Saturday, August 18, 2007

Literary Fantasy #5

Me and Rosemary Ahern are 13,000 feet in the air, skydiving over Andalusia near Midgeville, GA, the home of Flannery O'Connor. As we clasp hands in a free fall, I remember what it is I've been meaning to say. "O. Henry, Joyce Carol Oates and Flannery O'Connor walk into a bar," I shout. She shakes her head. "I can't hear you, Doodles; the wind!" She releases her rip cord and a tremendous gust carries her up toward the sun.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

If this is an example of your creative writing, I'm not surprised you're a literary reject.

Writer, Rejected said...

At first, I thought you said "If this is an example of your creativie writing, I'm surprised you're a literary reject," but then I re-read and saw what you really meant, which made me laugh.

Still, Anon, you must not be reading this blog very closely, if you think there's anything left to be said about my writing to hurt my feelings. Maybe the other writers (standing around a rejection bonfire drinking vodka?) are tender and easily bruised, but I'm basically numb at this point.

Lobster Face said...

anonymous coward:

Hey, I rather like the girl's chutzpah. So leave her alone.

Know who else I like? That Amy Winehouse. Some singer!

Writer, Rejected said...

Lobster Face: I LOVE Amy Winehouse. That Rehab song is so totally out of control and just messes with my head every time I listen to it, which is every chance I get. I'm addicted. No pun.

Lobster Face said...

I need rehab to deal with Amy Winehouse's "Rehab," yes, ma'am--me, too. I even like to sing it in the kitchen, pretending I'm the Amester. But mostly I just hear the chorus in my head, over and over, as I'm preparing dinner.