#be kind i love kathy but i appreciate constructive criticism!
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OKAY i got a couple of responses so hereâs the first chapter of my WIP tentatively titled âlittle stranger!â
iâd love comment/critiques but please be kind
[word count: 3,034]
Dad bought Mikey the Rickenbacker for his tenth birthday, back in â64. The Beatles had hit it big and Mikey had decided that he wanted to be a rockstar too, so without hesitation or any real kind of money in his pockets, Dad went down to a music shop in Austin and picked up the same kind of guitar that George Harrison wielded. At the time, Dad had given up hope on making Mikey into a sports star, so he decided to try to make him a rockstar. Rock music was masculine in Dadâs eyes, and if Mikey was a big man rock star who could pull in girls like those English boys did, even with their floppy hair, then the rumors about Mikey being light in the loafers couldnât be true.
But Mikey, being Mikey, was over the rockstar dream by the time he unwrapped the guitar on his birthday, much to Dadâs ire and disappointment. The guitar got hung on the wall of abandoned dreams in the basement, alongside Mikeyâs old baseball glove, football helmet, and cleats. I was only six at the time, but I used to sneak down in the basement all the time to steal glances at the mystical instrument, which hung just high enough to be out of my little reach, not that my fingers were big enough to do anything with it. By the time I grew tall enough to be able to take it off the wall, Dad gave in and let me have it.
He didnât want me to have it at first because he didnât see the guitar as a âladylikeâ instrument, but once he realized that Mikey was never going to be the guy in the letterman with a beauty queen on his arm, he didnât care anymore. An unladylike daughter was bad, but significantly less bad than a queer son. He already had a queer son, so what was the harm in letting me, the often ignored second child, be a little unladylike?
That guitar was the only thing I took with me when I went to New York to try to find Mikey. Well, I took some clothes and all the money Iâd saved up babysitting, but nothing else besides those necessities and the guitar. I didnât want anything else. I wanted to leave everything behind in Lampasas to die in the Texas heat - the bullying, the rumors, the cruelty, Momâs bruises, Dadâs growing pile of empty beer cans, all of it.
Mom might not have been able to gather the guts to save herself, but I was determined not to let myself have the same fate as her. So at seventeen, fresh out of high school and full of teen angst, I took a bus up to New York City to try to find my brother, whoâd disappeared into the concrete jungle four years ago, just after he got out of school.
It took a while, but I did manage to find Mikey, though he now went by the name Oscar and was nearly completely unrecognizable from the brother Iâd once known. At the same time, he never looked more like himself, even if himself looked rather ridiculous in leather and feathers and unkempt hair. He was an artist now. Heâd been fronting a band for the past couple of years, a band that was the even poorer manâs version of the New York Dolls, but he was having a ball nonetheless.
That was two years ago. Now, Oscar was deep in a heroin addiction, unable to do anything but turn tricks and shoot up. I was the breadwinner of our little fucked up household, bringing in the money for everything other than drugs. I was the artist now, though I wouldnât know if Iâd call myself that necessarily. I fronted my own little punk group and I did my own shit my own way, and that was all Iâd say about myself.
âIâm heading out!â I called to Oscar through the bathroom door. âYou good?â
âIâm good!â Oscar yelled back throatily.
There was no doubt that he was in there slumped over the toilet, either from being too doped up or not doped up enough. I didnât know which it was and I didnât really care. So long as he wasnât dead as I was leaving, I didnât care. I probably should care more about my brother and his current state of absolute drug addiction, but at this point, I couldnât. Iâd cared too much for too long, and Iâd learned that if he didnât care, I couldnât care either.
With that, I threw my guitar over my back and headed out of our little shithole apartment. For a New York apartment on the budget we had, the place really wasnât that bad - but rats and mold and pushers still filled the place. If only Ma knew where we were living...sheâd probably keel over just hearing a description of it.
But Ma wasnât here. She was back in Lampasas with her bruises and probably more broken bones at this point. I called her once in awhile to let her know that I was doing okay and that Mikey had yet to die. I didnât bother to tell her that heâd changed his name and become nearly totally unrecognizable from the son sheâd last seen almost four years ago now. Sheâd had enough heartbreak in her life thus far. I didnât need to add to it. Besides, that was Oscarâs story to tell her, if he ever got the guts and decency to call home sometime. He never had, not even once, since moving to New York.
âHey, what took you so long?â Lenny asked.
I glanced down at my watch, then looked up to my bandmate and said, âIâm five minutes late. Itâs only five past eight; thatâs hardly late at all.â
âYeah, but youâre hardly ever late,â he reminded me, keeping up with my strides as we hit the Manhattan streets.
We were too broke to afford cabs unless we were buddies with the drivers, so we walked the city for the most part.
âWell maybe you should find something to do to occupy your time other than hanging out around my building waiting for me,â I suggested with a wink.
