Friday, August 31, 2012


I was asked recently where the name beylit comes from. I realized that pretty much no one has ever asked me that question and I have been using it for over a decade now. I needed something to write about today, and as my other choice is writing about my really weird dreams or my recent Doctor Who obsession, I decided name origins would make the best post.

I never really had nicknames growing up. At least none that I knew about. My name lends itself fairly easily to being shortened or altered into pet names, but I don't actually like when people do that. I prefer the full form of my name to the most common shortening. My family, both blood and choice, are the only people that I don't mind using an alternative form of my name to address me. That is sort of family prerogative.

If a stranger or an acquaintance or even a friend who I am not close to uses the three letter abbreviated format of my  name, they will quickly and curtly be told not to make that a habit. If they use any of the other forms of my names I will still ask them not to do that. I don't want to be that familiar with people.

So when I hit college I was distinctly without any sort of nickname. My screen handle had always been Grace, but that was something I chose. It was also fairly obvious choice. I am anything but graceful, so I liked the irony of calling myself Grace.

Still picking a nickname for yourself is simply not the same as someone else giving you a nickname. I have no idea why, but I desperately wanted someone else to give me a nickname. It was this weird sort of need that hit me out of the blue one night as a group of us were driving to a party. I sort of just looked around the car and blurted out that someone needed to give me a nickname.

Let me note that this probably isn't the right not best way to gain a nickname. Nicknames are supposed to be spontaneously generated based on things you do. One does not simply ask for a nickname. Of course I am not your normal sort of person.

So there was my demand, floating out there in the dark car as my friends sort of stared at me in silence. I sort of regretted my request as soon as the words left my mouth. What was I thinking? Well I was in college and had probably already been drinking at this point or was suffering from sleep deprivation.

Anyways, after a moment of silence my friend Ash piped up from the front seat and declared from that day forth I should be 'beylit'. I asked where the hell that came from and was informed that it was supposedly the name of a character from a Conan book. In theory this character is some sort of pirate queen. I liked the concept, and I liked the sound, and so I agreed that this was an acceptable name.

I have no idea if the spelling is the same as the book. I chose the spelling as being phonetically compatible and aesthetically pleasing.* I also consciously chose to not capitalize the b. I don't remember why, but at the time I had a clever reasoning for it. Now it is sort of ingrained as the way to write the word out.

Surprisingly it stuck. There are actually certain friends of mine who will call me beylit to my face. It has become my online identity completely. It is a name that I identify with and really actually like. I might not had achieved it in the right fashion, but the ends justify the means.

*Random unrelated note: Why can I spell phonetically and aesthetically correct the first time without trying but I can't spell prerogative or achieved without the help of spell check? 

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Who's counting?

I've been doing a lot of blog reading lately. I have lots of free time at work, and sometimes the best way to pass the time is to go out and explore the blogosphere. I mean if I am going to be part of this very vast community I might as well try and see as much of it as I can.

As you all know there are blogs of every shape and size out there, and a blog for every interest and thing there is. The possibilities are literally endless. Of course I am not going to read blogs that don't interest me. I don't go near political or overly religious blogs. I tend not to read blogs that focus on activities I am not interested in like sports for example. I read some mommy blogs, but obviously not because they are mommy blogs because I am not a mom.

I tend to be pulled toward writer blogs, humorous blogs, and food blogs. If you have been reading me long that shouldn't come as a shock at all. I mean throw in there some theater and hardcore geek blogs and I would be in heaven.

I realized the other day that the majority of the blogs I read that don't belong to my friends are actually writing blogs. Food blogs come in a close second, but writing seems to be my main focus. I always find writing blogs to be equal parts fascinating and frustrating.

I love reading about other writers ideas and processes and personal journeys. It is nice to see the things I think in my own head coming out of other peoples minds. Lots of other people. I am not the only person who thinks about stuff and that is reassuring.

