Choke
2003-10-02 � 9:32 p.m.

I came across a pile of stories while looking through all my various crap for something completely different. They're not mine, they are in-progress stories from some of my old creative writing cronies. Specifically they're from the ad hoc group we put together out of the ruins that our senior creative writing seminar became.

It was an interesting group, and we met in the basement of this big old house in SE Portland. It spanned about three years worth of students, and we were the ones who were the most "out there" in the things we were trying to do.

Anyway, I found this pile of stories, and none of them even have names on them, and they are plainly unfinished, but you know what? I was moved. This was good stuff, great writing, ambitious form and structure and subversive, scary topics.

One -- and I know who wrote it even though there is no name on it -- is stark, almost rambling, and is this first person narrative about this woman working in a lingerie modeling place.

You know what those are, right?

Yeah...totally depressing, but totally great, too.

I was sorely tempted to post it here, but that's not fair -- it's not mine, and I don't know where to find the person that wrote it to ask their permission. I ache to share it though, it's that good.

But it made me think: what is there out there with my name on it? Floating around in the piles of forgotten papers people carry with them from life to life? What half-finished, never to be remembered nugget?

It also made me think, "My god. How did I ever fall in with such talented people? How did I fool them?" But that's just me being me.

-t

Currently Aurally Inducing: The Libertines, Begging
Selection of the Lyrical Vocabulary:

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�	Int4rw3b Personals

�	Gene Wolfe

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Image Fix

�	Again, I Return. (Gonna have to knock this off...)

�	A Return of Sorts