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breeden
ursulav

It Was A Day

It was a day a little bit like today
the way the clouds threw shadows over the hill
the day you realized that you weren’t going to find your future.

You were never going to go to Mars
or Pern
or Krynn
You were never going to open the door that led, inexorably, to Narnia
(or even Telmar, you weren’t picky, and you were confident of your ability
to lead the revolution.)

Inigo Montoya was not going to slap you on the back
and invite you to take up the mantle of the Dread Pirate Roberts.
There would be no sardonic Vulcans or Andorians;
you would never be handed an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.

That was a strange day.

It ranked up there with the day that you realized that everybody else saw the you in the mirror, not the you inside your head. Not the you that was lean and tough and clever, not the you with perfect hair and a resonant voice that never said “Um….?”

Not that you.

No, they got the one that was fat and wobbly and stiff inside with terror, the one who was a little scared of eye makeup, the one who wore black because it was better to be freaky than pathetic.

You were never terribly fond of that you.

It was a day not at all like today
a day where the sun shone very brightly around the edges
that you realized that you could write that future.

You could blot out all those old arguments in your head by asking each character “What happens next?”
“And what do you say?”
“And are there ninjas?”

It wasn’t the old future, but it was close.
(Besides, by that point, you’d realized that Inigo probably bathed once a month and that when people stuck you with swords, you’d fall down and shriek, and also that your feet hurt. And writers get indoor plumbing
and birth control pills if they can get them.)

It was a rather odd day
though not entirely unexpected
when you met the people who were angry with you.

It took awhile to figure out. Much more than a day, in fact.
Eventually, it came to you that those people had a future, too,
but they hadn’t quite realized they weren’t going to find it
and they blamed you for the fact it wasn’t here.

You were not the sort of person that lived in their future.
You were still too fat and too wobbly and much too weird, and you laughed too loudly
like a good-natured hyena
and you were not supportive of their high and lonely destiny.

And if you were here and their future wasn’t
it was probably your fault
and if you went away
maybe they’d get to go to Mars after all
pal around with Tars Tarkas
have phone-sex with the Pierson’s Puppeteers.

They got very mad about it.
You pictured them hopping,
arms and legs going up and down
like angry puppets
when somebody pulled the string coming out of their crotch.

It was all very strange.

It was a day sort of like last Tuesday
or maybe the Friday before last
when somebody came up
with a copy of your book
it was dog-eared and they looked like they might cry
and they said “Thank you.”

It was a day.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.

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(Deleted comment)
*cries* (Although that could be the PMDD...)

I don't know if this link will go through, but I was listening to "A Boy and His Frog" while reading this.

Oh no! I'll start bawling if I go there...


*tears*

... and you should send this to Neil.

(Deleted comment)
It was a day - But not like any other!

Well, I guess I'm in good company; a few tears here too. Good stuff.

I'm not a writer, but working on writing my own future, nonetheless. Very cool though, when you end up having the good fortune of helping someone along with writing theirs.

[sniffle] I hope you have a lot of the last sort of day.

On a day a bit like one of those days, I decided that it wasn't worth changing who I was in the hope that other people would like the people I became more than they liked me. I thought that somewhere there had to be people who would like the person I actually am. It took a while to find them, but I'm incredibly glad that I kept looking.

This hurts, I think its the good kind of hurt, because it's true.
I laugh like a hyena. A sharp loud bark of surprise and joy.
My mother hates how I laugh.

This was lovely.

And I say that as someone who's both confident of her ability to lead the revolution and who is currently off doing exactly that.

THIS.

Yes.

Excuse me, I appear to have something in my eye.

yes


I had part of that day a day this summer just past, when I realised that my beloved baby sister was angry at everyone because she was angry and someone had to be at fault. I realised that I was never going to be able to explain away all the misunderstandings and why everyone else had done things to hurt her because ... because they hadn't and nothing was ever going to make the peace.

It hurts.

A lot.

Ursula, you're awesome and I adore you.

*applauds*

With a pen, or in this era a keyboard, one may forge worlds.

And right now I look like I might cry. Because I might.

Beautiful.

I needed this. Thank you.

I lurve you in non-stalker platonic way, thank you for this.

I AM SO going to Mars. I am I am I am.

Can you give us sixty years? I think we'll be able to by then if all goes well.
If not, we can put ashes in orbit, so why not Mars.

Thank you. Thank you so much for Dragonbreath, for Digger, for Tea Wizards and Smallruses, for angsty Elves and Squishy the Neuron Messenger and, yes, even the sad-yet-cute penises.

You are loved, Ursula Vernon. Not only by the most excellent and lecherous Kevin, but by your fans. We love you very much.

And thank you for Happy Cthulu as well. I want to get him as a tattoo if you don't mind, Ursula (the fursuited version. Yes, I'm strange). He's adorable.

Brilliant.

I too remember being a kid and realising I'd never command the Enterprise, hell, never visit another star.

But what's truly brilliant about this poem is the insight into those that hate, and why they hate.

Brilliant.

Bravo. Oh, dear ghods. Nearly tears.

I've always thought, for those of us who grew up on fiction and fairy tales and let them crawl under our skin, that we have a tendency to look at life like our story, In which we are the hero and so of course the narration will just provide the adventure, the magic sword, and even inexplicably, the tragedy we must overcome to reach our happily ever after. But it doesn't work that way.

And that's okay

I'll confess I'm still working on that last part...

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