missing you

I am writing this at the risk that someone out there will find this. "Out there" being those who I don't think read this blog.

Last night was dreadful. Dreadful. Dreadful and . . . encouraging. The one person in workshop I have any respect for gave me the best one-word response my writing has ever received. Being the kind of editorgirl I am, I'm not going to repeat said word, but still. And the prof's comments were promising. But the woman who suggested I more faithfully follow Ecclesiastes. . . whatever. Go team. I already knew it was good. I wanted to know how to make it better. I wanted some damn reader response. I wanted

I wanted Fob. Maybe a little bit of april. But mostly Fob--there's something satisfying about a group of prose writers (and one undercover poet) reading and responding to poetry. And even though I already knew this workshop wasn't half as wonderful as Fob, I hoped. I was stupid to hope, but I hoped. I'm a good writer. I'm a writer. But I need my Fob. (Hands and knees here, fellas.)