Sand in the oyster

That's what it took. Though for all I know the pearl will not form. Or, if formed, will sit in the oyster until it rots. But I'm writing a short story.

A closed call for stories came out from NOLAFugees the same day I read a feature in Harper's about New Orleans. My first reaction was to write back to NOLAFugees and say that since their deadline was July 10 they were probably looking for work from all the writers who now were coming out of their respective funks and producing after I've gone to ground. And then to write to Harper's and tell them that their piece made even me, a bleeding resident, feel Katrina fatigue. It did not miss one cliche.

But that night I had the bad idea that I would sleep well if I took a good painkiller because I'd decided to move all the cypress doors that had been sitting by my pool into the basement; they'd been there since I demo-ed out after the storm. Bad idea for sleep. Good idea for waking up every hour with tiny increments of progress toward a story.

I'm maybe a third of the way through. I'm going to mix my media and please myself. Letter to the editor morphs into short story with self thinly disguised. I'm going to imagine meeting this writer and make him into a foolish female journalist. Hell, evidently I can do that in my sleep.

Comments

[hardbread]

Aw-right!

[unknown]

I read the Harper's article. Yes, it had cliches, but I did feel he left out many of them. I also thought his take on the Romanian was funny. It was a year too late, but that's Harper's fault. It was different enough to be mildly interesting. The real difference is the author had the ambition to fight his way into Harper's. Will you finish the story in time? I think it's a fabulous frame.

[Duncan Murrell]

I'd love to know if and when you publish that story. I am especially eager to know what kind of foolishness I would get up to as a woman! Good luck with that. Sorry to disturb your sleep.