I had my first workshop of my graduate career. It went well. They liked my story. A lot. And the only issues people found were ones that I knew it had and some of them were kind of purposeful. Which is a danger when you experiment with story structure and expectation. I am content. Except now I need to write another new story in the next three weeks. Back to the drawing board, motherfuckers.
After driving taxi in Madison for six years, it's really strange living in a place where I can't answer people who stop to ask me for directions. I still have to use Google Maps when I go for a run.
I've been getting a weird second wind right around the time I need to be going to bed. This isn't good.
Zelda Fitzgerald's novel is really difficult to find. I had to order a UK copy through eBay. Sine both she and F. Scott wrote fictionalized novels about their marriage (Save Me the Waltz
and Tender is the Night
, respectively), I think I'll do a paper about it for my lit class.
Here I am, in my dorm room, reading about the rise of confidence men and painted ladies and the disintegration of character in postbellum America.
The department here, and my advisor especially, really emphasize strong community, so my workshop has arranged a regular night-out. I will be once again drinking with writers regularly. I'm cool with that.
This is the walk between my dorm and the English department. I have to walk through the woods and cross a bridge over a tiny baby ravine. It's kind of adorable.