I’ve been spending most of my time on school work and readying pieces for journals and writing contests. I’ve got more fragments and ideas than I can process but am running out of finished works to send out. Each time something is accepted I have to yank it from the pool, pretty soon I’ll have to actually start writing again.
In an effort to get some use out of the incomplete bits, I’ll begin posting ideas and fragments in a shameless bid to get feedback. Help me better direct my efforts.
Today’s piece is a non-fiction as yet untitled:
Graveyards were interesting and they hinted at times past but they could have been movie sets. I am no lepidopterist; the stones could have been Styrofoam. I visited the catacombs. Dark and claustrophobic they were much more personal than the graveyards. They seemed real even while being so fantastic as to be harder to understand. The bodies’ bones piled neatly under their skulls had been in other less subterranean sites. The French government deemed the bodies I saw less important than the newly dead so the bones were moved. The graves were torn up and the bodies collected, then all were taken into the catacombs and organized so as to be aesthetically and architecturally proper. The idea of it seemed so improbably that it wasn’t shocking. My mind skipped a step between disbelief at the series of events and belief when confronted with the evidence of them.