writing matters.

A few months back I posted an open invitation on the blog to submit short fiction pieces that were inspired in some way by T.S. Eliot's poem, "Preludes." Here are the two pieces that emerged! it’s fucking quiet out, the quiet like crisscrossing sirens and mangy dogs, and it’s like he’s not even there but she shudders and stares at the ground, the white stripe of the rebel bicycle rejecting its load of toxic plastic primer imprinted on salt-crusted suede, shuttered murals, abstract impressions on concrete of oxygen and the musty freshness of a coastal rainshadow and that tucked clock fitting experience and breathlessness into the delicious agony of time and the mural is green with lots of blue like magenta-dense filters and abandoned menthol cigarettes and that bicycle under the rattling tracks floating on air is escaping, a vandal bringing the streets inside, glowing white primer on ancient filthy concrete or at least microscopic infinity compressed into litter-strewn

Attention all budding writers and closet modernists! Teilo and I thought it would be neat to each try writing a short story based on T.S. Eliot's "Preludes," and then to touch base afterwards with our respective visions. Then we thought: the more the merrier! It'd be pretty incredible to be able to read through several different takes on Eliot's poem, especially given how differently writers pursue their craft. So let's see what happens! Spread the word and, whenever you have a minute, scribble something down yourself. This experiment/project/exercise is purely about the joy of creating something neat, so there are no word limits (neither high nor low), guidelines, winners or losers. Just the satisfaction of writing and a tentative deadline - April 15th - after which we'll ideally post all the stories here in the blog. Here's a link to "Preludes":  http://www.bartleby.com/198/3.html . When and if you end up writing something for this, j