The life of a writer

Curled up in my armchair with a cup of coffee and my laptop, I attempt to write my short story. Rather, it attempts to write itself. As a person, this writer gets easily distracted:

“Oh, Facebook notifications!”

“Oh, cool Missy Higgins lyrics!”

“Oh, must reheat coffee!”

“Friends!” “Door-knocks!” “Moscato!”

Just as the words begin flowing, another distraction flits in and out of my head as swiftly as firefly lights. What is this, this brain of a writer? Precocious as a three year old and just as easily distracted. At times, I find it easier to write about the distraction than the story itself.

It doesn’t help that my story seems to have fallen into two of the most difficult ways to write: second-person present tense, and double-perspectives, the very things my creative writing professor just warned our class against. In some strange way, it’s not my fault, it’s my story’s! It couldn’t be written in any other way, the little fucker. It’s particular about how it wants to be told. I’m just along for the typing.

Part of me is scared at present this, my first piece, in our class. I know that one must have a comfortable grasp upon the rules of writing before one breaks them. As with painting, realism must come before experimentalism. If you don’t demonstrate your knowledge of grammar and vocabulary, then you just sound like an idiot when you begin a carefully constructed sentence with “And” because it fits, or use “something” instead of an adequately descriptive word because “something” captures the vagueness you need to convey. So I’m a bit concerned that I haven’t demonstrated this capability of following the rules before this story turns around and breaks them just to be capricious.

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