So I’m taking this writing class. . .
You no doubt can figure where it goes from here—if you guessed “Downhill,
Shanono?” you would be right on the money.
Last week was great. Last week was the “meet and greet,” the blissful and (sadly) short-lived “Let’s just talk in general terms about everyone and assume we are all on the same page when it comes to WHAT we write about” day. The day where we can hold all suspensions of disbelief and keep fingers crossed that everyone will write like David Sedaris, Toni Morrison or Milan Kundera. Fingers. Crossed.
That day passed at about 9:43PM EST when I plopped down on the couch to read the 4-page stories of my classmates. Four pages, people. Not a lot of space to do much. Certainly not enough space to pull what these people pulled.
The first stories were harmless enough: one about knitting and family strife, the other about a fistfight between two young girls, another about a man whose wife slips into a coma and he fondly remembers her perfume. Not so great, you might be thinking. You may even be thinking (as I was), “Is Shanono getting soft? Where are her sharp critical teeth?”
Well, the next two stories should have had this disclaimer: “Put your hat on Shirley, because it is going to be a bumpy ride into the toilet!” The first story was about a young woman who designs clothes (she even “slips off her Chanel sundress,” which offended me as I would think it would offend the Kaiser being that I’ve never heard of any Chanel piece referred to as a “sundress”) was filled with rabid adverbs and much telling of feeling, but then KAPOW! A memory of grandma brought on by a whiff of Chanel No. 5 (which, by the way, my Grandma wears and now my memory will forever be tainted by this damn story) ends abruptly with Grandma getting hit by a taxi and the sweet young granddaughter (on her way to the carousel, nonetheless) covered in blood and noticing a hunk of Grandma’s forehead on the pavement.
At this point, I actually wrote in the margin: “Ugh!”
Thinking the worst was behind me, I marched on. Teeth only slightly gritted, for you have not truly lived until you have read a 10-page story about a dog who unearths Jimmy Hoffa’s bones—I’m not even joking, I read it in a workshop several years ago.
Unfortunately, for me, I marched right into a lovely tale of a sadistic minister who molests children (including his own) and causes the suicide of a mother and then proceeds to burn down his entire church and himself.
In the margin I wrote: “Good Night!”
Though it may be hard to believe, I was at a loss for words. I decided I would try to forget by reading published fiction/essays. A little high from the one glass of wine I have allowed myself, I picked up a literary journal our teacher was kind enough to lend us. In said literary journal, I see the name of a guy I went to college with and, excited, decid to read his essay. Unfortunately, his essay is about (in no particular order) comic book conventions, yucky middle-aged men’s love for aging porn queens, Japanese illustrations of women being impaled by penises and the first serial killer who skinned a woman alive and buried various parts around his farm.
L-O-V-E-L-Y.
How/why/whathaveIdone to walk willingly into the midst of all of the things about the world that disgust me? Okay, Grandma Death by Taxi isn’t disgusting, just not a pleasant thing to read about in the midst of a totally bland story. It’s like if you were shopping for dog food or paper towels at the grocery and suddenly there was a bloodied rat lying in the middle of the aisle with a plastic fork in its head. Unrelated, but disturbing all the same.
I’m all for creativity. I’m all for freedom of speech. I’m all for so many things. I am not for, in no particular order:
-Reading a poorly told story regarding priest/ministers and incest
-Bloodied, dead grandmas
-Japanese porn comics involving women impaled on sharp metal penises
-Serial killers
-Comic book conventions
-Writing that can’t just be, but has to BRING HOME A POINT LIKE A HAMMER TO THE KNEECAPS
I think you all got my point. Go forth, fair readers, and write about the minutiae of daily life with ease, whimsy and wit, because from what I’ve seen tonight the rest of it ain’t worth much more than a shake of the devil’s ass in the heat of July.
- - 2005-09-22
Back from Oblivion - 2005-09-02
beach! - 2005-08-19
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
