Today, I was sitting in class and Professor Lovelace said “Some of the best flash fiction collections (in his opinion) are written by females with female narrators.” That made me feel like cotton candy inside. And, it was nice. So, thanks, Sean Lovelace.
Even though I already titled this post. I am re-titling it now.
:The VOUCHED PRESENTS reading is going to be sweet because:
1.) a lot of rad people are going
2.) those people are carpooling which saves gas/money/THE ENVIROMENT`
3.) many of those people are my friends
4.) we six Chickz are going
5.) we get to meet/greet the authors prior to the reading
6.) at said “meet/greet” we will be eating food
7.) car rides with babes are fun
8.) we get to go to INDY
9.) this qualifies as a Writer’s community field trip
10.) we get to listen to authors who are cool like ray bans on angels.
But fo reals,
I am so stoked about this reading.
Also: here is something I wrote recently
I am a Bitter Puppy
How did that dream go again? You were at a pet shop, with your eyes closed. You were laying in the fluorescent glow of mall afternoons. You smelled like tile and glass cleaner and nachos, or maybe it was the store, or maybe the dream part. You were brown. When I saw you, you still had your eyes closed. Tiny. Brown paws under pink nose, 3 weeks old and I wondered, where is your mother? The compulsory ooh, aww pushed from behind my teeth and I felt stupid but couldn’t help the moment. When you spoke, I wasn’t surprised. The argument that followed:
Me: aww puppy, aww you are so cute. So so cute. Awww.
Puppy: you disgust me. Cut it out. I can’t see that face you’re making but I bet it looks pretty stupid.
Me: aww, why so glum, puppy? If I were as cute as you I’d never be sad.
Puppy: well you should be, no matter how cute you are. Life is fucking sad.
Me: poor puppy, I should take you home and cuddle you. You look so cuddly, aww.
Puppy: don’t touch me.
Here, at the breakfast table, I hold the orange juice over my glass too long. When I feel it soak through my Tweety-Bird pajama pants, I look at the walls. I imagine the hollow feeling of my wallet, how short my nails are. I think about people. I smell something bad, or at least that’s how I look.