At the same time there are a lot of the writing blogs that sort of make me want to punch someone. I can't even explain to you what it is about them that frustrates me so, but there is just something. The way they talk about everything they are doing and trying and just spinning their wheels makes me, I don't know, anxious. Yea I think that is the right word. It makes me anxious. Sorry I can't explain it any better than that.

One thing I always see in pretty much any writing blog, or hear from any of my writer friends for that matter, are word count goals. You always see it "I am going to sit down and write at least 1000 words today." "I am struggling to hit 10,000 words." "I could only get 500 words today." "Wow I finally made 20,000 words, it only took me a month of writing every single day.".

I get that word counts are a thing. I look at my word counts constantly. A lot is judged and measured by these numbers. The thing is though that I rarely have the issues above. When I do sit down to write I typically write at least 2000 words at a time, and that is without really trying or thinking about it.

I went to write the introduction for my WIP the other day.  It was just going to be a short introduction. I wasn't going to write a lot. When I finished about 2 hours later I had 10,000 words written for my introduction. I mean sure when I go in and edit it that number will probably go down some, but knowing me it might go up. So much for a short introduction.

It is like that with pretty much every scene I write. I sit down I write and an hour later I have a couple thousand words written down. Heck even with my blog posts I end up with lengthy counts. I guess I just am not good at writing things succinctly.

I just reread those last few paragraphs and realize it sounds like I am bragging there. I so totally am not. I am just saying it is how I write. When I write it just gushes out. Some people read fast, I write fast. I can't say it is a good thing or a bad thing. I mean I am pretty sure it just means I do a lot more editing in the end than people who only write a couple hundred words at a time. Or not. How should I know?

It sort of makes me want to work on writing concise things. Maybe if I focus on drabbles and flash fictions I might improve my over all craft. Sometimes more words don't make for a better story. Sometimes all I am doing is babbling and should just get to the point. Sometimes the babbling is good though.

Maybe though I should just count my blessings and not think too hard about my word count. More words. Less words. Words are words. The important thing is that I wrote them.

Friday, August 24, 2012

Hope for the future

I have a set of twin cousins who are starting college pretty much as I type. They have both gone far from home on softball scholarships. One is at the University of Illinois and the other is at the University of Iowa, which are both really far from San Antonio, and honestly pretty far from each other. I can only imagine how exciting and frightening it is for them.

I have no doubts that they will both do amazingly well. They are fantastic athletes, intelligent young women, and will have no trouble taking on the world no matter where they are. I just hope that they take advantage of everything college has to offer them.

It sort of makes me a little nostalgic for my own college experience. I am not really sure if I would qualify as a good role model when it comes to college experiences or not. I mean I didn't graduate. In fact the end of my whole college career ended in a rather ugly state. That whole nasty ending aside, I actually think I had a very successful college experience.

College is, to me, just that. An experience. Going away to school is about learning and growing, but only a fraction of that is what you do in the classroom. Yes I know that the point is to get a degree but if that is all you do in college you are so doing it wrong.

College is like the greatest social experiment ever. It is about meeting people and really meeting yourself. You are on your own, away from your parents for the first time in your life, and yet you are still in a structured and semi safe environment. You are free to make terrible decisions and hopefully  not ruin your life while doing it.

I was lucky in the fact that I didn't have to work in college. I had everything paid for, which made things considerably easier. I never had to worry about holding down a job while I went to class. All I had to balance was my classes, my shows, and my social life. That all lead to very little sleep.

I survived my entire first year of college on turkey sandwiches, frosted flakes, cold ravioli, Dr Pepper, and Arbor Mist (or Boones Farm, whatever we could get the upper classmen to buy us). I slept on average 3 hours a night if I was lucky. I made a 3.8 GPA and never missed a single theater party. I was also never not working on a show.

