Friday, January 21, 2011

I am going to Munich this weekend to buy a dirndl. I will soon have many boyfriends. 

Here's a section of an essay I wrote about flash fiction that I like a lot and usually forget is an essay. Maybe if I post more writing I will write more: 

A.    How to write again
All your future prospects tell you they don’t want you and your boyfriend breaks up with you. When he breaks up with you, you are drunk. Tell him everything you ever wanted to say to him. He wipes off the eyeliner that is dripping down your face and pulls up your dress, which is falling down. You wonder why he is doing this. Why people do nice things to people they don’t care about. He makes the claim, “I really cared about you.” Make him walk you to a friend’s apartment so you don’t have to spend the night alone. Wake up at 6:30 in the morning with the worst hangover you’ve had in months. Walk home. Spend all the other nights alone. Spend the next few weeks thinking about new things that you want to say to him.
B.     How to mourn
Write a lot of stories about people that you cared about. Realize that relationships are like that, those little moments. Try to picture things as a whole and realize that you can’t, that everyone appears in small fragments of things that were said. Consider whether this is because most of your past two relationships were spent drunk. Write about the relationships of your friends. Become surprised to find that they can be summed up almost entirely in a few sentences. Think about life like a dictionary. We are defining things. This is why you don’t like plot: yours always end up open ended. A debate about what, “I really cared about you” means.
C.     How to stick things together
Find a female writer. Realize you find female writer’s much easier to be around because they are attractive in a different way. Write together over coffee. While both of your lives are functioning you write about nature and the state of politics. You both become rattled at the same time and you start writing things about love. She asks you how to cover up a hickey, but you don’t know because you’ve never tried to cover them up before. Sometimes you experiment with plot, but neither of you are sure how to make one. The characters are the two of you, stuck together, and you marvel how it comes out as one of you.  You refer to everything you write as a prose poem. Eventually you give up on the idea of narration. Together you worry about the future where you will continue drinking coffee with other female writers. 

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