Lenny rolled his eyes, but laughed. âHey, things have been rough since I got kicked out of Marciaâs place.â
âI canât be sorry for you for that,â I said, tucking my hands into the pockets of my beat up leather jacket. âYouâre the one who decided to fuck her best friend on the floor at her place...you kinda deserved that one.â
âYeah, but I mean, I never told her that we were like, a thing,â he told me, trying to justify his actions. Seeing the serious side-eye I was giving him, he sighed and relented, âStill, I guess I coulda told her that we werenât.â
âExactly,â I said.
We walked in silence for a bit, only the sounds of the ever-rowdy city filling our ears.
âYou still think Iâm a piece of shit for that, donât you?â Lenny pressed.
His expression was serious - he was genuinely concerned that heâd permanently tainted my opinion of him. Lenny was the one of the closest things I had to a best friend. That position used to be occupied by my brother, until he went and fucked himself all up. He was definitely my best guy friend and my favorite guy out of the three of them who played in my little âbandâ with me. We both had similar stupid senses of humor and not-so-secretly harbored major loves for David Bowie. Lenny said he was the only guy heâd go gay for, and I couldnât fault him for that.
Weâd went and seen Bowie with Iggy Pop and Blondie a couple of weeks ago at the Palladium, and Lenny had nearly shit himself out of excitement and arousal. I was just as excited, of course, but I had a much better poker face than he did.
âI donât think youâre a piece of shit, I think you did a really shitty thing,â I clarified. I gave him a small smile, seeing as he was still desperately waiting for my approval. âBut that can be remedied...you can always learn from your actions. Just no more treating women like shit, right?â
âRight,â he nodded eagerly. âI wonât sleep around and Iâll--â
âYou can sleep around,â I interjected. Seeing his surprised expression, I added, âAs long as youâre being safe about it and youâre telling girls that they shouldnât get their hopes up, that is.â
âRight,â Lenny said again. âWill do, Kathy.â
âGood,â I said. âThe last thing the city needs is another misogynistic asshole in a band.â
That got him to laugh, which I was glad. I laughed alongside him as we rounded the corner to go into the back entrance of CBGBâs, the one reserved for the âartistsâ that would grace their stage. We were one of those groups that got to use the door, though we werenât big names like the people we opened for. Then again, in the grand scheme of things, we werenât even that big.
âJesus Christ, Kathy, donât you have better clothes to wear than those in the middle of winter?â questioned Terry G., one of the bouncers/security guys. He was far beefier than he was brainy - I doubted he even had the brains to play âBlitzkrieg Bopâ - but he was a nice guy nonetheless.
âNaw, Iâm fine,â I told him with a polite smile.
âYour lips are turning blue,â he informed me. âAnd your cheeks are all chapped.â
He was right, but I brushed him off, repeating myself, âIâm fine, really. A little cold never bothered me.â
Lie. That was a big fat lie. The thing I hated the most about New York was the cold. I loved the cool autumns, the mild springs, and even the sticky city summers, but the frigid winters were the one thing that made me miss Texas.
âWell, either way, you guys should get inside,â Terry G. said. âThe other two Black Eyes are in there waiting for you.â
âThanks,â Lenny said, speaking for the two of us as we hopped the couple of stairs into the building.
By the other two Black Eyes, Terry G. meant the other two guys that played in our little band, Phil and Keith. Phil was on the bass, Keith was on second guitar, Lenny was on the drums, and I was on guitar and vocal duties. We were quite an odd foursome, having come together after our stints in other bands didnât work out. Phil was hanging onto the New York Dolls look with his platforms, scarves, and eyeliner, while Keith dressed more like an accountant, in button downs and ill-fitting blazers. Lenny was the one who went the most wild with his punk style, loving the safety pin and spikes look, enjoying sticking up his hair with loads of Aquanet, and always working on bettering his impression of Johnny Thunders with that lip curl thing.
I, the lone female in the band, was also the most boring looking, except for my Kool Aid red hair. Iâd cut it all off when I moved to New York, and now that it was long enough to graze my shoulders again, Iâd decided to go a little crazy with the dye. I didnât love it, but I didnât hate it either, so we were working with it. Lenny and the guys were insistent that I keep it for a while - they said it was good for our image, that it made me stick out, which was exactly the reason that I kind of, sort of hated it.
âI always thought itâd be a cold day in hell when the two of you showed up after the two of us,â Phil joked as we entered the green room. He had a cigarette dangling from his teeth and bright blue glitter accentuating his eyes.
âIt is like negative ten out,â I informed him dryly. âSo that might have something to do with it.â
It was March, almost April. It shouldnât have been this fucking cold still, but it was, and I hated the cold more and more each day.
âHaha,â Phil deadpanned. âFunny.â
âAre my drums all set up already?â Lenny asked. He helped himself to one of the beers in the cooler in the corner of the room, downing half of it in on impressive swig.
