Kate

When Kate was younger she looked just like Elizabeth Taylor. This statement is always made with a hint of sadness and a palpable sense of loss. As a kid I had no idea who Elizabeth Taylor was, but I knew that Kate used to look like her. My mother would sigh, knowing that maybe things could have been different. Wishing that she too had violet eyes and a velvet complexion. She had been very beautiful.

Knockout writing

I wrote this in Paris. It's rather juvenile but I decided to post it. Let me know what you think!

H was staring out the window.

‘We’re a worthless bunch of lowlife’s’

‘you sound like a b-grade crime noir detective’

‘you sound like my dad’

We were sitting in H’s livingroom, unsure of what to do. The sofa was uncomfortable, each of us was a little uneasy. We all new we wanted to do something, that burning desire to make something of our youth rather than let it waste away. If only we could pur our finger on what we wanted. I shifted my position.

Lucy stood up, accidentally knocking the light with her head. Lucy is tall and she always underestimates herself. It’s as if she is unaware of her own body and isn’t in the habit checking to see how she relates to the space that she occupies.

‘well, we should at least do something’

Nobody replied.

writers only

I've been getting into the short story of late, via some london publications and some interesting blogs. I recently found this gem on the awl and though I would re-post it. 

Diary of an Unemployed Class of '10 Philosophy Major in New York City, Part 1  by Sam Biddle

At what point do I stop checking Craigslist? Why is there an ad for "MYSTERY SHOPPING" in the "writing/editing jobs" category? How much is their purported “nominal compensation”? A ten dollar per diem? A bag of buttons? A punch in the throat? “THIS IS NOT A FREE MEAL!," the ad warns. Well, then. Forget it! Why does this company leave the ‘i’ in ‘iNC’ uncapitalized? Perhaps this is some sort of test—for a prospective mystery shopper-slash-editor? What other horrors can I spot? I wonder if the person who wrote “boutique mystery shopping company seeks strong writers” felt as sad writing that as I do reading it.

When I think boutique, I think of lots of little hanging crystal beads, baskets with pearls in them, stacks of folded crimson scarves, a dour woman with cropped hair staring into a cold vacuum. I imagine myself saying “No thanks, I’m just browsing,” which is my anxiety response at any store, boutique or otherwise. I know it will probably be a long, long while from now, but the first thing I’m going to do when I get a writing job here in New York City is march into the first J. Crew I see and, beaming, reply to the robot working there, “Why yes, I do need help. Bring me some moon-proof socks—I’m covering the Space Election for theObserver!”

But for now I’m just going to stick with looking at my feet and saying “No thanks” before the clerk says “Hey! You! You idiot! You moved to New York to be a writer! Have you even looked at Craigslist?! Ten thousand people just applied to fill out forms at a boutique mystery shopping company!”

I’m pretty sure "boutique" has become a business-world euphemism for "insignificant and unsuccessful"—the quivering in my friends’ voices when they describe the boutique hedge fund or boutique consulting firms they work for indicate as much. Would that make me a boutique recent college graduate? I just realized I’ve been in New York for a full week!