I never socialized with the people in my dorm. They thought I was some sort of scary freak and I thought they were all stuck up. The RA's actually tried to have an intervention with me because they thought I was anti social and on drugs. None of them were theater majors. They just didn't get that my class and show schedule kept me busy for about 16 hours of my day and wearing all black was actually required when I was crewing a show.

I offered my RA a cookie from a care package my grandmother sent me once, and she reacted like I had offered her rat poison. I had to pull one out of the bag and take a bite to prove to her I wasn't trying to kill her. I actually took joy in freaking them all out by not conforming to their fluffy sorority like atmosphere.

I wondered around campus in pajama pants and slippers half the time. Super relaxed was my  normal dress code. It was really liberating to be able to dress down all the time. Besides most everyone else was dressing the same way so who cares?

I started branching out socially which is something I had never done before. Anyone who knew me in high school would have been shocked to see me being so social. I think I went to one party while in high school and that was my senior year. I was so wildly uncomfortable that I never wanted to go to a party again. In college I went to my first frat party my first day.

I was making friends left and right. I went to clubs. I went to frat parties. I went to theater parties. I went on camp outs and to bonfires. I crashed on peoples sofas, and floors, and dorm rooms of people I only passingly knew. For the first three months I wasn't even drinking, I was doing all of this dead sober. I was just letting my inhibitions slip away on my own.

I started experimenting with new concepts and ideas that I had always thought to be weird or taboo. I opened myself up to the idea of different lifestyles and refused to exclude any ideas. I began to learn about different religions which had always been an interest of mine that I was too afraid to look at. I found people who shared thoughts with me that I had always been to afraid to express. I opened myself up and found faith that spoke to me the way Christianity had never done for me. I wasn't afraid to admit it finally.

I took road trips with friends. I laid in the pine needles and stared up at the stars. I ran through piles of autumn leaves. I laughed. I kissed boys. I kissed girls. I learned what made good friends and bad friends. I saw more sunrises without having ever been to bed. I pulled all-nighters at Denny's. I dyed my hair strange colors.

I found myself.

It was new and amazing and exciting and one of the best experiences of my life. There were days I was lonely and scared and sat in my dorm room crying and longing for home. There were days when the pressure of it all was too much and all I wanted to do was quit. There were so many times when I felt like I was drowning. There were times when I was miserable.

I would have those moments of despair and then something new and amazing would happen, and I realized something very important. I realized that there were always going to be bad things. There were always going to be days when I felt like I was drowning and completely overwhelmed. I was always going to have days that I wanted to throw the towel in. That was going to be a constant throughout my entire life.

I learned though that the good days would still come. No matter how rough it got, calmer seas would show on the horizon, and I once again would bask in the sun and marvel at the glory of the universe. I wasn't going to sink.

That is what I learned in college. I might not have a slip of paper that makes me more marketable to jobs, but I am alright with that. I came away with a knowledge and a wealth of experiences that made me more marketable to life.

I know that my family doesn't always understand. I know that they think that I went in one person and came out another, but I disagree. I went in like a caterpillar and came out a butterfly. I was always a butterfly on the inside, I just had to get there.

That is what I hope for my cousins. I hope that they can get the slip of paper too, but more than that I hope they find what I found. I hope that they find themselves. I hope that they take every opportunity and are not afraid to open themselves up to anything and everything. I don't know what conclusions they will come to, or what sort of butterflies they will  be, but I am certain they will be brilliant and happy no matter what.  

Thursday, August 23, 2012


When I was doing theater in high school my director was incredibly strict about being on time. Sharp used to always tell us that if you were told to be someplace at 5 then in order to be early you should be there at 4:40, to be on time you should be there at 4:50, and if you showed up at 5 you were late. That last thing I ever wanted to do was be late.

This lesson has sort of stuck with me through my life. I hate being late. I hate being on time. Getting someplace at the time I am supposed to always makes me feel panicked and rushed. There is no opportunity to do anything before things start. I mean what if you need to change, find something or someone, get a snack, go to the restroom, make a phone call? Or what if there was traffic or no parking? How can you get places on time if you don't get there early?

