Last night was awesome. I attended the student reading series, and read the first two scenes of my new story, “Save Me Plz.” The audience laughed a lot and seemed really engaged. Afterward, one guy asked if he could read the whole thing, so I gave him my reading copy. After that a bunch of us went to hang out at another student’s apartment, and then he asked if I would read them the rest of the story. I went back to my apartment, printed out another copy, returned to the party, and read my story. After that, just about everyone asked if I could get them a copy so they could read it again. It was a lot of fun. Writing fiction is so often solitary, it’s nice (and all too rare) when you can turn it into a party.
Since I’m a student at USC, I often encounter people who presume that I give a rat’s ass about — and am in fact somehow knowledgable about — college football. I met one just now. I was walking past the trophy hall, and a middle-aged guy stopped me. He explained that he and some friends had driven hours to get there, but had found the building locked. (Imagine the tragedy of not being able to get in to see O.J. Simpson’s Heismann.) The guy asked me who could open the building. I had no idea. He asked where the coach’s offices are. I got nothing. He asked where the team practices. Nope. Nada. Fortunately he stopped questioning me before I was forced to admit that I don’t even know the quarterback’s name, let alone where he likes to hang out.
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