So, I’ve rewritten the dental hygienist story. Here’s the opening:
She arrives early, earlier than she needs to. Before the receptionist with the nasal whine and poor choices in sweaters.
Does it get your attention? I’m not sure I like “poor choices in sweaters,” but I’m on my fifth revision of the story, and I’m getting bored. Is that what happens? We write and write until we can’t stand it anymore?
That said, I love the class. I”ve learned so much about fiction and story-telling. I’ve been neglecting my poetry in the process, though, so after the class ends next week, I’ll pull out some works-in-progress and see what I can do.
Back to work….
This is a delightful piece about writing- or actually the act of not writing…by Patricia Dubrava on Talking Writing.
It’s easy to stop writing. No one notices. Nothing depends on it. I have no deadlines, and completing this or any other writing produces no paycheck.
The familiar pattern resonates but unnerves me.
TALKING TO GRIEF
Ah, grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.
You think I don’t know you’ve been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider my house your own
and me your person
my own dog.
— Denise Levertov