I would rather be really early and sit reading a book than even come close to being late. I mean seriously it is not worth it to me to rush and panic. Extra time can always be useful for something. If nothing else it is there in case of an emergency.

Take today for instance. I had a doctors appointment this morning, and I have never been to this particular doctor before. I tend to get lost going new places, and since it was a 9:30 appointment, I would have to contend with morning work traffic. The highway that the office is off of is under major construction just now so I had to plot a slightly longer route that avoided the highways. Knowing I had paperwork to fill out I wanted to be at the office by 9 so I left my house about 5 till 8.

Yes I realize that is early, but I wanted to have time to get lost or get stuck in traffic. Turns out it only took me 20 minutes to get to my destination. Excessively early, but her I had a book, it was all good. I reached in my purse to grab my wallet so I could stick the parking ticket in it and not lose it. This is when I realized to my dismay that my wallet wasn't in my purse. It had fallen out.

Cue me panicking.

At this point I was so thankful I had left really early. Otherwise I would have arrived at my appointment time and not had my id or my insurance card or money and had to have rescheduled. Now with all this time I could drive home and make it back before my appointment. I of course ended up going a longer route home and because of that walked into the doctors office at 9:25.

I was flustered and annoyed that I was, in my eyes, late. Of course it being a doctors office and all I wasn't even called back until 10, but that was beside the point. I was not there with sufficient time to do the needed things before I was supposed to be.

At the same time my chronic earliness did help me avert minor disaster. I will count this as a pro the next time the husbeast argues that we don't need to be so early to places. You never know when you will need that giant cushion of time.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Sometimes I forget.

If you were to walk by me in my office it would be a rather rare occasion to find me without headphones on. My coworkers are loud on a rather obnoxious level, and I am easily irritated by noise. My iPod is generally my only point of sanity. I keep the volume louder than I should just to drown people out.

Of course this plan sometimes backfires as my coworkers think that since I have my headphones on they can talk as loud as they like because they won't disturb me. The thing is, to drown out someone who is in the next cube, separated only by a few inches of cube wall, the volume has to be loud enough to do hearing damage. Also if someone comes up to talk to me I need to know they are there so I need to keep the volume at a reasonable level.

I have discovered though that the headphones do discourage people from speaking to me. Whether I can hear them or not, I can easily just ignore them. People like to stop and ask me for directions or where someone is. Instead of informing them that I am not anyones secretary I just pretend I can't hear them.

I have a little mirror on my desk that allows me to see who is behind me. I know they are there, I have seen them. The thing is they never seem to notice that I have a mirror for that purpose. So they will try once or twice and then move on to ask the next person down where that guy has gone.

Today I am actually just sitting with my headphones on. They are not plugged into anything at all. I had put them on to listen to something on my computer, but when I was done I unplugged them because the cord was draped over my keyboard and annoying me. I sat like this for almost 20 minutes before I even realized I hadn't plugged them into anything and had no purpose in wearing them. I just forgot to take them off.

This has happened before.
I am sure it will happen again.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Not that kind of girl

Ok confession time.

I hate shoes. I hate purses. I hate makeup. I hate smelly bath products. I hate getting manicures.
Yes I know that probably makes me lose my girl card or something, but it is the truth. I hate all of these things.

I like being barefoot. My favorite shoes are a pair of 3 year old $5 flip flops. I think Jimmy Choo's look like any other shoe and can't fathom why they would cost as much as they do. I can only justify spending more than $40 on a pair of shoes if they are something like my faire boots.

I would prefer not to carry a purse at all, but when I have to it is normally a messenger bag or tote of some sort. I own a black purse for dress occasions and even that was a $20 Target purse. I look for practicality in my purses. I honestly think the more you pay for a purse the uglier it is. I've seen diaper bags that were more attractive than most women's purses.

