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The horrible truth is out

power plant 012
Originally uploaded by Livia Llewellyn.
I can't hide it it any longer: the door you see is where we Clarionites actually work. Every day they herd us into a bunch, and lead us over to the MSU power plant, where they hook us up to ancient, terrible machines. Once they throw the switches, the sheer, unstoppable POWER OF OUR MINDS runs the vast and complex systems that keep this university running every day. It's all true, I swear - I just can't make this shit up.

Ok, maybe I can. Now, if only I could write a story about it. ::sob::

I've got about 2200 words on the new story. I plan on finishing tonight with 3000 words, then adding 1000 words a day - I'm hoping for a final word count of around 6000, so I should be able to hand it in by the end of the week. I hadn't planned on pushing myself so hard, but our Week 3 instructor, Nancy Kress, is an iron fist in a velvet glove. She expects us to write and turn in stories this week if it kills us. And if it doesn't, the look on her face will no doubt make our heart burst in our chests. Seriously. Ms. Kress ain't fucking around.

I'm still a bit uptight after Friday's meltdown, but I'm doing ok. Just hanging in there. My biggest complaint right now is that I don't have a bottle opener. New York sent beer, but I guess New York wants me to chew the bottle open like a wild dog, and drink my alcohol with shards of glass sticking in my throat. Ok, I can do that.

Last night we had a Clarionite "reading" - an unofficial gathering of students (with Nancy Kress in attendance) who read from published and unpublished work. Just for pleasure, not for critiquing. While everyone who read did a very good job both with material and presentation, I have to give special credit to... ME. I read Steve Berman's erotic gay cowboy/dinosaur story, and I have to say, it was a perfect blend of pornolicious fiction and classical voice training. I read a bit of my erotic novella after that, but no one cared. I stole my own thunder when I read Steve's scene about throbbing cock and fountains of "gravy" spurting everywhere. There's really no way to top that kind of classy writing. :D


Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.

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