last night was the last night of my writing class for this term. it went fabulously with the class spending copious amounts of time workshopping my story “Coat of Barbed Wire.”
the best compliment was from Sweet Rob (the replacements/westerberg loving instructor i’ve had a crush on for about forever): “the second to last line in this story is the BEST second to last line in all the stories we’ve read this class.”
yeah, i think i turned 554 shade of red. i mean really considering that we were reading Tobias Wolff, Kevin Brockmeier, Carol Bly, David Gates, etc., etc.
anyway, before class ended we were talking about publishing and getting published and i asked him how he chooses where to send stuff. his advice was to get books like the Greatest American or O. Henry and find your writing people. once you find your writing people, the ones who write sort of like you do, dive into the index in the back of these books and send your stuff to the places your writing people were published.
i nagged him in class to help me figure out who my writing people were. because, really, i hadn’t a fucking clue who my writing people would be. he, of course, refused to tell us who our writing people were. but later that night when were celebrating the end of class at grumpy’s (and after he played the ‘mats version of “cruella deville” on the jukebox) he leaned over and said, “if i had to guess, i’d say your writing people are you know, umm, Tobias Wolff, Raymond Carver, Charles D’Ambrosio, maybe even Flannery O’Conner. Definitely Ethan Cannin.”
yeah, i know!
then i grabbed his junk and tongue kissed him.
or not, because you know, his FGF was there. but still, wow.