Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 38

WITHOUT THE QUESTION MARK

It’s strange what our brains do, don’t you think? Two days ago, I wrote what shouldn’t be called a poem, because poetry and Trump do not belong together. In my opinion.

 

I wrote verse. About Donald Trump.

 

Anyway.

 

To be honest, I felt a little drained yesterday, after writing the verse about Trump. Tired. A bit flat. I worked on my novel, but could only really get going late in the evening.

 

Earlier today, I sat down and an unpleasant incident from my early twenties resurfaced. I probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was.

 

I never sit down and tell myself, oh today I’m going to write about flowers, or rabbits, or the sun. Unless of course I’m writing from a prompt.

I know what triggered this. 

So here is it:

 

 

WITHOUT THE QUESTION MARK

 

He entered the building

Flushed,

Chubby,

A colorful vacuum-packed cyclist.

 

Polite,

I held the lift door.

Asked what floor.

All the way, he said,

Cheerfully.

Weirdly.

 

 

We rose in awkward silence

Can I kiss you

He said,

Without the question mark.

 

The lift wall.

The vaccum-packed cyclist

No longer fully vaccum-packed.

His hand finding his parts.

His face too close to mine.

 

Garlic and gum and sweat.

 

Top floor.

My floor.

 

I ran.

He did not follow.

 

 

I did not scream

I did not speak.

I trembled to safety.

And threw up.

 

 

 

 

DOUBT

 

Today I doubted

Today I felt tired

Overfaced

Overwhelmed

Not good enough.

 

I wrote anyway.

And

I had fun!

 

 

 

FAKE TAN

  

There was a man who loved fake tan,

An orange lout, American.

He thought he was the coolest dude,

Stomping around and being rude.

 

He had a penchant for the glitz

He loved to brag about being rich.

He had no scruples, only vice,

Seriously, he wasn’t nice.

 

This playground bully, overgrown,

Expressed himself in whiny tones,

“It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,

I’ll beat you up, put up a fight.”

 

His tactics won him sycophants,

Who hung around him as though entranced.

Whose dirty laundry might be aired,

If one of them stuck out his head?

 

Somehow this orange sicko won

The biggest prize, the election!

The whole world gasped, what’s going on?

We’d counted on the other one!

 

We didn’t like this loony goon,

This orange oaf, this bad cartoon.

We had enough crap on our plate

Without that pussy-grabbing mate.

 

We muddled through, we had no choice,

We put up with that whiny voice.

And when he finally had to leave

The dude refused to disappear!

 

He hung around with his fake tan,

This grumpy sulky little man,

Embroiled in endless legal scams,

Waggling his tiny sausage hands.

 

And then E. Jean stood up real tall,

She made that orange man feel small.

She held her ground, she never caved,

I’d say that woman’s really brave.

 

Then Stormy Daniels put up her hand,

Said that she too would take the stand.

Cue lurid tales, yuck Playboy moves,

Financial deals no one approves.

 

The jury woke the randy goon,

From his long nap in the courtroom,

They found him guilty on many counts,

That orange poop no longer bounced!

 

So, let’s give it up for two brave ladies,

Who stood up to that orange crazy.

He must be feeling really cross,

That whiny, bumbling albatross.

 

MAGIC

You dismiss my magic.

 

You make light of it.

 

But it is my medicine.

 

Just know that I would never give you a taste

Of your own

Medicine.

 

 

It would be a waste of my magic.

Also, I’m far too nice.

 

 

 

WEATHER FORECAST

 

This morning the sky wears a mysterious smokey grey,

With delicate hints of lemon and Wedgwood.

 

Sprinklers add interest.

 

Sunscreen de rigueur.

THE SHEET

 There is something to be said

About not running past your head.

When our brains rush past our feet

We often end up in the sheet!

 

Pardon my French but seriously,

(And I say this quite frankly),

There’s no point in being first;

We all end up with the worms!

 

So, hug your trees, talk to the cows,

Let the world fill you with wows,

Slow right down, read good books,

Enjoy the bubbles in your tub!

