tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66568810743462980682024-02-19T01:06:47.939-08:00Tales of Rue and WoeIt's a simple idea really. Telling stories about things kids want to hear. Kids who don't fit. Or think they don't. A new story every month. About two boys, Rue and Woe, who meet and fight and make up and fight some more. And fall in love.
And sometimes stories about other kids. Or by kids. Yeah, you could post your story here. :)Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-77920905849507330242012-05-19T12:56:00.002-07:002012-05-19T12:58:35.708-07:00Hopping Against Homo/Trans*phobia with Daniel Radcliffe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hopping against Homo/Trans*phobia with Daniel Radcliffe.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-90297485174808495502012-04-20T05:00:00.000-07:002012-04-20T05:00:06.313-07:00Friday Flash: Rue & Woe-Part Two<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
****</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I almost let Bobby Matthews take my
virginity today.</span></i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue looked at the words on his LiveJournal blog. He kinda couldn't
believe he'd actually written them, but then again, he kinda couldn't believe
he'd let Bobby get him naked and pin him to the guestroom bed in Bobby's
mother's boyfriend's condo. Bobby wasn’t scary like the other guy who’d tried to
get in Rue’s pants. He had nice strong hands but he used them gently and he’d
kissed the side of Rue’s neck until all Rue could do was shiver and moan and
writhe against the plum colored duvet on the plush, king-sized bed and wish
Bobby would reach around his waist and just touch him one time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Just once, cause that’s all it would take
and then Rue woulda been screaming and shooting his spunk all over the covers.
Probably best they hadn’t done that, cause Rue was pretty sure that woulda left
a stain on the duvet, and then Bobby woulda had to explain and then Rue’s mom
woulda got a “concerned” phone call and shit… it woulda been shit, because even
though Bobby’s hands stroked Rue’s skin just right, and even though his kisses
were hot slick perfection he wasn’t Woe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue was holding out for Woe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I’m
glad he forgot to warm the lube up, cause the cold stuff hitting my ass snapped
me outta the crazy sex-spell he’d put me under and shut my little head up long
enough for my big head to get a word in edgewise… and trust me, that fucker was
screaming for me to get the fuck up off the bed and not piss Bobby off and
wondering how the fuck I got myself into that position in the first place—<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Rue, hon, it’s time for dinner.” His mom’s
voice echoed cheerily up the stairs. Rue minimized his screen in a panic before
he remembered that he’d locked his door before he started trying to put his
thoughts into words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Uh, yeah, ma, I’ll be right there.” Rue
walked over to the door, unlocked it and cracked it open before shouting. Pushing it shut behind him he moved back to
his desk, maximized the LiveJournal screen and then went about the process of
saving his entry as a draft before he signed out of his account. He’d finish up
later on tonight. Like maybe after his mom was asleep. Writing about what he’d
done today with Bobby… well, he just didn’t really want to deal with his mom
tapping on his door while he was using his fist to stroke himself and
pretending he’d been with Woe instead and everything had been perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Um, eww. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Rue, get off that computer and get down
here right now.” Rue could hear the exasperation in his mom’s voice. He winced,
because she really hated hollering from the foot of the stairs, and this was
gonna cost him at least an hour of playing some stupid board game or several
hands of Uno before his mom felt like they’d “connected” enough. He gave an
exaggerated all over body shiver, and powered down his laptop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Holy crap, parents could be so demanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue pounded down the stairs, swung around
the corner, fell through the kitchen doorway and collapsed into his chair. His
mother turned from the stove, one sleek black eyebrow rising toward her
hairline and transforming her expression into a classic look of loving disapproval.