âYeah, Keith and I took care of âem,â Phil nodded. We kept our spare equipment at Phil and Keithâs place, since they were the only ones with any space to put all of it. âWeâre just waiting for someone to tell us itâs time to go out there and do the damn thing...unless you wanna do a quick soundcheck?â
The question was rhetorical, and he knew that. I shook my head to verify, though. I wasnât one for soundchecks. That was too much effort, and unnecessary effort when playing at a place like CBGBâs. The louder and fuzzier, the better, or so Iâd found.
âHello hello, shiners,â came an all too familiar voice.
Before I knew it, I was being squashed in a hug by Ray. Every time I saw him I was shocked by how tall he was, more than a foot taller than me, to be specific. I shouldâve been used to it by now, after everything, but I wasnât. I lingered in his arms for a moment, taking note of his old familiar scent that I still loved - Camels, Pabst, and a dash of that cologne I couldnât remember the name of.
âHey, thanks again for asking us to open for you,â I said as he released me from the hug.
He pressed a light kiss to the top of my head before completely separating himself from me, something he still did everytime we saw each other, despite having been broken up for four months and some odd days. Iâd been keeping track of the days for some time without really meaning to, but I quit when Lenny told me I should forget about it and try to move on to a new dick.
âOf course,â Ray said. He grinned down at me, his dark eyes glassy. He mustâve shot up not too long ago. âIf I canât have you playing with me, Iâll have you open for me, anytime, gladly.â
âThanks,â I said. Glancing to Phil and Lenny, I said, âWe all really appreciate it.â
That was true. Rayâs band, Raymond Garbage and the Trash Junkies, always pulled a big crowd. Their crowds were the good kind too - the people who really loved the punk scene for what it was, not the posers who crept it to check out what the whole âpunkâ thing was all about. Ray and the guys were good, but their sound wasnât the kind of sound the punk inspectors came to see, nor were we. Those curious spectators came for the Ramones or Blondie, not the Trash Junkies and the Black Eyes.
ââCourse,â Ray assured us, but mostly me. âSomeday Iâll be opening for you guys.â
âI doubt it,â I said. âBut thatâs a nice sentiment.â
âItâll happen,â Ray said. He flashed me that charming smile of his thatâd won me over, rubbing at his eye. âExcuse me, shiners, Iâve gotta hit the little boysâ room before you go on.â
With that, he made his exit, much to my disappointment. Iâd be lying if I said I didnât wish that Ray and I were still together. I didnât know if I loved him anymore in a romantic kind of sense, but I missed him. Sure, I saw him all the time and in reality we were closer than ever, albeit in a platonic way, but I still missed what we had. I missed waking up in his bed with my head on his chest and his fingers in my hair, and how we stayed up all night talking about Nietzsche or reading Vonnegut novels to each other.
âWe need to get you fucked by someone,â Phil said, breaking the silence left in Rayâs wake.
âIâve been getting fucked by plenty of people,â I said.
That was true. Since breaking up with Ray, Iâd become just as promiscuous as anyone out here on the Bowery. Well, maybe not just as promiscuous. I refused anyone who refused a condom, which ended half of my encounters before they could ever happen. Still, Iâd shared a bed with more people - mostly men, a couple of women - than I bothered to keep track of. A few weeks ago, I truly realized that the promiscuity thing just wasnât for me. I was a monogamist at heart, and Iâd learned that the hard way. I hadnât stopped sleeping around, though. Once you got in the cycle, it was hard to get out of it.
âClearly it hasnât been good, though,â Phil replied. âOr else you wouldnât keep on staring at Ray like heâs some sort of messiah.â
âShe doesnât wanna get fucked, she wants a nice guy to settle down with,â Keith chimed in, emerging into the room. His gray tartan blazer was so oversized that it was bordering on ridiculous. He stopped and thought about it for a moment, and said, âNo, maybe you donât want to settle down now, but you get what I mean.â
âWhat I need is to not date for a while,â I sighed. I flipped my guitar so it hung around me the right way, absentmindedly fingering out my arpeggios.
âAmen to that, babe,â Phil said, holding his bottle of gin up to me in praise.
He, Keith, and Lenny all took long gulps of their drinks. Lenny finished his entire beer, slamming the can into the wall. I was the only one not drinking, per usual. I was damn near being a teetotaler, something I got a lot of loving shit for around here.
âBlack Eyes, youâre up,â said one of the CBGB employees, ducking their head into the room. âAnd just a heads up - youâve got a bit of an unruly crowd out there tonight.â
#personal#iwrite#finally updating my writing tag on here!#be kind i love kathy but i appreciate constructive criticism!
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Are You Making These 4 Communication Mistakes in Your Romantic Relationship?
