After lamenting over the many boring short fiction writers getting published, I stumbled on Rebecca Beegle. Take her quiz, or read about the wonders of vegetable oil. She's also in Fence this month. Reassuring.

Thanks to deadline, I've been writing a lot lately. Well, a lot in terms of time spent, but it seems the more time I spend, the less pages I put out. I used to find it hard to contain a story to less than 20, but lately I wonder how I'll get more than 10 pages out of an idea. I only hope this means I'm learning to do more with less and not that I've begun a steady decline in which by next summer, I'll be tortured to turn out more than a page a month.

Needless, I plan to spend from here on in until thesis end (Spring '05) on revision. Other than the constant, compulsive revisions I make during a first write, I'm a novice reviser. And to that point, I thought I'd post more of the last story, Mother's Chair, because it has been revised since last post, and because it's about the only thing of note I've done since then. It's not all that, but be warned, it's long.

Ah, the magic of deadlines. Much of what I'm paying so much money for in grad school -- to have someone give me a date when a story is due and have a classroom of people relying on that date. A piece of my latest below. The workshop that I'm handing this in for, like no other I've been in, is anything but supportive. Much of the reason I signed up. A secret wish for someone to tear apart my work, make my worst fears come true, and maybe help me actually get somewhere.

I've read Proust. I can say that now. Okay, so millions of people can say that now. What I'd rather be able to say that I've read Proust, understand Proust and can eloquently speak about Proust. (I can't.) And it's not like I read him in his native language or intend to read further in the one book of an 11-volume series that I did attempt (made it halfway by assignment not choice). And would I have made it more than 10 pages without assignment? I guess that's what grad school is all about.

My first assignment was to write like Proust. A Proustian extended metaphor, Proust style. It's convoluted and long. Does that mean I succeeded?

I'm hard at work on a story that is overdue, so I can only offer an excerpt from it, and a not very good one at that:

Maurice pulled Gail onto the boat first. She let out a little cry as the boat rocked beneath her and leaned into Maurice for support. She straightened up quickly, composed and embarrassed.