“Late Bloomer”: A Novel-in-Progress for NanoWriMo 2022
Today is Nov. 15. Below is how Chapter 1 has developed since then.*
Chapter 1: Meet Cute
The venue of the art show is in a warehouse in an area of Orlando people still call “bad” or “sketchy” or the more outdated adjective, “ghetto.” As I ride my bike to the address on the flier, I nod. All the tell-tale signs of gentrification are popping out like clowns: real estate developer signs tucked between community centers with empowering graffiti. Wynwood. Williamsburg. The Mission District. Petworth. Been there, done that. The story of every city. I park my bicycle outside and lock it up, knowing it could very well be gone before I come out. Miami. New York. San Francisco. DC. All good. Been there, done that. The story of every city.
When I get to the door, a real estate looking woman hands me a blue paper bracelet to get my free beer while perusing art by the local community. Yup. The story of every city. My nose automatically snubs. I can’t help it. No good or serious artists live in Orlando. At least…not since the 1990s when the rave scene was popping off. I guess I should be less judgmental and more grateful. This is where I flexed my DJ chops, after all. Visage. Firestone. The Edge. Oh snap, they’re playing Claude Von Stroke. Who’s Afraid of Detroit? Ok. I’ll stop being so judgmental. It’s just…like I said. No good or serious artists live in Orlando. They leave for places more…um, how shall I say it – cliche? New York, San Francisco, LA, London, et al.
And yet, the featured artist, who stands out like a character I would see in those cities — not in little ol’ Snorelando — is standing next to a poster of a unicyclist balancing two unmanned unicycles on each side of himself, in front of an emerging city and a crowd watching the spectacle. When I look to the sides and behind at the crowd of… hipsters? Not really sure what that means anymore, but I realize the poster is a mirror, intentional or not. It’s easy to see that this is a self portrait, all long limbs and gumby torso copied easily from experience to canvas. It’s not often a self-portrait includes more than oneself. Apparently he sees his community as his identity.
Wow. OK. I said “Wow” twice, and I’ve only been here…for five minutes? As if grabbing the words out of my head, the DJ in the booth is spinning Speechless by Kruder & Dorfmeister. Are you freaking kidding me?
It’s been more than twenty-five years since I left Orlando to DJ all over the world, and Orlando is still playing the best music… but the demographics are hella different. For the better. I can see it: Bicycle lanes and trails that connect to yoga studios and breweries with running clubs. And best of all, it’s not so white anymore… Although, as I look around and sip on cheap wine in a clear plastic cup, most of the people at this art show are white. But what do I know about white and brown and black anymore? My DJ residency in Brazil…apparently color and culture are two different things, and from what I’ve read, Orlando is a Latino city…majority Puerto Rican…like my fam. This is a different type of gentrification story. It appears I’ve returned just in time.
Contemplating the black and white lines of the poster, I wonder if the artist’s vision of the world is also limited to these opposing colors. Or maybe he is like me, constantly bouncing back and forth between the two. Uh-oh. His dark brown eyes are on me. Can he feel my questions? My projected judgments? There are a gaggle of others staring at the poster alongside me. I used to ask myself why I always got singled out, but it doesn’t surprise me anymore. There are always eyeballs on me, whether my hair is purple, pink, electric blue — it’s literally my fucking job for people to stare at me, but I guess I came back home to find some anonymity? I don’t know. I ignore the artist, like I ignore everybody, and focus on the poster, while thinking loudly, “Stop looking at me.”
And then his words. “It’s just a doodle. Something me and my twins worked on together.”
“A doodle sounds like poop, and this looks better than poop,” I say.
We laugh. Together. We are both laughing, it’s not just me. Hm.
Knowing someone is on the same sophomoric level of humor as me is not the spark. It’s his voice. There is something about his soothing, baritone voice that travels down, deep inside of me and rings a bell. “Ding-ding-ding! A doodle sounds like poop! A doodle sounds like poop!” It was like a shitty EDM beat that transformed into one of those soothing yoga studio sound healing things. A doodle-doodle, dood dood..dooooooooooooooood…” Maybe I should do sound healing and quit DJing. Woah! Why am I thinking that? The Baritone’s eyes are shining directly into mine. Maybe that’s why.
Dialogue here! In progress! The first conversation. It’s about music, of course.
Before I know it, he is asking for my number and texting me so that I have his.
The Buddhist Banker, I assign him in my contacts.
- Discovering that I am a better editor of my own writing when I put it on a public platform like my website, and then LinkedIn, Instagram, not Twitter (that’s now my fav way to feed ads filtered through my specific lens). However, this means that this particular story would not be something an agent would consider publishing — because it’s already out there. Am I being antiquated right now? Gotta refresh on publishing industry trends at the moment; attending UCLA WP Now meeting on Friday, so maybe I can prepare this question for that forum.
- After hitting the publish button, I am thinking now about links — I could link to blog posts I wrote for The Femmebots when I was in those cities.
- Location: The Art Show.
- Purpose: Show the narcissist DJ meeting the Buddhist Banker at an art show in Downtown Orlando. Establishes the tone/setting of the story. Is this a rom-com? Yes, because the chapter is called “Meet Cute.” But it also sets the stage: Gentrification and art scene in Downtown Orlando in the 2020s. Fleshes out the two main characters through action, exposition, dialogue, and description of the space.
- Characters:
- Narcissist DJ – expresses thoughts of how highly she thinks of herself; She has inflated ego/deflated heart.
- Buddhist Banker – exhibits art that shows his humility, and how he can’t think of himself without his community. He has been single for a year and he is ready for true love again.
- Downtown Orlando art scene – mostly white, community artists are not “fine artists,” more of an arts/crafts vibe so DJ snubs her nose at it.
- The Twin Daughters (new idea as of 11/14) – not present but mentioned at beginning of dialogue, so should need to flesh out these characters in future chapters.
- Stakes/Conflict DJ struggles internally with her need for validation from the Buddhist …wants to run away because she likes him so much.
- Immediacy What time is DJ riding bike? Sunset? Yes. Doesn’t know how she will bike alone in the dark, she’s thinking about calling an Uber. But Buddhist offers to ride bikes with her; he has an extra light. DJ wonders if she should trust him in the dark. Something inside of her says, “Yes.”
- Tension Will the DJ run away?
- Subtext/Layers How fear of intimacy and narcissism look alike, black and white thinking, racism, gentrification
- Rhythm/Music DJ credits Orlando rave scene in 1990s with getting experience
- Theme Late Bloomer