Tom is Away

man, i love teaching fiction writing.

workshopping student stories again. back in a few hours.

deciding whether or not to bid on this item.

I think i should buy this

another night of struggles, but i’ve solved my workshop problem anyway.

until further notice, i’m blaming the communists for my failure to produce good writing this week.

i think reading student fiction is sapping me of any writing ability i once had.

back to trying to write.

tonight’s projected temperature in The IC: 37 degrees.

"Food and electricity–the only necessities.
Water is free, ultimately. And rent of course.
The writer is the most fortunate artist–the cheapest materials and no need
to be anywhere specific to make art."

–Chris Offutt, from an email

making copies, living the exciting life of a teacher

barrelhouse updated.

god damnit, i am so sick of the freakin’ braves.

reading student stories, hoping for the best.

shower, then breakfast.

i have no choice bu tto get a lot done today.
in the shower.

asleep.
damnit.

no triumph here.
just dejection and demoralized whining, as you probably expected.

Another wasted day of failing to write. tomorrow has to be better.

shutting the internet off for a while…
hopefully the next message you see from me will be a triumphant one where i declare a short story planned, outlined, and finished.

shutup, you drunken undergrads who are drinking in my god damn hallway.