“Could you maybe walk down the stairs next time there, sir?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A sheepish grin crept across Rue’s face as
he straightened in his seat. “Sure, ma. Sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">His mom’s smile softened her face back
into being simply loving. “Okay. I just would like to have a few more years to
get the current mortgage paid down before I have to take out a new one to
repair all the things you’ve broken by rampaging around like a bull in a china
shop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue blinked at his mom. “Really ma? A bull
in a china shop?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">His mom laughed, little smile lines
creasing the corners of her eyes. She pulled open the dish cabinet door and
took down two plates. “I made Chicken Alfredo.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue’s stomach growled. “Is that what
smells so good?” He moaned in happiness. God, he loved his mom’s Chicken
Alfredo. She made it with fresh basil and garlic and when she plated it up
sprinkled shredded mozzarella and parmesan cheese over the top. She sometimes
put slices of ripe plum tomatoes along the edges. Rue moaned again. His mom
snorted. “Hang tough over there, son. Sustenance is nearly yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Then she was setting the plates down, and
she’d put the tomatoes on and—God, sometimes Rue remembered just how good he
had it. He wanted to talk to her because he’d always told her everything, but
this was really private stuff. And he didn’t want to get Bobby in trouble. And
he paid attention in health class and he knew all about STD’s and even if Bobby
had remembered to warm the lube and he’d given it up this afternoon he was
pretty sure he’d have remembered to make Bobby put a condom on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Maybe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But who could he talk to about—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Thirteen more days. Really just twelve and
a wake-up, and then Woe would be home and he could ask him. Rue knew Woe would
give it to him straight—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He snickered, then looked up from his
plate, fork hanging from his hand in mid-air, and shook his head at his mom. “Nothing.
Sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She quirked that eyebrow at him again, but
didn’t say anything, seeming content to just eat in silence. Rue thanked every
star in the heavens for that, cause he really didn’t think he was capable of
holding a decent conversation right now. He’d been unable to stop the snicker
when he realized how dirty Woe giving it to him straight sounded… and oh, god
he was getting a boner at the table with his mom sitting right there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Rue’s face turned bright red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">“Hon, are you okay? I didn’t put anything
really spicy in the Alfredo this time, I promise.” His mom’s mouth was turning
down at the corners. He couldn’t stand to see that look on her face. She was so
tired most of the time, and even though she told him all the time how much she
loved both her jobs Rue didn’t want to add even a little bit to that burden.
Not if he could help it. “Ah. No. Just thought of something real embarrassing—and
no, before you ask, I don’t wanna talk about it. Not ever. Not. Ever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Thankfully his mom took him at his word,
letting the topic drop. By the time she served sliced pears for dessert, his
other issue had ceased rearing its ugly head too. Not that Rue really thought
LBR (little big Rue) had an ugly head, but he was very happy he could get up
from the table without the grossness of his mom seeing him with a hard-on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Geez. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He was pretty sure they’d both be scarred
for life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-5691093830736781232012-04-06T11:34:00.000-07:002012-04-06T11:34:42.889-07:00Welcoming C.Z. Collins to Tales of Rue and Woe<i>Cherie: CZ why do you think your reviews will appeal to pre-teen and teenage YA readers?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
CZ: I tell them upfront what I like and dislike about the book, and why.<br />
<br />
<i>Cherie: What do you think makes you specially qualified to review books for this age group?</i><br />
<br />
CZ: I myself am in this age group, and am very well read.<br />
<br />
<i>Cherie: Do you have any fun facts about yourself you want to share with the readers? </i><br />
<br />