We assume that communication should come naturally to us, and maybe we think it does, especially in our romantic relationships. After all, we communicate all the time. We talk to our partners all the time about a wide range of topics, from whatâs going on with our jobs to whatâs for dinner to why weâre feeling so upset.
But goodâclear, connection-enhancingâcommunication takes work. It requires some education, effort and practice. Youâll likely still stumble from time to time. Because, of course, youâre human.
In fact, you might be unwittingly making certain communication mistakes right nowâmistakes that actually ignite or exacerbate conflict between you and your partner. Below youâll find four common communication mistakes, along with how you can fix them.Â
Mistake #1: Using some version of âI totally understandâ
According to Chris Kingman, LCSW, who specializes in individual and couples therapy, this is a toxic mistake he regularly sees couples make. We say, I get it. I completely understand where youâre coming from. I totally hear you. I appreciate what youâre saying.
Ironically, this makes our partners feel less heard and less understood and less appreciated, Kingman said. And it tends to deepen any conflict.
The reality is that you canât decide if youâve heard and understood your partner. Only your partner can. In other words, if they tell you that they feel heard and understood, then youâve heard and understood them. This is why itâs important to do the work of learning how to listen effectively, Kingman said. This means validating and mirroring back what theyâve said about their thoughts, feelings, and experiences, he said.
It means empathizing with your partner, which consists of two ingredients: First, be open like a âmoviegoer who allows himself to be absorbed in a film and moved by the actors,â Michael P. Nichols, Ph.D, writes in his book The Lost Art of Listening. Secondly, âshift from feeling with a speaker to thinking about her. What is she saying? Meaning? Feeling?âÂ
Mistake #2: Using the word âButâ
Using the word âbutâ discredits our partner, and itâs not helpful when youâre focused on your relationshipâs well-being, said Rebecca Wong, LCSW-R, a relationship therapist and founder of connectfulness.com. Hereâs an example: âI love that you helped with the dishes after dinner tonight but Iâd like that sort of support every day.â
Instead she suggested substituting the word âandâ: âI love that you helped with the dishes after dinner tonight and Iâd like that sort of support every day.â Itâs essentially the same sentiment, but this small shift instantly creates a meaningful difference. It sounds kinder and softer and more appreciative. It sounds like a request versus a demand.
Mistake #3: Getting defensive
Getting defensive is totally natural and normal. Itâs an automatic response to feeling threatened or flooded, Wong said. For instance, your partner says they feel overwhelmed with household chores, and you automatically start listing everything youâve done in the past week. Your partner says you forgot an important appointment, which makes them wonder if you really care. And you start saying they shouldâve reminded you, and lately youâve had too much on your plate and on your mind, anyway, and theyâre being a bit ridiculous to expect you to remember under these sorts of circumstances.
The solution to reacting defensively? âThis may sound awfully simple, but your first task is to slow down,â Wong said. Take a time-out. Tell your partner that you need to take a break, and will return to the conversation in _______ amount of time. Take this time to reflect on whatâs triggered you. What caused your shield to go up? Then ânotice what you can take responsibility for, be accountable for and own up to,â Wong said. âWhen you do that, what shifts?â
Mistake #4: Judging your partner
You might tell your partner any version of these statements: âYou have no idea what youâre talking aboutâ âYouâre so unreasonable and illogicalâ âYou make zero sense!!â âYouâre so sensitiveâ âI canât believe something this trivial is bothering you.â
These kinds of statements are insulting and make partners âfeel foolish and shamed,â said Kathy Nickerson, Ph.D, a clinical psychologist who specializes in relationships. These kinds of statements inevitably impede communication.
Instead, try to see your partnerâs perspective, she said. Try to discover âwhat things look like from inside that personâs world,â Nichols writes in the Lost Art of Listening. Focus on listening, rather than formulating an argument in your mind that pokes holes in what theyâre saying. â[L]isten like a friend, not like a lawyer,â Nickerson said.
Nickerson also suggested avoiding these additional communication donâts: Donât attack or criticize. Donât use profanity or call each other names. Donât call each other âcrazy.â Donât make threats or give ultimatums. Donât bring up every fight or issue youâve ever had. Donât bring in other peopleâs opinions. Donât mention divorce.
These might seem like common sense. Of course, you shouldnât insult your partner or fling four-letter words at them. But in the heat of the moment, many of us are guilty of doing at least one of these donâts. Many of us are guilty of trying to win a conflict, instead of trying to understand each other.
After all, conflict can spark intense emotionâand you feel like you have very little control over what youâre saying. If you arenât able to have a constructive conversation with your partner, again, itâs time to take a break, and, return after youâve cooled off and calmed down.
How couples navigate communication (and conflict) makes or breaks their connection. The good news is that this is something you can learn and work on. The key is to start right now.
from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/are-you-making-these-4-communication-mistakes-in-your-romantic-relationship/
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