drabbling

So, I got one of my drabbles read on the Drabblecast last week.

I had sent in several, and they were rejected, but I kept on sending them in, which is totally unlike me. I tend to give up faster than a fat kid playing kissing tag with Anne Hathaway, but . . .

Well, there's a pleasant visual.

I've probably complained to everybody I know about the pointlessness of a one hundred word story, and how they can't be anything more than jokes, but it's more likely that I just don't have much talent at crafting quality short fiction (or short-short fiction, if you prefer). I've always tended to overwrite rather than underwrite, and I used to struggle parring things down to ten pages or five hundred words, let alone something so drastically short.

But Norm Sherman ran my drabble "Brush With Greatness" not long ago, and I was happy about it, until someone mentioned that he probably took this one because I whined so much about him not accepting my work on my show. At first I thought, "Well, it's like my mom always said about the squeaky wheel," but then I wondered if maybe he took that one to stop me from sending them to him.

I asked Abbie if she thought I should count my blessings and be happy about making his show, or if I should choose to be pessimistic and send him more.

She gave me a third option: be happy AND send him more.

So, I wrote another drabble. Didn't take long (really, the hardest part was bumping this one up to a hundred words), though I haven't sent it to him yet. It's not very good.

But then, none of them are.

In other news, I was at Big's house the other night and I recorded a suicide note on his answering machine to use on the show. Apparently, he forgot to delete it, because his wife listened to it when she got home from work the next day. She called it "a sick joke" on my part and promptly refused to have sex with Big for the duration of the month for choosing the wrong friends. I think there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm forgetting what it is.

Rish Outfield