The Natural Look

Women wear make-up like a mask, "putting our face on” before going outside. We complain of feeling naked without it. Some days, it’s lightly done, subtly highlighting things in a way to leave us looking untouched by artifice. Other times, we flaunt it with glitter and gloss, harlequinesque party masks to shine in the dark and draw men like moths to our flame.

My mother’s allergies only allowed her to wear lipstick. Looking at her that last time, I wanted to wipe off the make-up, the mask of death prepared for her then as she never wore it in life.

Wow, Sail, that give me chills.

It was so strange, to see my mother with make-up on. The funeral parlor did a great job, it was totally natural looking. If she had ever wore make-up. It was the thing that really made me realize she was dead. Yeah, chills, even now.

I just got a long email back from Mary Balogh commenting on the first three chapters I sent for her critique. It was thoughtful, thorough, and broadly positive. She praised my writing ability, saying my style was fluent and my pacing good. She said if I had a weakness, it was a tendency to flat narrative--not enough descriptive detail to set the scene or to get my characters' emotional responses across. She likes Jack and Anna and thinks the story has great potential, but suggested I dial down the overt sexual tension until the very end of Ch. 3, when they dance together and end up kissing rather passionately--she thinks that'd have more impact if the *readers* are aware that there's an attraction and potential for romance but the *characters* aren't, and also that doing it that way would be more believable given the class difference between the characters.

I think she's right. Dammit. And I think I would've seen it myself if I hadn't been so damn fixated on making my opening few chapters hit all the notes the opening of a romance is supposed to have and just trusted the characters and the story.

She closed by saying that she liked it, it had great promise, and that it was only on a second read where she asked herself the questions she always asks when revising her own work that she noticed areas for improvement.

So, very cool and helpful, I think.

It was so strange, to see my mother with make-up on. The funeral parlor did a great job, it was totally natural looking. If she had ever wore make-up. It was the thing that really made me realize she was dead. Yeah, chills, even now.

I really hated that my dad's casket was open at the viewing at the funeral home and then for the first part of the funeral. I know my mother was really pleased with how peaceful he looked after watching him fight and struggle at the end, but all I could think was that he looked like he was made of wax, and that the only features that really looked like him were his ears and nose.

I am so getting cremated. Nic can make CDs out of my ashes if he wants to. I want a noisy happy catered goodbye party, with live music, and two particular songs played.

Susan, excellent on the feedback!

masks

When did the face I knew so well become a facade? Why did you go to so much trouble tending the false front, when behind it you were discarding the familiar trappings and moving the bits you wanted to keep to some place far away?

I talked for hours to a puppet, controlled by forces I had no suspicion of. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, indeed.

Then I received notice that the show was closed, had, in fact, left town long ago. The lights went out, leaving me with props. Did I love the mask or the person behind it?

Mask drabble:

"It's a mask."

"No, it's not. It's a bra."

"No way. It's a mask. See, there are cut-outs here for the headlights and the grill. It's like a mask over the car's face."

"See the curves and the clips and the elastic and the straps? It's a bra. The only people who call them masks are salesmen and the suckers who just bought them. Take it back and try to get a refund."

"It'll protect the paint job."

"No, it won't. A little dust and a little vibration and it'll strip the clearcoat underneath it."

"It looks cool."

"It's not. Trust me."

Drabble (though I'm not sure I like it...)

“You should quit. You don’t have to take that.”

Eyeliner, dark grey today. It goes on thick and heavy, but it’s bold, so you leave it be.

“It’s a good job, and I’m not quitting just because Harris can be a jerk.”

Eyeshadow next. You pick a bright one, but you know it’s wrong after it’s on. He looks at you in the mirror, angry at Harris but swinging at you.

“You look like you’re wearing a clown mask.”

A dark drip slides down your pale cheek. You wear a mask, but Harris isn’t who makes you put it on.

(though I'm not sure I like it...)

I do. A whole lot, too.