Dancing With Ogres

Posted by Unrepentant Escapist

January 10, 2011 -- 7:33 p.m.

I had my first dance class since the sexual assault today. It was easier than I expected. Ballroom's so formal compared with Argentine Tango, it's like dancing neutered. I was a little annoyed that no one asked me to dance, but whatever. Not the kind of people I'm interested anyway since they left the poor, heavily-accented Chinese exchange student who sat by herself in the corner out in the cold. Hard enough to be alone in a foreign country, to barely speak the language, without being surrounded by people who avoid you because of your accent.

So anyway, I'm feel self-pitying at the moment because it's a pattern. I never get asked out on a second date, never get asked out on a first one, either. Something I'm doing, possibly body-language-wise is driving people off and it's frustrating because I have no clue what it is.

I wonder if it's a Utah thing? In Oregon, I wasn't any Bella (groan) but I didn't have trouble finding company if I wanted to. Here, it's like I'm a grape Popsicle in Antarctica--nobody's interested.

Anyway, dancing's a lot like riding a bicycle. It's coming back to me fairly easily. As is the fact that I'm such a klutz, sigh.

I also went to my first meeting of the science fiction magazine run by the university. Only some people don't seem to realize that, since the story I read had no speculative elements whatsoever. We also got a poem that read like someone's suicide note, which is sad. I wished there was something I could do for the poor kid. I also wondered what on earth prompted someone from South Carolina to send his suicide poem to a Utah science fiction magazine. Gotta be one of the most desperate cries for help ever, and the rejection letter he's gonna get probably won't help him. I had the sudden realization that, if I ever become an author, I'll have to deal with depressed lonely teenagers sending out letters to me about how lonely they are. And I still probably won't know what to do. There are some things you just have to work out for yourself.

If there's a school shooting involving said submitter in the next few months, I'm going to feel really guilty. There was some discussion as to whether we should report the poem to...someone...since it also expressed anger toward the people around him. But who do you talk to? And isn't there some kind of submitter-submitted privacy clause?

Oh, and here's a little tip to writers: If you send a story to a fantasy magazine with the line "It's hard to be a straight-A student when you're living with an ogre" and there's no actual ogre in the story, you're going to have one very disappointed reader.

Stupid metaphorical ogres.


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