“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” ― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones

Batman: It was a big weekend for you and your little friends.

Thor: My little friends? They are hardly that, sir.

Batman: Look…just because your movie came out first, doesn’t mean I couldn’t kick your butt back to Asgard. You and that surfer boy look you’ve got going. Ever heard of a hair cut?

Thor: Surfer boy? Sir, I have no quarrel with you. You are of the DC World and therefore, beneath me, but if you continue with this verbal harassment, I will not hesitate to toss you into the cupcake behind us.

Batman: I bet that’s what Joss Whedon told Kenneth Branagh to call you after - his little cupcake.

Thor: HAMMER.

For the record, I look forward to both these films and think Joss Whedon, Kenneth Branagh, and Christopher Nolan should get together and make movie babies together. Or form a rock band. Other captions are welcome. 

A comic I met my very first time doing standup – Carla “The Truth” Youngblood - asked if I’d be interested in performing in a club downtown. She got my name, number, and email address. When she called me up, she said, “We’re only wanting four or five comics who will do 10-15 minute sets. Can you handle that?”

Up until this past Thursday, I’d only done two 3-5 minute sets, each one ran on the long side. I went over my first time and finished right at five minutes on my second. Add those together and you’ve got 10 minutes. 

“SURE,” I said. Comics all over the internets are shaking their heads at the computer screen, shouting, “NO. DON’T DO IT.”

Between last Saturday’s bomb and this past Thursday’s bout, I practiced and practiced Saturday’s material. I only went over the entire 10-15 minutes once to time it, but felt confident.

It was held in this swanky longue, Legend’s Bar right across the street from the Alabama Theater in downtown Birmingham. It was a smaller room, but filled up pretty quickly. This was actually the Legend’s fledging comedy night. “The Truth,” who spearheaded the event, has been doing standup for about a year, knew the owner pretty well, and the rest is history.

The environment and mood were just so different, so much more relaxed. When I got up there, it went great. The crowd was awesome. I felt like I was actually talking to them, having a conversation. When they weren’t laughing, they were nodding their heads in agreement. I definitely want to do it at that venue again (if they’ll have me). ALL  the comics were so different and fantastic. The most experienced was Down Town Tony Brown who’d been on BET for a comedy tour. 

Something interesting happened that night – I experienced a form of “muscle memory” from my first night’s material. Musicians know what I’m talking about, where you practice a piece of music enough, your fingers remember what to do without even thinking about it. It felt like that. The words came so naturally, without any thought or effort. I was able to focus on feeling comfortable, my expressions, and the performance.

Everyone in the audience came up to us after the show and had great conversations. It was more of a mingling than the Hallway of Glamor and stage. For a fledgling comedy night, all the performers agreed it was amazing and so much fun.

GO TEAM STANDUP!

I finally started back up, but didn’t recover my former confidence and delivered a scared performance. I am a funny person and am confident in that. I’m just not a great performer. Not yet. I cannot end on this note and will absolutely do it again to redeem myself. Fear and failure won’t make me quit.

In hindsight, I don’t have the head space to do one gig a month. While I did my first one a month ago, I thought about the material for the better part of three months, letting the jokes roll around and cultivate in my mind. I knew them intimately. This month felt so rushed. My mind is constantly occupied with the needs to do, wants to do, and things that are somewhere in between. Juggling all this makes day-to-day life hazardous and my family thinks I’m crazy.

I did have an awesome time getting to know some of the comics better backstage.

The comic pictured below actually played a character. It was the coolest thing to hear him speak and walk in character. He would later pull his fake teeth out, take off his glasses, and speak like a normal person. He was super nice. I’ve tried to find his real name on facebook, but his stage name was “Uuh Hell.” Were this photo in focus, you all would likely fall over and die laughing. So really, the fuzziness has saved your life. Thank you shakey photo taker.

Donald Garner got a little crazy with a few things in the prop closet.

Dave Cook was there with his lovely wife again and took this photo of me in the Hallway of Glamor.

Top prize went to Corey Howard who will move on to compete for a performance in the Comedy Club’s “big room.” Another comic Keith Fuquay won second, putting him in some kind of Wild Card position. I’m not entirely sure how you win and think some kind of blood sacrifice is involved.

Some memorable quotes from backstage:

Overheard from one comic to another: “The state forgot to send my mental check this month…”

And finally, probably the sweetest compliment anyone has ever paid me. “I like you. You’re not fancy like all those other girls.”

I normally don’t play games (lie), but this sounded fun. The rules of the game are here:

1. Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
2. Go to line 7
3. Copy down the next seven lines/sentences as they are – no cheating
4. Tag 7 other authors

I went to my current manuscript just to see what I would find and was happy with page 7, line 7, and the 7 lines that followed. Typically - and this is really weird - I don’t like to talk a lot about what it is I’m writing. Unless you’re reading it for me and I want to bounce ideas off of you (that would be fun to literally do with a power ball or something) you won’t know what my story is about. I’m afraid it’ll take away from the work and idea. It’s strange, I know.

