I just finished that story I was so struggling with (first draft, anyway) and realized a few things.
First, I can’t seem to write a goddamn piece of fiction past 12 pages. That’s exactly how long this one is (3, 850 words exactly) and my last story was around 10 pages. “Twine,” my favorite story from intro, was 3,000 and “Valerie,” the one I didn’t like so much, was 2,997. Maybe I just think in terms of story arcs that are very narrow. Each story tends to take place over the time space of a few hours or a few days. I think, really, I’m afraid to write something that takes place over a longer period of time because I’m afraid to cut up the action too much and have it lose its charge. I really envy the likes of Rickrode and Coakley who seem to be able to write for ages. Rickrode had a fifty page something or other for intro that was written from like four different perspectives when we were freshman. Coakley’s first piece was 30 pages. Goddamn. I wish I could work with paring down what I have instead of having to expand upon them. I have to start editing my first story from this semester, which is about a grandfather taking his granddaughter to get an abortion, and I have the narration so tight that I have no idea how to get back into it. Hence, me avoiding it for six weeks.
Speaking of grandfathers and abortions, the other thing I learned is that I can add something new to the list of things I write about. If you were to read anything I’ve written you can find these main things:
1) Babies/abortions (ala any dreams I have about being preggo that become poems, and my screen play, that story)
2) My body (ala any poem ever)
3) Light (ala ANY THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN EVAH)
4) My grandfather (he’s dead. I miss him a lot. I write about missing him a lot)
5) The seasons (this also goes along with light)
6) Girls I have crushes on (aka the goddamn chapbook I’m working on (Girls from the River School!)
But now I can add number 7: middle aged, sexually frustrated men.
“Twine” and the story I just finished are both about lusty, middle aged men who just want to get their yammies in and/or have a friend. I find it really easy to write fiction from this point of view. Mind you, these stories are very different. Marley, in “Twine,” hasn’t been with someone since college (he’s around 30) and finds this abandoned dog and realizes it’s the first friend he’s had for years. Tim Carley (name and description blatantly stolen from my dorky AP World History Teacher from high school) was married for at least 8 or so years, but has been divorced for twice as many and gets super bored with porn and almost makes out with his daughter’s friend.
Ironically, I went into the recent story with the idea “write a story about a dad who isn’t a total douche” because I tend to write stories that either totally leave out a father or mention a very distant, asshole one. But when I finished I realized he was more similar to Marley than I had intended. Not that anyone else would know that. But interesting all the same.
Anyway, I’m off to cash a $6.88 check from Emma’s, try to pick up some musical tickets, and apply to every restaurant on Union Deposit so that I can maybe hopefully have a job that I can walk to this summer instead of no job at all.
{edit} I just had that goddamn check in my hand and now I can’t find it. Of course.
{edit 2.0} I left the check on the kitchen table, applied at T.G.I. Fridays, Chuck E. Cheese, and Infinitos (some pizza buffet place). I feel a little bit like I sold pieces of my soul, though Kenny claims he has it safe with him.
All my affections,
Liz
!!! 