 

TIME

 

I find it quite strange

Really,

That time runs out.

An alternative would be

Appreciated as

I simply don’t have time to be out of time.

 

Also, I’m a girl. Girls need options.

 

 

 

 

ROMANTIC COMEDY

 

A few weeks ago, I sent my romcom, Just Like A Movie to quite a big Bookstagrammer who clearly leans towards reading more literary fiction. But I noticed she’d reviewed a couple of lighter books too, so I asked her whether she’d be interested in reading mine, and to my delight she said yes.

Of course, no sooner had I sent her the book that she reviewed something intensely sad and poignant… I began to sweat, my heart pounded and I thought, oh my goodness, what on earth was I thinking?! My book is the polar opposite of what she appreciates! So for the following weeks I began secretly hoping she’d forget all about it, or do the kind thing and simply gift it to someone who enjoys lighter reading. 

And that would be the end of that.

The thing is, a while ago, I was left rather traumatized when a friend who hadn’t even read my book told me to my face that she only read good fiction…which I know (or hope?!) came out wrong, and what she really meant to say was that she simply preferred literary fiction to lighter reads. But as Julia Robert’s says in Pretty Woman, it’s the bad things that we tend to remember the most. So, although it seems as though everyone who has read Just Like A Movie has really enjoyed it, I suddenly wondered whether I hadn’t shot myself in both feet with a bazooka by sending it to someone who clearly reads mostly literary fiction, too!

So, imagine the state of my stomach when I woke up this morning and saw this serious Bookstagrammer had posted something about Just Like A Movie on Instagram before I put my glasses on. I almost didn’t want to look.

And then I put my glasses on and grinned. She’d enjoyed it! My book did what it is supposed to do. It made her laugh. It made her smile. She had a lovely time!

What a relief!

While on the subject of lighter reads, I’ve been listening to one of my favourite podcasts this afternoon (The Shit No One Tells You About Writing) where they were discussing book comps. I always find it terribly difficult to find comps for Just Like A Movie.

While the theme is similar to Robinne Lee’s The Idea Of You (a pop star and an older woman), the flavour is very different, because mine is a comedy, whereas Lee’s is what I would call a romance. Otherwise, there’s Romantic Comedy, by Curtis Sittenfeld. Again, a similar theme (the rock star and “normal” woman, whatever normal means), but again I wouldn’t say Sittenfeld’s really is a comedy. I enjoyed it, but it didn’t make me laugh. Older comps I’ve used are How Stella Got Her Groove back, by Terry McMillan, which is a lovely romance between a mature woman and a younger man. But as far as the flavour goes, I truly have a hard time comparing my book. In film there is obviously Notting Hill. I would also mention Mamma Mia, for its colourful, giddy flavour. Or even Crazy Stupid Love, for the romance and the fun factor. 

Does anyone who has read Just Like A Movie have any other suggestions? Or even if you haven’t, what might you suggest?

Let me know!

Thanks! 

Francesca xx

 

THE ART OF POTTERING

What a treat to potter in peace,

Perusing pretty things,

Caressing cottons,

Smiling at prints,

Twisting in mirrors,

Mulling over possibilities.

We are well practiced in the art of pottering!

We leave our men at home!!

THE PROJECT

I intend to make a shawl,

For my school reunion ball.

I bought some variegated yarn,

In bright colours, super fun!

 

I picked out an orange dress,

Hermes orange, not EasyJet!

With the shawl it will look great,

Problem is, I started late!

 

Recently my crochet hook,

Has quite rarely been picked up.

I got side-tracked I suppose,

Playing with my funky prose.

 

Now I’ve suddenly become aware,

That I’ve only weeks to spare,

And my shawl won’t hook itself,

Unless I kidnap an elf…

 

So, I’ve got my crochet on,

And I’m burning up my yarn!

It’s looking dicey I must say,

The ball’s just three weeks away….

 

Yikes!!

 

Wish me luck!