I was reading someone else’s blog and it was great. It made me feel like, hey, this guy is a writer. And like Wideman says in class, if you’re not writing, you can’t call yourself a writer. So if you are writing then you must be a writer. Today I am blogging and editing my fiction, so today I am a writer.
This is something I thought I should write about:
We got to the town and it was all dark. Not dark outside, because outside it was still light, maybe somewhere late in the 4 o’clock hour. Getting darker though. But the stores were all dark inside because the entire town had a power outage.
When I write the word “outage,” it feels like an alien word. Ow-taaj. Outgae. Outige. Out.
This is a story that I feel could be a radio drama (maybe because I have been listening to radio on NPR and This American Life and Transom and WNYC). It would be in installments, maybe nightly, because there isn’t quite enough suspense to sustain a weekly audience, meaning people wouldn’t remember and care enough to tune in a whole week later, but maybe they would tune in a night later.
So it continues:
We drove down the street and everything was dark, everything inside. The end of the street came too soon so we turned back and did it again, and again again. There were people around but they were quiet; the whole thing was quiet. If I could go back, I would say, we drove into this town and it was quiet. But since it was quiet because it was dark, it’s better to just picture the dark.
When the power goes out, phones stop working, and traffic lights stop working, though there weren’t any in this town. There was a candy shop, and a visitor’s bureay, and some store called LINDSAY’S which we wanted to photograph, but later. We’ll come back later, tomorrow morning maybe, we said. We don’t feel like getting out of the car now. But we were gone from that town in less than three hours, so we never made it to the later time for taking a picture, and now all I have from that town is what my brain remembers, which is not all that good.
This has been a broadcast of babbs radio, and i’m your host, LJ. Tune in tomorrow night for the second installment of this modern horror.
side note: I feel better thinking that this is a journal, and nobody is reading it. But I also want people to read it. But I’m pretty sure almost nobody is reading it, so that’s good, but then once I write more then that will maybe feel not good, and I will want people to read it. So just keep doing what you’re doing, i guess.
Roots & Wings 