Sad Girl Novel by Pip Finkemeyer

Author:Pip Finkemeyer [Pip Finkemeyer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ultimo Press
Published: 2023-04-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

THE FOLLOWING DAYS passed in much the same heady rush. I was never hungry and I never got tired. Matthew and I were not shy about sharing our desires with each other, as if we were each looking over the other’s shoulder at sand slipping through an hourglass the entire time. We had to rush to get all the words out, we had to make sure the expressions that passed over our tongues were keeping up with the way our bodies were wordlessly communicating every day, through a series of pushing and pulling and coming and going coming.

I had no problem saying I want I want I want. I want you to do this. I want you to want this. I want you to tell me what you want. Oh, I want to want that too, but I don’t yet. We wanted things together. The most daring thing I could say to him, or out loud at all for that matter, the desire I was most embarrassed about, was not at all sexual; it was: I want to write a novel.

He knew I wanted it, of course, but it was still hard for me to say the words. It was a cliché for all lost white girls in major metropolises to think they had a novel in them. There was a certain type of girl I didn’t want to be: one who wrote for the aesthetics of it, for all the photos of open notebooks full of lines of neat handwriting that they could use to pad out their social media content and their personality. Ones who were drawn to the concept of being a writer more than any actual writing. Ones who talked constantly about writing without ever just sitting down and doing it, without an audience. They only wrote for attention in cafes over an oat milk cappuccino. I mean, I did love oat milk cappuccinos, but I hated people seeing me write, seeing me trying to be a writer. I had convinced myself that there was something deeply artistic about how private I was about it, when of course I knew that the privacy was driven by the fear that I wasn’t good enough and never would be. At the same time, it was the only thing I ever did that made me feel any better about being alive. It felt like I imagined praying would, if you believed in God. So naturally I didn’t want anyone to see me performing my version of prayer, to catch me in a private moment that was meaningful to me and make fun of me, the way I had ruthlessly made fun of others for doing the exact same thing. For wanting to write.

While the image of all the lost girls of major metropolises thinking they could write a novel made me cringe, at least the girls who thought that had dedicated their life to reading books, and usually had a sense that it took dedication and perseverance. It might take a lifetime before you would be good enough.

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