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noun, plural -zies, verb, -zied, -zy⋅ing.


1. extreme mental agitation; wild excitement or derangement.
2. a fit or spell of violent mental excitement; a paroxysm characteristic of or resulting from a mania: He is subject to these frenzies several times a year.

–verb (used with object)

3. to drive to frenzy; make frantic: She was frenzied by fear when she smelled the smoke.

[Middle English frenesie, from Old French, from Medieval Latin phrenēsia, from Latin phrenēsis, back-formation from phrenēticus, delirious; see frenetic.]

Mmm. Frenzied. Yes, that’s how I feel when I come back from travel, any kind of travel. I’m a little whirl-winded, hula-hooped, swirled and twirled. Chasing my tail. This isn’t always bad — I get a lot done in those moments when my brain’s ticking a hundred and six miles an hour and I can feel the sharp teeth of time nipping at the backs of my feet. I love that frenzy comes from delirious… such a delicious word.

Is Frenzy a theme of my life this year? Quite possibly, quite hopefully, considering my themes last year seemed to be full of ‘ds’ — dulled, disconnected, death, depressed. If I get F words this year, then it shall be a year of Frenzy. Fingers and fetishes. Food and feasts. Friends in foreign Places. Finding myself. Filling. Flirting. Fucking.

waiting_for_death_by_by_yuskeWhich brings me back around to Frenzy. My short story, “Frenzy” has just been accepted for publication in For the Girls, an incredible ezine and erotic space for women. It’s my first official acceptance of the year, and it tells the tale of a woman seeking out danger, and finally finding it in the oddest of places: Her local aquarium. With a diver. And a tank full of sharks.

The story is scheduled to appear next week, I believe, but in the meantime, here’s a bit of the opening:

I saw him for the first time when he was dressed in rubber. Not sexy black rubber. But a blue and grey wetsuit. He was swimming in the shark tank at the aquarium, and right then I decided that was the scariest, sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

I’d been coming to the aquarium to think. Or, really, to not think. The AA meetings were working, I guessed. I didn’t believe in God or the power to transform myself, but I’d come to believe in exchanges: giving up drinking in exchange for bad coffee and smoke breaks with other alcoholics. Moving out of my boyfriend’s loft with the expensive scotch and vintage ports in exchange for a friend’s dry couch. All the thinking I’d done in my life in exchange for watching creatures swim circles, all instinctive movement and unblinking eyes. The lure of safety in a bottle for something dangerous enough to make me feel.

At first, I’d watched the safe fish: those little grey slivers in the tidal pools, the clown fish doing their anemone tricks. But, then I’d needed something darker, more alien. The sting rays appealed, with their Mars-faces, their open tank that you could put your hands in.
Lately it was the sharks, the big deliberate way they moved through the water, built only for destruction, that called to me.

F is for Frenzy. For Fetish and fuck and fear and finding oneself. What’s your letter this year? And what words epitomize it?

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

“Too fucking busy, and vice versa.” ~Dorothy Parker, in reply to her editor who was bugging her for belated work while she was on her honeymoon.

ps — “Frenzy” by Elektriche. Aquarium image by Krispv. “Waiting for Death” image by this artist. Sexy man photo, titled “The Shark” by Vidi.