I only wear makeup for special occasions or faire. I get lost in Sephora. I have no idea what half of the things in there are. I took theatrical makeup classes and they were less complicated than some of the processes that women go through for makeup to wear to work. Also I think anyone who puts on makeup for the gym should be slapped.

I keep my nails long and shaped on my own. Add that with the fact that I can't stand to have even clear polish on my nails, and you have made manicures pointless. Why am I going to pay someone to rub lotion on my hands and soak my cuticles? Yea totally useless service. I don't find it relaxing in the least.

I think I actually have fewer products on the bathroom counter than the husbeast does. No I take that back I am now using three hair products in order to maintain my curly hair in the Texas humidity, so I now have more than he does.

You will only find the very basics there though. There is one lotion. There is one facial moisturizer. There is one face wash. There is one bottle of lavender body spray. There is deodorant. There is baby powder. That is it. That is right, only one of each. There are no long complicated cleansing processes. There are no elaborate rituals involving slathering myself in different goops and tinctures. Simple straight forward mild unscented soap and moisturizer. That is it.

I don't feel like less of a girl for any of this. I am not suffering for my Payless shoes and clearance Target purse. My skin and body aren't suffering for my uncomplicated product usage. I don't look less feminine for my lack of makeup. If I felt like it I could primp and perfume myself and dress to the nines with matching clutch and fascinator, even if I had to borrow pieces to complete the look. I can still look the look if I needed or wanted to.

Thing is, I don't really want to.

I would appreciate not getting condescending looks and being talked to like I am slow when I express my dislike of these things. I am not saying you are some sort of horrible person for wearing a ton of makeup or having an hour long beauty process that you go through twice a day. I am not telling you are an idiot for spending  more on what looks like a cheap diaper bag than I spent on a tablet for the husbeast. Hell I won't even tell you that it is ugly. 

So there you have it. I don't like girl things. I never really have. I don't care.

Monday, August 13, 2012


I always find it incredibly annoying when an otherwise happy and productive weekend is brought to a crashing halt by illness. That is right, I spent half of my weekend sick. It is never fun being sick, but on a weekend? That is like getting sick on vacation. It just isn't right.

My Saturday was a lovely day. I spent the entire day bumming about town with the husbeast trying to solve the quandary of home media storage. Turns out I have a thing for movies and it seems a little impractical to not have them in a centralized storage. That issue is really big enough for another post so I will leave it there.

We ended the day with friends at a pub, though that was under very sad circumstances. One of our people, well actually two since we are friends with both brother and sister, lost their father this last week. The sister wanted moral support while she was in town, and so we gathered to raise a glass in honor of her father, and be near her.

Still it was time with friends which is always a good way to end a day no matter the reason. I like my people. I like spending time with them. It is a good thing.

Sometime around 1:30am Sunday I awoke from a very sound sleep with rippling stomach pains. Not the 'I ate something that disagreed with me' stomach pains, but the deep penetrating rolling pains that come with a stomach bug.

I should note that I hate throwing up. I don't know anyone who likes it mind you, but I hate it. I will do anything in my power to not throw up. Even if I know I will feel better by throwing up, I will actively avoid it. I get this habit from my mother. By the end of the night I was actively trying to throw up to make the pain go away and allow me to sleep. I ended up napping in the guest room so I wouldn't keep the husbeast up all night long. I am not pleasant when I am sick and so I don't need a cranky sleep deprived husbeast having to try and take care of my less than pleasant sick self.

Sunday's plans were lost to a haze of sickness. I curled up on the couch with my laptop and Doctor Who, apple juice close at hand, and a couple of infusions of ramen to make it through the day. I wasn't actively sick, I just felt horrible. The husbeast kept telling me I was running hot, and I must have been because I asked for a blanket even though it was probably 80 degrees in the house.

