Grads and Drabs

I graduated. Feels pretty cool.

What took four years of focus and effort has finally culminated… in this picture.

I also got better at writing or something. I did a lot of very fulfilling theatre, met a lot of great people, and felt truly challenged by the end. All in all, well worth the effort.

It’s been odd getting my head on straight post-grad. I don’t have assignments to complete. It’s more chasing down work now, trying to get my foot in the door, than it is being given unpaid labor to learn from. Each have their advantages, I guess.

Told a friend today, I have a unique problem now in that I have a lot of ideas for writing. Usually, only one is dominating my focus (particularly SALT, a damn cool novel that’s deep into the third draft phase and just about ready for the light of day), but right now, I’ve had so many ideas that I have to pick and choose what to write for possibly the first time ever. Series of novellas, another novel, short stories… I have a lot on my mind. One of the ways I’ve started getting more and more ideas on the page has been “drabbles,” a literary form I only recently discovered. A drabble is a prose fiction narrative of precisely 100 words. It’s through this form I’ve also learned some extremely specific rules of English, such as things like “long-legged” technically being only one word due to the hyphen.

In any case, I thought I’d share one of the drabbles I’ve written. I want to release a collection of drabbles in this sort of style at some point in the future (probably alongside “dribbles,” the 50-word variant of the form). For now, I just write them when they come to me.

Burrow, Burrow

In my ear. Burrow. Against the drum. Burrow, burrow.

            I scream, but no one is around. Just the cockroach and I. Screaming was stupid. Burrow, burrow. I beg. Burrow.

            It stops and asks what’s wrong. Nestles against my eardrum and thumps the words with its skittery legs.

            I tell it the truth. I don’t like the cockroach in my ear. It hurts.

            Life is pain. Take my word, pal, it drums. Burrow, burrow.

            I dig with my finger. Burrow. Q-tip, burrow. Burrow, burrow.

            It’s too much. I brandish my olive oil.

            WAIT, it thrums.

            Oil drowns drum. Burrow, burrow, none.