Excerpt – A Race to Paper, a Race Against Morpheus

The much diminished electronic version of my school’s literary magazine is partway up.  I must say, the online editor is no where near as precise as the the print managing editor was, nor half so handsome.  Also I bet I make better toast.

Nevertheless, here is an excerpt from, followed by a link to, my non-fiction entry:

    Stomach all but empty, my hangover the cantankerous but non-violent sort of fuzzy warmth, the kind that continues to stupefy rather than to nauseate or enrage. I ride on back roads not thinking much of the thick, dumpy snowflakes that droop more than drop onto the ground. I’m soft, everything’s soft. World’s soft.
    Nothing is covered; the snow isn’t even a fall, but an occasional flush.
    The ground is fluid.
    Turning bends and dipping suburban dead worm streets I forget my way through and toward Andy’s place. I don’t actually know the route if I think too hard about it, if I question my guesses in any way I dead-end in some no-where place. So I don’t think.


There’s a funny thing, that.  I won best creative non-fiction last year.  This year, I served as editor and on the non-fiction reading board, and as such recused myself from voting for myself, that is to say, I voted for anyone but myself.  I won again, anyway.  My school came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be fair for me to win twice, and as such I had to decline the award.

I would lie and say it doesn’t bother me, but I’ve won no awards in 2015, nor have I had anything serious accepted, let alone published.  Getting the award would have, if nothing more, made me feel satisfactory.