CZ: Well, I read about a thousand books a year, and I like sing show-tunes utilizing only the word: Eggplant.<br />
<br />
<i>Cherie: Well. That's ... very interesting. *waggles eyebrows*</i><br />
<br />
Thanks for joining us today. We look forward to your reviews in the future.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-14890097278028494842012-02-09T13:45:00.000-08:002012-02-09T13:45:50.237-08:00A Point of Interest: The Raven's CrossingA couple of friends have started up something interesting. Get on over to The Raven's Crossing and check it out.<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Ravens-Crossing/376822459000007?sk=wall">https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Ravens-Crossing/376822459000007?sk=wall</a> <br />
or <a href="http://www.theravenscrossing.org/">http://www.theravenscrossing.org/</a><br />
Good stuff and they are amazing writers.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-33058149490409698202011-11-20T03:35:00.000-08:002011-11-20T04:56:22.514-08:00Transgender Remembrance Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9660gDibE5SYolr8eWtvFw2MQjF7TdF_jc4qTuyrbAcxo6M5XOLfZ4AzvnmIdgKwgH-Frrlm6h3xbspcPh1R75chiZIhKApGP6y2g_pRd9Pbe27jX9ObwOHYlkYJoxzK84Ub11xmKdHQa/s1600/remembrance2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="77" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9660gDibE5SYolr8eWtvFw2MQjF7TdF_jc4qTuyrbAcxo6M5XOLfZ4AzvnmIdgKwgH-Frrlm6h3xbspcPh1R75chiZIhKApGP6y2g_pRd9Pbe27jX9ObwOHYlkYJoxzK84Ub11xmKdHQa/s320/remembrance2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.transgenderdor.org/">http://www.transgenderdor.org/</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
Hey there.<br />
Did anyone ever tell you that sometimes people are born into the wrong body? It happens. It happens and for the ones it happens to there can seem to be no safe harbor. I imagine what being in a world so very wrong that simply taking a pee felt like cutting my heart out--because I had to do it with the wrong parts and in the wrong bathroom--screaming soundlessly as people around me constantly called me by the wrong pronoun and the weight of the whole flipping world crushed down on me...<br />
<br />
I don't live there.<br />
<br />
But someone I love does, and his journey has been impossibly hard and dangerous. In fact, I can scarcely believe he has made it so far in his journey. He tried to stop the world and get off not so very long ago.<br />
<i>my heart aches to write those words</i><br />
He barely made it here to my home. I have so little to give to my brother, but what I do have? Is his. We're family, and families, one's worthy of the name whether they be families born or families chosen love and protect and support. Full stop.<br />
<br />
So today?<br />
If you know somewhere in your heart that you are in the wrong body?<br />
Or even if you're just questioning your truth?<br />
I've got a few things to say to you, baby.<br />
<br />
Stay safe.<br />
I mean when you play (and you older teens know exactly what I mean) use protection.<br />
If the place you're in feels unsafe, get the hell out.<br />
Find someone --and baby, they're out there--who will love and support you just as you are.<br />
Get informed.<br />
There are resources.<br />
There are doctors and friends and support groups.<br />
You don't have to tell anybody your truth until YOU are ready to.<br />
And baby, please don't until you know you have a safe harbor.<br />
I'm gonna leave a list of places that should be able to help you.<br />
Just remember that people *yes, every damn one of us* are foolish sometimes. Scared by what we don't understand and needlessly hurtful toward what we fear.<br />
<br />
So if you reach out for help and the straight person you ask rejects you--shame on them, baby, not you.<br />
If you reach out for help, and the LGBTQQ person you ask rejects you--shame on them, never ever on you.<br />
The second should damn well know better.<br />
Keep reaching.<br />
There are folk who will help.<br />
There is information out here for you.<br />
Who you are is who you are and it's more than okay, it's beautiful.<br />
I'll get off my preaching platform now, and put up the list of resources...and tell you that if you can't find something to help you, if you'll just drop me a line I will try to find someone who can help you. A resource you can use, and if I can, a number you can dial.<br />
And if you know a good resource, please leave a link to it in your reply. Cause someone else may need that info to save their life.<br />
<br />
That's all.<br />
Except to tell you that one day?<br />
Transgender Remembrance Day will be a day to celebrate, not one to mourn.<br />
<br />
<b>Information:</b><br />