Here are my 7 lines:

Walking alongside the row of other robots girls, I traced my fingertips across their glass cases. They were what I used to be. Asleep and simple.The male robots were on the other side of the room in their holding cells. I walked to one of the Frank Models and opened his glass door. He was beautiful. If he were awake right now his eyes wouldn’t crinkle when he smiled.

I, Harley May, being of sound mind (hmmmm questionable) and body, tag the following people. And please, only play if you really, really, really want to. The last thing I want is to be a bother.

1.) Erin

2.) Jules Archer

3.) Anne Riley

4.) Madeia Sharif

5.) Jessica Neccari

6.) Jessica Love (because who doesn’t love TWO Jessicas?)

7.) Mercedes Yardley

Again, you totally don’t have to do it, I’ve just enjoyed reading everyone’s lines and I think all the people tagged are great writers. Yup. I hope this isn’t a nuisance. If it is, I WILL BAKE YOU CHOCOLATE AND BANANA QUESADILLAS. Like these:

Well, I did it. 

There’s a longer write-up of the experience at An Army of Ermas, but because of their word count limit, I didn’t get to talk about all the cool comedians I met. It was worth the experience just to hang out with them.

When my husband and I got to the comedy club, there was only one other open mic guy there – Dave (not Dane) Cook. This was Dave’s third time doing standup and he won first prize his very first time doing it. He greeted us from a bar table and gestured to a sheet of paper. There were thirteen lines for people to write their names in and he’d scribbled “Dave Cook” into slot number 12.

“So I just write my name in?” I asked.

Dave offered me a shot glass with tiny slips of paper inside. “You draw your number and that’s the order you go in.”

I drew “2″

While I wrote my name on the second line Dave asked, “So it’s your first time?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Did they explain all the rules?”

I shook my head. “I know I’m on for 5-7 minutes. So…no.”

Dave, I’m sure, was already dazzled by my comedic nodding and head shaking. 

“They want the open mic people relatively clean. No major cussing – no f bombs, racial slurs, etc. Some sex talk is okay, just not too graphic. They like innuendoes.”

I nodded (again) taking a mental inventory of my swears and inappropriateness. “I have an ‘ass.’”

Dave glanced down at his feet and then looked back and forth between my husband and I. “You…um…”

Realizing how that sounded, I backtracked. “I mean, I say the word “ass.” Obviously I have an ass. We all have asses…”

“No, I knew what you meant. I was just trying to decide whether or not I was going to make  joke about your ass in front of your husband.”

We all laughed.

I tried to get back to the topic, saying, “And I have innuendoes.”

Dave nodded. “That should help. The judges like that.” He paused, looking alarmed. “Not that you have an ass. That’s not what I meant. The judges will like your innuendos.”

Again, we laughed, but all agreed we should get off the ass topic. Dave was super nice and told us one of his friends wouldn’t be coming and that my husband could have their ticket at his table with Dave’s wife, family, friends. WE LIKED DAVE COOK.

The other open mic folks started filing in so my husband found his seat in the room. One woman (it was also her first time) sat down saying, “Lord, these shoes were a bad idea. I’ll know when my five minutes are over by the time my big toe starts bleeding.” She then drank exactly eight glasses of ice water.

Another first timer I enjoyed meeting was a poet named BStuc. He told me he wrote and performed poetry on a regular basis and he got a lot of laughs that way. He has a website and is on twitter as @bstucthapoet. He actually won second place! Pretty fancy for his first time.

I wish I’d taken more photos, but my husband took the camera into the venue with him. When show time came around, they ushered us into the tiniest hallway thirteen people could squeeze into. There were a lot of comics with many years of experience and listening to them talk and joke around really put me at ease.The woman with a shoe timer, her cell phone rang and she said, “You all have to hush. This is my husband and he thinks I’m at Walmart.”

It was insanely fun. I’m so glad I did it and signed up for another one next month. My husband took video and everyone is asking me to post it, but I’m not totally comfortable with it. Not yet. Know that I’m watching the video, taking notes on how to improve, and hope to bring you a svelte and polished comedy routine for your Youtubing pleasure.  

If you’d like to read the Ermas post, it is here.

A gorgeous example of an artist seeing something in their mind and making it come to life with amazing resources. Science + Art = Stunning. Go here to read the article.

Another great example of an artist going to extraordinary means. Instead of using paint and a brush, this girl kisses the canvas and I think it’s wonderful.

As a writer, it makes me wonder how far I would go to get something exactly the way I want it. There’s a huge element of self loathing involved in the process. You see something (whether it be art or writing a scene) in your mind and it doesn’t translate as literally in real life. Or with musicians, they hear a melody, a mood, or want their fingers to work a certain way, and when they can’t, it’s heart breaking. I’ve seen my mother, a pianists, do this.

But that’s part of the beauty. We, as artists, musicians, and writers, are only bringing half of the experience. Our readers, listeners, or watchers will interpret what we create with their own past and upbringing. We don’t have control over how our work will be perceived.

