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Kissing Week, Friday: Cookies!

July 10, 2009 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: Not Exactly Random  1 Comment

Kissing is like drinking salted water.  You drink, and your thirst increases.

—Chinese Proverb

We come to the end of kissing week!

So, I’m a guy, right? Right.

And most of my blog readers are women, right?

So I feel it is necessary, nay, I am compelled, to explain the guy fascination with two women kissing.

I had a relationship with a Ms. Fearless. We were in my apartment making cookies. Chocolate chip.

Minor digression: Warm chocolate chip cookies make great foreplay.

Anyway, she asked me quite abruptly:

“What is this childish fascination guys have with two girls kissing?”

“Uh, it’s not childish, but I can explain it to you.”

“Do so!”

So I get out two plates, and put one cookie on one plate and two cookies on another plate.

“Okay, which plate would you like?”

“Uh…”

“Which cookie plate looks better?”

“Women are not cookies!”

“Are you sure about that? Are you really sure watching two women kiss is not analogous to taking the two-cookie plate versus the one-cookie plate for a guy?

“Uh. Fine.”

Ms. Fearless grabs the two-cookie plate.

“Congratulations! You are well underway to your first lesbian kiss!”

“I am so going to kick your ass.”

“Can I eat my cookie first?”

Smack!

Heh heh heh.


Kissing Week, Thursday: Stolen Kisses

July 09, 2009 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: Characterization, Plot, The Craft  1 Comment

Real kisses have power in today’s Western society.

I belong to a rare club:

  • I am married for a number of years (15!)
  • This is my only marriage

In other words, I am a never-divorced, married man. Believe me when I tell you I am the odd duck at parties. On one hand, I am happy to be in this club. On the other hand, I think it’s sad.

No offense if you are divorced. I’m sure you’re sad too, and I say that with empathy and not sarcasm. I’ve seen it all.

I sometimes get together with my male friends in the same NOT DIVORCED CLUB™ and we talk about the other male species. Sometimes we have to as a defensive mechanism. We have to, or we’ll just go crazy.

One time, we were discussing a particularly nasty divorce, and we got to talking about infidelity. Somehow, we got to talking about degrees of infidelity, the inherent dishonesty of it all. We wound up talking about kissing.

Minor diversion: Do women talk about this kind of stuff?

Anyway, we all agreed that kissing was the crossed line. All the other acts of carnal nature were, at their core, not nearly as intimate as a passionate kiss.

Why is that? I could prattle on and on about it, but my point is, kissing has power. Forget about why people cheat. It seemed to us, divorce, due to infidelity, centered on two related things: the dishonesty of sneaking around, and the intimate aspects of stolen kisses.

Of course, we could be way off the mark. But I don’t think so.

Kissing is an intimate currency. Kissing money. Like real money, it has the potential to cause conflict and settle conflict. A passionate kiss on the wrong lips starts a chain reaction, for good or bad.

As a writer, I am a manipulative bastard. I’ll be spending my kissing money knowledge to press buttons. It might not be this novel, but the next. I am giddy at the thought of kissing tension.

Heh. You might think of this as a dark post. It’s not. Where you might see a depressing look at the state of affairs, I see plot and characterization opportunity!

Okay, that is somewhat dark.

As a fellow reader, you might be thinking, “well duh,” and I rather agree. But just as I think writers boof kissing in a good way, I also feel they boof kissing in a bad way. Writers of the illicit all too often describe the dishonest as carnal intercourse. When, at the core, the dishonesty of it all is the stolen kiss.

A Young Man’s Muse

September 18, 2008 Author: Anthony Pacheco Category: Not Exactly Random, The Craft  1 Comment

Ken posted a wonderful, whimsical look into his motivations in becoming a novelist.

I wish my motivations were as pure as inspiration from Ray Bradbury. My literary foundation is a hormonal memory, programmed by my very first girlfriend.

Victoria was just cute: young and cute, perky and cute and then one day she went from cute to pretty. A big sci-fi and fantasy fan, I cannot begin to tell you how many books she introduced me to, and she even introduced me to Powell’s Books. There is a special place in my heart for someone who drove me to Powell’s for the first time; they actually had The Platypus of Doom on a shelf. We are talking major relationship mojoo. Wherever she is now, I am sure Life has blessed her with a kind husband and low-maintenance children.

Victoria was not just pretty, she was soft, girl soft, and she always smelled good. Just thinking about that fresh High School Girl Next Door scent makes me a day younger. She was easy to please, easy to smile and a mischievous pixie.

One afternoon while her parents and sister were out, we were kissing in her living room. Victoria was a fabulous kisser, and often when kissing her my mind emptied of thought. Little did I know Victoria, as smart pretty girls are wont to do, used this to her advantage.

(kiss kiss) “Anthony?” (kiss)

(kiss) “Hmmm?” (kiss)

(kiss) “You should write me a book.” (kiss)

(kiss) “Huh?” (yes, I was the master of conversation in 1985, let me tell you)

(kiss) “Write.” (kiss) “Me.” (kiss) “A.” (kiss) “Book.” (kiss)

(kiss) “Ok.” (kiss)

Then she stood up, pulled her gray sweater-dress over her head and threw it on the floor. There she was, standing in the middle of her living room, wearing nothing but little white socks on her dainty cute feet.

Someday Victoria is going to be walking around a bookstore, holding hands with her husband, because that is what you do when you walk with Victoria—hold her hand. She is going to see my book there, in hardcover, and suddenly exclaim (Victoria does not yell, she exclaims), “That’s my book!”

Her husband will roll his eyes and say nothing. Long ago, he gave up trying to decipher the mystery that is Victoria.

And that, my 7.3 readers, is why I started thinking about writing a novel, so long ago.