While today I feel mostly better, I am still having twinges of sick. I am also exhausted, which I find to be a rather annoying side effect of illness. I didn't do anything yesterday but lay on the couch. Why is it then that I feel like I ran a marathon yesterday? Now I am missing work because I am just too tired to go.

Hopefully by tomorrow I will be feeling human enough to head back to work. In the meantime I will lay here with my apple juice and my Doctor Who and recover like a good girl. Good thing I like apple juice and Doctor Who.

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Photo Op

I just wrote an entire post none of you will ever see. Those closest to me have heard me say what I just deleted more than once, and will probably hear it all again repeatedly, but there is no reason for  me to put such negativity out there in the universe. No one wants to hear about office problems, and honestly I don't want to talk about them.

I think instead of today's post I will go do some work on my WIP, which has been going along swimmingly. Instead please enjoy some of my favorite pictures from my Year in the Life photo project I did last year.

(If you click on the link in the caption it will take you to my Pbase where there are actual descriptions and stories for each pic)


                                                       Shots from our New Orleans trip

The music is killing him

Resting place


Some shots from the Tulsa Highland Games
Unstoppable force

I have a thing about hands and feet



Nature like things

Through the gate

Twisted roots


The Kid and the kitty

Daddy's hands
Fly be free

The mighty B

Changing of the guard

Abstract things

Pumpkin Guts


Motion and light

A candle in memory of a lost friend

Monday, August 6, 2012


I sat at the end of a bench. The temperature was edging toward the 100 degree mark and it was not even noon. Sweat rolled down into my eyes and off the tip of my nose into the grass between my feet. My legs were shaking to badly for me to stand up. My stomach turned and threatened to empty its sparse contents at any moment. My head was tucked down between my knees as I sucked in lung full after lung full of hot summer air. A few feet away I could hear the strained grunts and utterances of frustration from the women I was with. A wave of dizziness passed over me and I had to squeeze my eyes shut and try and talk myself down.

I did this to myself. We all chose to do this. We chose to place ourselves in this painful position for our own good; and it is good.

Twice a week my best friend, the mighty B, hosts what she refers to as her Junkyard Gym sessions. She has amassed a good deal of exercise equipment and general knowledge through her own personal journey of fitness and athleticism and has decided to share all of this with her people. She is one of the top ranked amateur Womans Highland Gamers in the country and has been working to improve her body for years now. There are not many other women in my life that I would trust to help me with anything physical.

Each day as we walk into her garage she has set up the white board with a list of activities we are going to be doing. We have a chance to ask questions if a particular exercise is foreign to us, or if we still need help on correct form. After that we scatter. Everyone finds a station in the rotation they want to start with, and we are off.

There are no rules on how many reps you do, just get through three circuits. We try and go in order but sometimes we forget and switch things up a little. Everyone is there to help if someone needs their feet held or a spot. Sometimes the exercise in rotation is just not something one of us can physically do due to injuries and limitations, but B always has a substitute ready to go.

The only real rule is not to be negative. There are always a slew of negative and foul words coming out of someones mouth as they struggle through a particularly tough exercise. I swear the things we all say while planking would make a sailor blush, but we never stop. They are just words we need to make us finish.

Our own words also go mostly unheard as everyone else there is ready to lend you support. We congratulate one another on something difficult, reassure each other that we are doing a good job, and anything else we can say to make it through. This is a group effort.

I find myself flipping giant tractor tires, dragging a 90 pound sled like a plow horse through the alley, swinging kettle-bells around, passing medicine balls, slinging huge ropes, planking, doing all manner of things with a myriad of different hand weights, squats, jumping rope, and anything else B thinks of that day to keep thing fresh and challenge us. I never thought I would ever do even half of these things. I am not a physical person.

Still I find myself going back time after time because I know I should. It is a safe place to do the work I need to do and not feel selfconscious about it. These women, and men as well, are all my friends, and none of them are judging me. None of us are in the same place physically, we all have varying limitations, and we all do things in different manners. We all care about each other though, and all we want is for everyone to be healthy and happy.

