Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Vah Jay Jay Chronicles

All right, so yesterday I had a busy day madly seeking sources for a story, pulling together a non-fiction pop culture book proposal, mailing it off to a publisher, and trying to decide if I want to open myself up even further (pun soon to be revealed) and enter a competition I was asked to participate in.

Now I'm as competitive as the next writer, well, kind of, but the topic gave me pause. This is for a show to be performed in New Jersey (that's not the reason for the hesitation, though in the middle of summer on Cape Cod I often have many unkind thoughts about the good folks of New Jersey). The topic of the competition was something I'd never explored. At least as a writer.

The competition is writing monologues for a show called "Viva Vagina." Yeah, not my usual beat.

I went through my files trying to find something that I remembered writing a few years ago, but I couldn't find it, so I began noodling around with some thoughts. My leaning was more toward something happy, fun, sexy and not super serious - that's better left to writers without my light voice.

As I typed, deleted and typed again I couldn't find the right rhythm (sorry, they just keep coming, oops, there I go AGAIN!) or voice. Everything I typed sounded like something from a bad Harlequin Romance or cheesy soft-core porn. Suddenly I found myself with a new-found respect for those who can write steamy prose and not sound like a ho. How I wished I had the writing chutzpah of Diablo Cody, but I found myself blushing as I tried to, in a funny way recount an incident in my fairly recent past.

I happened to be e-mailing with my ex-boyfriend while I was doing this and told him about the contest. I immediately got an e-mail back asking if he could read my monologue when it's done. So the pressure is on. As a fellow writer his input (uh huh) could be quite helpful, but it's a little weird to think of him reading this piece, far more disquieting than a panel of strangers judging me. This was a person who was there, he'd know the truth, not my gossamer remembrances, and his memories may be far less kind. This is seeming like such a not-so-good idea as I write this. I think I should stick to pop culture.

But I love a good challenge as a writer, and I am sort of excited (oh yes, I went there) by topics that push my comfort zone a bit, and this is certainly doing that. I figure I have nothing to lose. My adult children never read anything I write whether it's this blog or a newspaper or magazine article, so I'm safe from humiliating them, and if I did per chance win, it's not going to be here where my mom or friends could see it, so that's good.

So I'm going to spend some time today writing about something extremely personal in hopes that maybe in some weird way it will empower other women over 40 to realize they're still hot and sexy. And in all seriousness, the mission of the now-classic "Vagina Monologues" was to take away the shame women felt about their bodies. Yeah, I'll focus on that while I'm blushing at my computer.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

So that's how you spell Vah Jay Jay! I'm not sure which I want to read most...YOUR contribution or your ex boyfriends's critique! Candy, you make all of us "over 50 somethings" proud!!! Cait