<i>A blog post by someone who has walked in the same brand of shoes as you.</i><br />
<a href="http://supermattachine.wordpress.com/">http://supermattachine.wordpress.com/</a><br />
<br />
<i>A list of resources by my TwitterPal, Brandon Shire:</i><br />
<a href="http://brandonshire.com/lgbt-youth-organizations/">http://brandonshire.com/lgbt-youth-organizations/</a><br />
<br />
<i>And of course, The Trevor Project. </i><br />
<a href="http://www.thetrevorproject.org/">http://www.thetrevorproject.org/</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBWjSfcTvzAJ44CES_ivEOEMhJolCaK4TCCRSgGzPAw36Wfo-U09pDqJTerOv-7vKhDlNTYQIzTnCieifo3uiODWehNFsUlj5vZvWK7elI79DdDfCdx9gaIAZBUfg0FbgydLx2bcaIYhw/s1600/Embrace+the+Rainbow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBWjSfcTvzAJ44CES_ivEOEMhJolCaK4TCCRSgGzPAw36Wfo-U09pDqJTerOv-7vKhDlNTYQIzTnCieifo3uiODWehNFsUlj5vZvWK7elI79DdDfCdx9gaIAZBUfg0FbgydLx2bcaIYhw/s1600/Embrace+the+Rainbow.png" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
I will look for more resources. And remember, if you find them, I'd love to hear about them here so I can share them with whoever stumbles into this little corner of acceptance.<br />
<br />
Be brave.<br />
Reach out for acceptance and understanding.<br />
I promise it's out there.<br />
I know it's here on this blog.<br />
And I know you can carve a place out for yourself in this crazy world.<br />
My brother did.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-57369686913759981772011-11-03T06:10:00.000-07:002011-11-03T06:11:46.348-07:00Something to Think About When Words Fly From Your Fingers to the PageWrite, for the night is coming, babies.<br />
<br />
Write, for the life you uplift may be your own.<br />
<br />
Write, for the joy you give may never be known to you, yet may be the world to another lost soul.<br />
<br />
Write, write, write.<br />
<br />
The words may never mean a thing.<br />
<br />
They may touch the hearts of a thousand generations.<br />
<br />
Write because you must, and write because you can.<br />
<br />
Write about what you know and write about what you long to learn.<br />
<br />
And babies?<br />
<br />
Take a kiss from me, and know you have shelter here in my Writing Cave.<br />
If you stop in and I'm not home?<br />
Relax.<br />
Light the fire.<br />
Make yourself a drink *I have all your favorite brands of pop and such, lol* or brew up a little gourmet java.<br />
<br />
I only ever ask that you play nicely.<br />
If you don't?<br />
I'll be disappointed.<br />
I'll wonder why you waste your time being mean.<br />
I'll reach out to those you seek to harm and drawn them into my fold of friends, and baby, we are legion.<br />
<br />
So write a rainbow for yourself today.<br />
Write a bird on the wing.<br />
Write a happy ending to your own sad story.<br />
<br />
And laugh, babies, laugh for joy.<br />
<br />
It's what I'm going to do.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-25805993142377151072011-10-18T11:23:00.000-07:002011-10-18T11:23:18.278-07:00This Needed Saying Twice.<b>Raging at Specters and Hobgoblins</b><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px;"><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="font: normal normal normal 20px/normal Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; position: relative;"><a href="http://talesfromthewritingcave.blogspot.com/2011/10/raging-at-specters-and-hobgoblins.html" style="color: white; text-decoration: none;">Raging at Specters and Hobgoblins</a></h3><div class="post-header" style="color: #999999; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="post-header-line-1"></div></div><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-4152478231417764721" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.4; position: relative; width: 298px;">When will the world spin at a better angle?<br />
<br />
I'm so hellishly tired of hearing stories of wonderful young people taking their lives.<br />
<br />
And I fucking loathe trying to write through a veil of tears.<br />
<br />
Don't you do it.<br />
<br />
Not a single fucking one of you.<br />
<br />
Don't you dare take your life.<br />
<br />
You get on a damn phone and call somebody.<br />
<br />
Get on a computer and throw out a line, baby.<br />
<br />
Someone will pick it up.<br />
<br />
It does fucking get better.<br />
<br />
I know.<br />
I know.<br />
I used to be right where you are.<br />
I cut.<br />
I did all kinds of shit.<br />
And somehow I hung on and it fucking got better.<br />
Please, please don't give up.<br />
Don't leave us all here, with giant YOU shaped holes in our chests, bleeding all over the fucking world because you didn't just say to us look at me. I'm being sliced to ribbons inside.<br />
