Short Stories

Today, in the same Language Arts class, we got to read what was probably the most heartfelt story ever written in McClure's class. It was vague, visual, and extremely moody. Just precisely what the doctor ordered.

It was, in fact, better than my own story by a factor of maybe ten.

My interesting little description of a sunset is just not gonna cut it if McClure wants the kind of emotion and imagery that were in this story. It was an old favorite student of his that wrote it.

The bastard. Two days before the due date (the day after I turn mine in) he gives us this bombshell short story and all but says "Hey, look! isn't this great? Now, are all of YOURS that good?"

Well, in actual fact, he probably had no agenda in reading us that story, but it still chafes a bit to suddenly find out that your own story (which I thought was pretty good) is in comparison with this masterpiece a superficial-looking photograph next to a popular Picasso.

Well, kudos to the girl who wrote that thing. It was an excellent story, though she will probably never give me permisson to publish it here. I can ask, maybe, but I still smart from the blow to my ego.

Cya next post.