I sit here now, sore in places I wasn't expecting to be sore in, and even more sore in places I knew would hurt. I feel the dull ache of working out and doing it well. I know tomorrow will probably be worse, but by Wednesday I will be fine. That will be just in time to go and do it again.

I am doing this to myself. It is my choice. While I might not really enjoy it, or always want to do it, I am very happy I am. I am happy that I have my B, and all the other sweat angels, to help me through.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Lets talk

If you are not a writer you may want to skip this post.

Lets talk about writing dialogue and how I hate it. Hell I can't even spell the word correctly. After three attempts I had to let spell check do it for me. That has to be telling of something doesn't it?

So other than the opening paragraph of any story, I can't think of anything that I dread writing more than dialogue. I am just no good at it and I never have been. It seems to me that there is some sort of elusive formula that other writers use to write great dialogue and if I could just discover that I would be find. Of course I know this is completely absurd, but I hold out hope.

The thing isn't so much that I don't know what to say, or to make my characters say, I just don't know how to write their words without it sounding awkward and contrived. I never want to write the boring pointless prattle of conversation and just get to the meat of what they are talking about, but that is so unnatural. I mean It seems like just skipping the small pleasantries isn't right. Especially if you come in at the beginning of the conversation.

If I had my way no conversation would ever start at the beginning. All of the awkward "Hi how are you? How ya been?" stuff would just not exist. I would start in the middle where they are coming to the witty anecdote or the sage advice. Sadly it doesn't always work out like that. Talk about being abrupt.

Actually that is how the husbeast describes our conversations. He says it is like I have half the conversation in my head and just start in the middle, often times leaving him confused about what is going on. I don't want to leave my readers feeling confused.

Then I come to the problem of the actual writing. We are talking the technical part of writing out dialogue. I just don't know how to do it where it makes sense. I mean I can't just let them talk, especially if there are more than two people involved. I mean I know I can to a degree just let them banter back and forth, but it is so hard to identify each individual voice without leaving someone asking "Wait who said that?".

Also there is the general fact that my characters never just sit still and talk. They do things. They fidget with jewelry, watch people passing by, eat their salads, look intently at the other person, or whatever it is. I don't know how to put that in there when it seems important to me and not be distracting to the conversation that is poorly trying to take place.

For me writing dialogue is a lot like a first kiss every single time. It is awkward, I am not sure what to do with my hands, or if my breath smells, or if my lips are too wet or dry, or if I even want to be kissing this guy. Nine times out of ten we collide foreheads, smash noses, miss the lips all together, and in general have an awkward unpleasant embarrassing moment that we try and laugh off and correct with less nerves the second time around. Only unlike the usually less awkward second kiss, for me the dialogue still remains clumsy and oafish.

There is that great once in a while when it is perfect. Everything comes together just the way it should and it is like magic. Fireworks explode in the night sky, angels sing, you are bathed in a strange sunbeam, and you achieve perfect bliss. I have actually had a first kiss like that, so I know how good it really feels. I have also had dialogue that came out that amazing, but it was probably only so exciting because it had never happened before.

All of this typically leads to characters who think to themselves a whole lot but rarely ever say anything to anyone. This would be great if they were all telepathic but I have never written a story where that comes into play. Now that I think about that telepathy would still be a conversation, just using their brains and not their mouths. Somehow I envision that being more awkward.

So basically what I am saying is my dialogue sucks. It feels awkward and contrived to me and just poorly written. Perhaps I should stick to writing stories about mutes, or where it is just one person alone in the wilderness with no one to talk to but themselves.

Seeing as how neither of those things are going to happen I am open to advice or suggestions. Perhaps I should just farm the dialogue in my stories out to more skilled dialogue writers. That is an option isn't it?
I am hopeless.