…Turn those lemons into a short story complete with a raucous reading by old friends and score provided by hubby-to-be! I wrote this piece for a competition (that I lost), but went on to place it with FIVE:2:ONE and their esteemed audio-centric site. How funny to watch a truly terrible professional experience emerge as belly-laughable art. Lemons! Lemons, everywhere!
This world of lotharios and lovers and cheaters and other people and bigger mattresses and soup, well, that is this world. I sat alone in the same room the following day, on the same floor with the same white walls, christening the place to a holy pureness. Via This Great Society, read more
“A man I know who lived for two years on about seven cents a day was and still is a bonny figure indeed, tall, lean and wholesome. . . physically at least. Perhaps an empty stomach is not a good literary adviser.” (MFK Fisher, How to Cook a Wolf, 1942)
The woman is a very thin woman.
She wears a severe black coat.
The woman hastily enters the train.
She moves between the people like an eel, slithering toward a seat.
The woman glowers into a book. Continue reading
The nearby paddy fields deepened into an evening glow and I became newly aware I was walking in Bali with an old friend by a beautiful beach. I probably couldn’t be happier. So this is it, I thought. My happiness peak. This is as good as it gets. And I have no end in sight, no plans to leave.
The beach at five in the morning was deserted. Sometimes another surfer went by, lean and heading for the water. A red flag with a scull and crossbones marked the “No swimming” area. I hiked up my board and walked out , deep enough, pushed forward and was on. I began to paddle. Smaller waves came in. I met them at the nose, pushed up and then crested. They rolled on behind me.