The collected short stories of Flannery O'Connor, and the "New York Novels" by Edith Wharton.
Two polar-opposite writers, but I intend to gobble up more books by female writers. Flannery O'Connor is a significant southern fiction writer, and she is able to create the most disturbing and despicable characters in a solid work of fiction better than any other writer. Her stories are proof that a character need not be likable or heroic to draw in the reader.
It's strange to go from O'Connor's tales of wooden-leg-stealing Bible salesman to Wharton's polite world of brownstones and New York society parties in "The Age of Innocence". Odd, but fulfilling.
And piled up in a corner waiting to be read this summer are lots of books on Thomas Jefferson, Monticello, and some books on old Southern homes.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
And Then There Were None
Today was our last day in creative writing class. It's finals week, but there was no final for the class, so we spent the hour eating Krispy Kreme doughnuts and sipping coffee that our teacher had bought for us.
He handed back our fiction folders, which contained our writing assignments and our final projects. Instead of a short story, I used an excerpt of what I hope will be a novel, and scribbled on the inside of my folder was a note encouraging me to finish it, and adding that I had "all the earmarks of an authentic fiction writer". That lifted my spirits and jolted me into a state of euphoria more than the strong coffee could ever do.
I hate that the class is over, mostly because I will miss my professor, Ed Francisco; I actually caught myself wishing it wasn't my last semester, so I could take another class with him. Not really, I want to move on, but I will miss him. He's one of those rare people that is so smart and unbelievably talented and engaging, and I learned so much from him.
And he has had the most unusual and fantastical life: friendships with people like James Dickey and Walker Percy; heated political debates with David Duke, and getting on the shit lists of certain local politicians whom I won't mention. Seriously, someone should write this man's biography!
So, this summer, while some people will travel to Europe or the beach, I'll spend my summer working on my novel, which will take me to places far more exotic.
He handed back our fiction folders, which contained our writing assignments and our final projects. Instead of a short story, I used an excerpt of what I hope will be a novel, and scribbled on the inside of my folder was a note encouraging me to finish it, and adding that I had "all the earmarks of an authentic fiction writer". That lifted my spirits and jolted me into a state of euphoria more than the strong coffee could ever do.
I hate that the class is over, mostly because I will miss my professor, Ed Francisco; I actually caught myself wishing it wasn't my last semester, so I could take another class with him. Not really, I want to move on, but I will miss him. He's one of those rare people that is so smart and unbelievably talented and engaging, and I learned so much from him.
And he has had the most unusual and fantastical life: friendships with people like James Dickey and Walker Percy; heated political debates with David Duke, and getting on the shit lists of certain local politicians whom I won't mention. Seriously, someone should write this man's biography!
So, this summer, while some people will travel to Europe or the beach, I'll spend my summer working on my novel, which will take me to places far more exotic.
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