Another Interview, I need to do these more often

This summer I’m interning as a backbeat reporter for The Warehouse, and one of my assignments is to review the play 8 Ways My Mother Was Conceived at its Saturday premiere. I managed to score an interview with the girl in charge on the one-woman show. I’m not sure when it will be published, but I am so stoked about the play. I love theater, and I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing a one-man show before.

I’m working on some real content for my blog, other than news flashes and rambling. I’m going to write a little in the upcoming days about how to transition from reviewing to writing fiction. There are many skills and techniques that cross over, and a few pitfalls to avoid. I also hope to get back to podcasting and back on a routine.

 

Story reception, writing therapy and making people cry

After posting some short story non-fiction, I was surprised at how well it was received. 43 reads in a little over 24 hours, and two votes.

To be honest, all that story is was me writing down old, horrible memories in a deep fit of depression.

Now, people want more. Of course I have the autobiographical subject matter to continue with the series, but that last story was incredibly painful to write.

Another thing is that somebody left a comment that they cried. That’s a little steep, knowing that just my words alone can evoke that kind of emotion.

I am exhausted. First re-write of short story done, supposedly vastly improved. At least it’s not at the “who wrote this crap?!” stage. I hate that stage. At the risk of repeating myself, I’m my worst critic, and I’m also my favorite bullying target.

I’ve come to notice that most of the premises of my stories are profoundly morose and messed up. Sometimes I wonder if writing is like a mirror into your subconscious, and it really is you, just the parts hidden from prying eyes. The parts from the nightmares.

I finally heard back from that internship, seems like I’ll be reviewing local events in the July and October issues, plus online. Work is stressful due to a deadline for a sizable government business grant coming up. While I’m pleased that somebody has enough confidence in me to trust me with generating the required documentation for that kind of endeavor, I really hope I don’t mess it up, either.

A short story emerges!

On a lark, I remembered that I had a mostly completed non-fiction piece languishing on my hard drive. After completing my work for the morning, I opened it up, wrote the few remaining paragraphs and uploaded it to Wattpad.

For your reading pleasure: How I lost my dad

This has been sitting around for a few years, I started writing it in university. I avoided finishing it due to the uncomfortable subject matter.

But hey, it’s out there now. Maybe it will help some poor kid out there realize that they aren’t alone.

For May’s real short story, the red pen of doom is making an impression. During my re-read, I thought who wrote this crap? Red pen time indeed.

I’m looking forward to when it survives my edits and I can feel good about posting it.

Work wise, big project done, business website should be finished by this afternoon, then I get to write some content and worry about SEO/work blogs/social media and other wonderful crap.