Agonies of a Young Author

I've been missing fiction.

It's been quite a while since I sat down to write fiction, probably not since early December (and it was a class assignment, so while I had fun, I was still in a way constrained. So maybe it doesn't count in the first place). I find that I am missing fiction.

I enjoy poetry, I really do. I'm happy that I'm really building up my portfolio and my resumme with all the poetry that I'm writing and sending out. But...

Poetry is also distilled. Very, very distilled language. And sometimes you need a little bit of wiggle room, you know?

The other night I was ready to crash at 10:30 pm. I even, heaven forbid, went so far as to turn off the lights and pull the covers up and snuggle into my pillow.

Madame Mocking Muse halted all that.

She came, as my eyes were drifting shut and my mind gently becoming fuzzier with a full story- WHAM!

I was bright-eyed and scribbling furiously with a pen clenched in my hand and a flashlight clenched in between my teeth. My roommate, the Long-Suffering One, laughed deriously at me for having "been exhausted just a minute ago." I'm afraid I might have ignored her, for I was writing fiction.

A short story, in full Sherwood Anderson style (perhaps because I had an essay on Anderson due mere hours later, and my brain, no longer willing to deal with Anderson academically, decided to exocise him through another means). It's very obviously Sherwood Anderson's voice- I do not tend towards minimalist style. I like my clasues too much (if you, perhaps, had not already gleaned that for yourself).

I'm thinking of finishing it up over spring break and submitting it to the campus magazine. I'm tired of submitting poetry, and would like a short story published someday soon.

Here's to crossed fingers!

Right now:
What I'm listening to: "Move for You" by Metric
What I want most: food!!! om nom nom.