between me myself and I. I'll be able to talk to myself all I want, because I do rather enjoy hearing myself talk. She always used to, too, but obviously she got tired of it, which I can't understand at all. But that's just another reason I'm better off now.
 
So you see, it really doesn't matter than she stabbed me in the heart--metaphorically speaking, of course, because if she had really stabbed me in the heart I would be dead and she would be in prison, or else lying to police detectives who she could probably outwit anyway. It really doesn't matter, as I was saying, that she turned what I expected to be a lovely evening into the most unpleasant and anguishing time I have ever spent, even the night I spent in the hospital because I had mistaken a bear trap for a hula-hoop or the time I had gotten into an elevator so hurriedly I had only one sleeve on and forgot to pull the other through the doors before they closed.
 
So you see, it really doesn't matter that she told me she thought we should see other people. She was probably right, because like I said before if we had stayed together I probably would have lost my vision with which to see anyone else or anything at all, which are mostly things I do like to see. It doesn't matter that she turned and walked away from me for what will probably turn out to be the last time. It's all for the better that I smiled and waved as she left, and called after her,
 
"At least I won't ever have to look at your beautiful face again, which was far too distracting, or listen to your dulcet voice, which in its inimitability took all the fun out of hearing ocean waves or singing birds. And at least I won't go blind or burst with happiness!"
 

Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith :smilemirunu:



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Dramatis Personae

Nuile

A young man with his feet on the ground and his head in the sky, and an inclination to implement the occasional headstand.



Nuile, Wordsmith

Penman of a number of BIONICLE and Neopets short stories, as well as three epics, based respectively on the aforementiond and Avatar: The Last Airbender. This writer has also penned a full-length mystery novel, a work in progress pending final revisions and publication.

More than that, the BZPower League of Authors was his brainchild, which he has developed into the Ambage with the help of Velox, Cederak and 55555. This refuge and practice arena for writers is open to all with a penchant for the literary arts.



Nuile, Bibliophile

For him to select a favorite book, or a favorite writer, would be impossible. But of the latter, he most admires Dame Agatha Christie, Wilkie Collins, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Harper Lee, C.S. Lewis, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Sinclair Lewis. Favorite books he includes in this chart:

To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

The Moonstone (Collins)

Murder on the Orient Express, Death in the Clouds, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, The Clocks (Christie)

The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Lost World (Doyle)

Out of the Silent Planet (C.S. Lewis)

Free Air (Sinclair Lewis)

The Bat (Hopwood and Rinehart)

The Nine Tailors (Sayers)



Nuile, Cinéaste

This fellow thinks the world begins and ends with Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. Before its birth, however, he confesses that Sam Raimi and David Koepp's Spider-Man, Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer's Batman Begins, the Indiana Jones series, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Mary Poppins were films more than worthy of watching.



Nuile, Television Viewer

The Dick Van Dyke Show by far surpasses any television show produced prior or hence. Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver and The Andy Griffith Show are excellent series from a similar time frame. MacGyver is hard to beat. Diagnosis Murder, Monk and Murder, She Wrote are his favorite mystery series. In animation he most enjoys Avatar: The Last Airbender and its sequel; Batman: The Animated Series alongside Batman Beyond and The Batman; Phineas and Ferb, one of the most creatively funny cartoons he has ever seen.



Nuile, Cuisinier

Asian and Italian foods may be his enthusiasms, but he's not above a juicy burger or a spicy taco. As far as his own cooking, he oft gets more adventurous than his family appreciates, though when he behaves he can conjure a reason for your taste buds to celebrate. By far his favorite meal: Thanksgiving 2011, consisting of Paula Dean's Indian Succotash, Grean Bean Casserole, Orange Corn Bread, Bacon Roasted Brussel Sprouts, Coconut Biscuits, and Mashed Cauliflower and Potatoes.



Nuile, Musicologist

He pleads guilty to sheer ignorance, unworthy even of being called an amateur in this department. But dramatic scores and profound lyrics top his charts. The Impossible Dream from The Man of La Mancha and I Can Go the Distance as performed by Michael Bolton are cited as his two favorite songs, amidst much of Celtic Thunder's work.



Nuile, Gamer

Disney's Epic Mickey, the Kingdom Hearts series, and the Pokémon series are the only video games he considers worthy of notation.



Nuile, Sportsman

As fast on his feet as he is between the ears, he enjoys games of muscle and of strategy. Physically, he likes most to play football; but nothing beats a game of chess in his book.

The Art of Writing

It is my belief that a writer should be above human emotions, desires, vices, flaws; a writer should be almost superhuman, something like a monk. However, like monks, this is not an attribute that comes naturally, rather an ability that must be worked at.

More tangibly, one of the most important characteristics a writer can possess is tenacity. An artist's life is never an easy one. An artist presents themself to the world, and ineluctably there will be critics alongside the fans. But anyone who knows real love won't let it be quelled by what others think. Never give up, never despond. So maybe nobody's perfect; I'm not, and I never will be. But an artist, like a monk, is one who always strives to improve her- or himself, who never ceases to reach for the unreachable. Every amelioration is an achievement. And every day a writer achieves something merely by writing, for every word written is a word toward amelioration. If you are good, you can always be better; if you are great, you can always be greater.

What matters most for writers is that they take pride in their own own work. Ultimately your biggest fan and your biggest critic is yourself, and that's who you have to please the most. No artist truly passionate about their art does what they do for someone's approval or just to get paid. At the heart of every artist is a person who does what they do because they love to do it. I'm an artist; I'm a writer. I don't stop trying to get better, I don't stop striving for perfection--but I enjoy every step of the amelioration process, I appreciate every improvement, and I am always happy with where I am, yet always be eager about where I'm going. Writing is a journey with no destination. Writing is a quest without end. Writing is spiritual nomadism.

And it's not easy. It's frought with difficulty, trouble, disappointment, and grief--but a journey without end gives its reward not in the destination but in every step of the path.

Yet I have not even touched upon just what a writer is; which is because a writer, simply put, is everything. A writer is an artist, but also a psychologist, and a logician, a philosopher, a scientist, an adventurer, an inventor, a politician, a magician, and multitudinous others. A writer is everything because they write about everything. "Write what you know"; that's not the rule I live by. "Know what you write," that's my creed. Writers know a little about everything, and everything about a little. And when they don't know . . . they read!

That's a writer's life. It's the kind of life I love. It's a wonderful gift. A writer's life is the kind of life I live and always will live. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

December 2014

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"How would that help?" - Laura Petrie
"Well, it wouldn't, except I'd be in Denmark instead of here." Rob Petrie, The Dick Van Dyke Show

 
 


 
 

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[9:26:46 PM] Aimee: it is so adorable how authors have favorite authors
[9:27:25 PM] Andrew P: You're an author. You have favorite authors. =P
[9:27:39 PM] Aimee: yes and i get to talk to them on skype all day

- A Geste of the Ambage Chat
 

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Some random air-head decided to be pompous and condescending and "honor" me with his approbation. I guess there's a pride of some sort in being recognized by the mentally unsound. It makes me feel special--or weird, one of those two. Thanks, Tekulo!