I know this though: art, in all it’s forms, should be a gift to the reader, listener, and viewer. There’s a place and a time for writing for yourself. That has importance. 

If you’re writing to publish, it should be a gift to your reader. Yes, write to your dream reader. Write a book you want to read, have a geekout in the clouds, but you’re only creating part of the experience. You’re reader? They’re bringing their imagination.

It’s about a Boogie Man, but isn’t scary at all. The idea came to me as I was cleaning out the closet before my family moved from Florida this summer. Things that are fun, comfortable, and familiar are hard to quit.

Here is a small excerpt:

Boogie Men weren’t supposed to be so mopey. Or at least that’s what I’d heard. David wasn’t exactly the typical Boogie Man and I don’t suppose I was the typical scare, either. He sat cross-legged on the floor of my closet, underneath what was left of my hanging clothes, folding shirts that fell off the hangers.

You are welcome.

That isn’t exactly true, but I wrote an advice column for the Ermas discussing how one shouldn’t woo him.

Jen asked, “How do I make Nathan Fillion come to his senses and love me?”

Timmy asked, “Where do Fairies come from? And why does mom call dad that?”

And lastly, my husband asked, “Why do you always sigh and roll your eyes when we watch Tango and Cash?”

If you’d like to read my responses and see pretty pictures, please go here for Advice from the Unqualified.

You’re all beautiful and deserve cake. Cake like this.

I would give Nathan Fillion cake.

An Ordinary Broken Heart

by Jules Archer

It’s always the same thing this time of year.

That ol’ ache in my chest. I rub the tightening.  Ask the nurse to refill my prescription but she tells me to wait for the doctor.

So I sit on a hard plastic chair, under fluorescent lights. I smell the familiar antiseptic and watch the scenery.

It’s a busy night at the hospital. Token injuries like a broken leg or third degree burns pass me by on stretchers. Things get interesting when a man’s wheeled in, frowning girlfriend at his side. The nurses’ conversation at the front desk tells me he choked on a candy heart, just one of the many inconveniences of “Be Mine” Valentine’s.

Eventually, the room fills up. I stretch my legs, nearly tripping a doctor, and pick up a newspaper.  I scan headlines. Riots in San Francisco, Outbreak of Chinese food poisoning downtown, state budget passed…

The nurse calls my name and I look up.

I approach the desk. “Busy night.”

She bristles. “Yes, it is.” I lean against the counter. Gives me the stink eye over the rims of her spectacles. “I remember you from last year.”

“I had better luck then.”

 “Two—maybe three years back even…” Eyes narrow. “Tell me again…what’re you here for?”

I press a hand against my chest. “Broken heart of course.”

“Get out of here,” she snaps, handing me the pile of documents.  “Sit down and fill these out. It’s against policy to loiter in the hallways.”

I go, stopping by the vending machine on my way back. I drop a few coins in the slot and punch random numbers to see what I get. Vending machine roulette.

I mosey back. Survey my night.

There’s a brunette sitting in the corner, knees pressed together, head in her hands. She came in, holding the hand of a guy with third degree burns.  The tears in her eyes tell me not a chance.

Slumping into the nearest chair, I peel the plastic away from my meal and take a wolfish bite. The nub of meat is rubbery in my mouth as I chew.

It’s a contemplative chew. But not for long. Feeling eyes on me, I glance up. “Want a bite?” I wave the jerky stick.

The Candy Heart girl laughs. It’s coarse, telling me she smokes and drinks too much. She’s lounging across three chairs like Cleopatra, chin propped in her elbow, cigarette pack out, resting on her thigh.

Candy Heart shakes her head. “It’s all yours, man.” Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “What a way to spend Saturday night.” Regret lingers in her voice. “Hope you’re here for something better.”

I shrug. “Just filling a prescription.” I finish the beef jerky, wad up the plastic wrap and leave it underneath my chair. Gauge the situation.  

“You know, I’m kind of in the mood for dessert. You have any of those…oh I don’t know…candy hearts on you?”

“Oh, go to hell,” Candy Heart says, but she laughs and holds up her middle finger. Chipped black nail polish greets me. But her smile tells me all I need to know.

“Say, I have an idea…” I stand, walk over to the girl and extend my hand. “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

“But what about your prescription?”

“Don’t think I’ll be needing it tonight.”

Candy Heart looks up, looks down the hall to her boyfriend’s room. Barely hesitates before taking my hand.

I smile at the scowling nurse as we wait for the elevator.

Mouth see-you-next-year.

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Jules’s work has appeared in Metazen, Monkeybicycle, Negative Suck, >kill author, PANK, and Northville Review. She’s currently editing a zombie novella and received a sweet ride for Christmas.

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I heart Jules and all her work so hard. Please visit her website and check it out. She also does the twitter at @julesjustwrite. You can read my Valentines post with the same prompts here - A Contender Lost.