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Tag Archives: writing

Just received a 3 ring binder full of poems/stories/notes/crap dating from 1990 from Julie, a high school friend who was apparently the person upon whom I dumped every thought I ever had. Much of it is stuff I have come across in the intervening years but there are a few pieces which I don’t remember at all. Here is the best:



I was so drunk that I almost said: Hey Mikey!
Hey Mikey!

I was so angry that I lost my head: Hey Mikey!
Hey Mikey!

We danced upon the shore until we didn’t feel like dancing anymore
We laughed; we cried; tears ran until they dried
Hey Mikey!
Hey Mikey!

These days we travel to and fro back and forth Hey Mikey!
Trying to find out just how much we’re worth Hey Mikey!

Run to the store: buy a loaf of pita bread.
Run to the store: buy a loaf of minstrels.

Come back for more: make use of pita bread.
Come back for more: make use of minstrels.
Come back for more: Call his name Hey Mikey!
Come back for more: make use of minstrels.

Playing Hoopla the other day and decided to turn it into a writing exercise — twice ├é┬ápicked out three cards (a who, a what and a where) and then spent 7 minutes writing a story based on the cards chosen.

I chose “cheerleader”, “funhouse”, and “Mardi Gras”

“This is a sick joke,” the cheerleader said. “Why did you bring me here?”

The fun house was silent. Outside the party raged on — New Orleans, Mardi Gras, it had all seemed like such a great idea, but it had gone sideways. The drinking; the drugs; the casual sex; the mysterious cloaked figure who stood behind her now. His hands were on her shoulders, placed there lightly, almost casually, but somehow menacing, reminding her that he was in control, that she could not go except by his leave.

He spoke, his voice like gravel; like sandpaper; like leaves in a graveyard, the farthest thing from the New Orleans jazz, which she’d discovered — but would never admit — that she couldn’t stand, but which she’d give anything to hear right now.

“You needed to see your true self,” he said. “Behold!”

With that, the lights came up and the cheerleader found herself standing before a row of mirrors, all designed to display grotesque, distorted images of whomever stood before them. She appeared disturbingly fat, obese, twisted, ugly.

So, I’m thinking about doing NaNoWriMo 2011 purely at the whim of the Hoopla deck. A drawing of 3 cards at midnight to start the story. Perhaps drawing a card a day after that? We shall see. Might be a fun experiment….

The Onion | My Novel Addresses Universal Themes Of Humanity And Has Fucking — just about says it all.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Flannery O’Connor:

“Everywhere I go, I’m asked if the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don’t stifle enough of them.”

“There’s many a bestseller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.”