Category archives: Fiction
from Updike’s Witches of Eastwich
“This female struggle of hers against her own weight: at the age of thirty-eight she found it increasingly unnatural. In order to attract love must she deny her own body, like a neurotic saint of old?” p. 6 “Not until… continue reading »
Jayber Crow pp. 197-198
Sometimes I forget Jayber Crow is a story about unrequited love, as much as it is a story about Church. Jayber is in love with Mattie Chatham who is, for most of the book, married to Troy. But that doesn’t stop Jayber… continue reading »
The Beautiful and Damned, pp. 119-120
Gloria Gilbert’s diary, two months before marrying Anthony Patch. “April 21st. — Woke up thinking of Anthony and sure enough he called and sounded sweet on the phone. So I broke a date for him. Today I feel I’d… continue reading »
Jayber Crow, p. 197
Day 12. — As I drove the old car mercilessly toward wherever in the world we might have been going, piling one presumption on the top of another, I was saying to myself, or perhaps praying, “Why can the world… continue reading »
Jayber Crow, p. 133
I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any… continue reading »
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery
, I hear. In Prose Style with Dr. Allison, we learned the importance of imitation writing. Three of the essays we wrote that semester were imitation pieces. I wrote a short story imitating As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner,… continue reading »
I love you.
I call this a prose poem. I also call it an apology. — I love you. Okay, now say it with more feeling. I love you? Better, but with more passion this time. I love you? Close, but it’s missing… continue reading »
And eat it too.
He baked you a cake? Yeah. Isn’t it great? I’ll never want to finish eating it. He obviously likes you. Well, I thought so. Before, I mean, when he gave me the cake. But I know he doesn’t. Caitlyn, he… continue reading »
Creative Writing: Untitled
Yes, a preface: I can’t title this, because if I did, it’d be really cheesy. It’d probably be something like The Words Didn’t Come or He’s Perfect. Oh barf. Here’s the thing about writing fiction: it’s fiction. Ha, it’s not true. But… continue reading »
The Phantom Tollbooth, pp. 118-119
“No one paid attention to how things looked, and as they moved faster and faster everything grew uglier and dirtier, and as everything grew uglier and dirtier they moved faster and faster, and at last a very strange thing began… continue reading »