Say those things.<br />
There's not a chance you'll go unanswered.<br />
Somebody cares.<br />
I care.<br />
Dammit, don't you dare.<br />
Cause if you do?<br />
You'll break so many hearts.<br />
You'll break them in ways that will never heal cleanly, baby.<br />
<br />
We will miss you.<br />
And I'll be mopping my heart's blood up off my fucking floor for years dammit.<br />
You're another friend I didn't get to have, and another bright place in the world gone dark.<br />
<br />
And my heart fucking hurts.</div></span></b></div>Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-8213245023952056942011-10-02T13:59:00.001-07:002011-10-02T13:59:37.115-07:00Tales of Rue and Woe<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Being fourteen? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Sucks.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">You’re too old to just chill with your toys, and too young to do anything else. Just riding bikes with your buds isn’t an all day event anymore, unless you’re some kinda freaky exercise nut. Not old enough to drive, not old enough to just tell the folks you’re going “out” without having to explain in minute detail just where “out” is, and thinking up the lies to tell them about study projects and wholesome activities when all you really wanna do is go hang at the rink and watch the cute boys play in the skate park.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Huh. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">When my mom first took me to the park…I dunno. Maybe I was four? I found the prettiest boy in the park and told him he was my friend. He smiled at me, and to this day I compare every boy’s smile to that one. I find it hard not to compare everything in my life to that day. I can still feel the soft warmth his pouty lips and little white teeth instilled in me curling into my chest whenever I feel lost, or alone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Of course, when I was four all I knew was I liked him. He was older, tall and strong. I thought he was the smartest, most beautiful person I’d ever met in my whole life and I asked his name. He smiled a crooked little smile, and let a jumble of letters fall from his lips. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">When he told me his name I couldn’t make all the sounds come out right. <span> </span>I know the very first part of the word was woe. My mother wrote his name down, I think because she couldn’t say it either, and to this day the letters look like an incomprehensible mishmash of consonants to me. I ended up just calling him Woe. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Woe was the very first boy I kissed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">At the end of a magical afternoon where he played the part of a friendly giant rescuing me from the clutches of an evil magician over and over again, he knelt in the grass to give me a hug goodbye. I recall clearly rocking up on my tippy-toes to reach his cheek, and pressing a kiss against the smooth surface with ice-cream sticky lips. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">I asked him to wait for me to grow up before he married anybody.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">“Woe, can you wait to gets married? ‘Cause if you wait, the you could marry me when I grow up. I don’t think nobody could never love you as much as me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Woe turned startled eyes on my mother, and then got up from the grass, patted my head one last time and walked out of my life. He’s been half a step ahead of me ever since. I guess not much has changed in my life in the past ten years. Boys are still running away after I kiss them. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Well, sometimes they beat the shit out of me instead, or stop talking to me. One tried to get me to bend over, but dude. He was scary. Plus, I heard Woe is moving back, and I’m waiting for Woe. </div>Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656881074346298068.post-51752711594235683972011-09-27T11:19:00.003-07:002011-09-27T18:12:46.454-07:00Tales of Rue and WoePardon the dust. The site is still under construction.<br />
I have a contractor coming in to brighten the place up, make it easier to read and some teen advisors to help me decide what stuff is important to them.<br />
Oh, and a brilliant press that's going to help me get these stories to people everywhere. While they facilitate the GLBT youth charity of each author's choice garnering 100% of the profit on the books.<br />
<br />
It doesn't get any sweeter than that.Cherie Noelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15857878847402931997noreply@blogger.com0