I've always been paralyzed by fear thinking of someone else reading my writing. However, I've recently come to terms with the fact that if I don't ever get over that fear, I won't ever be a writer. (Can someone be a writer if no one reads their work? I don't know.)
So I'll start with a few flash fiction pieces I've been working on. Any feedback is always welcome.
This is from my creative writing class. The prompt was a man and a woman are sitting at a table in Kansas. She's preoccupied. There's a glass and cufflinks. Use the words 'light' and 'salvation'. Tell their story in 300 words or less.
Her fingers look graceful, lithe as a dancer as she twirls the crystal stemware we got at our wedding (from her parents? My parents?) The light from the kitchen chandelier hits it just right, refracts into a thousand rainbow slivers that spin, dizzying and beautiful. She doesn't seem to notice; she stares blankly at nothing, as if something, anything, is more important than us, here and now.
"It's nice to be able to drink champagne again," she says flatly. She sets the empty glass down.
I nod. I don't know what else to do.
"My mother will be by in the morning to pick up the crib. Since we don't need it, and Julie's pregnant again, it just makes sense that she takes it back."
I attempt to vocalize a yes, but nothing comes out, so I nod again.
"She told me to pray." She scoffs. "She said it was just God's will, that it wasn't meant to be. She is so deluded! 'Forgiveness, salvation, eternity.' Buzz words. Trying to push that religious shit on me right now." She runs her finger along the glass's rim, creating a high-pitched ring. "Julie called after and apologized. She knows Ma means best, but she's not a believer either. She thinks the world is random. I don't know which way is sadder."
I fiddle with my cufflinks, trying to think of something to say.
"Do you think she's right? That what happens is what's meant to happen? Or do you think it's all just random?"
I am silent. I can't answer. There is no answer. I link her fingers through mine and press down gently. She considers it for a moment, then looks up at me, but I see her gaze goes straight through me as if I, too, am nothing.
JK 12/2/09
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You are right..this is a step in the right direction. When your afraid to try, you will always wonder "what if".
ReplyDeleteAfter all, I remember a girl who didn't want to sing in front of anybody. I use to sit at the top of my steps and listen because if I came down she would stop singing. lol