Contempt

“Fiction is war,” Roman said when he was touring the Midwest. “Narration is preemption. You control the language, writers, you control the rhythm. Your readers will take everything else, even more so if they know you. They’ll see you in each character, you or one of your hang-ups. They’ll see your friends and enemies and all your gods and vices. Know that going in, writers, and it will be a lot easier going home. Know that going in or be so successful right away you’ll never have to.”

Ben kept clips of his cousin’s trip. One week it was Pittsburgh and another it was Baltimore and then smaller places in between, bookstores in York or Bethesda or someplace in Ohio. He’d been to Wheeling, West Virginia, too, where it feels like you might fall right off route 80, and he’d been through St. Louis and St. Paul and Seattle and Orange County.

“Let’s cut it right up front,” Rome said when he was speaking in Chicago. “I’m here because I can’t sleep, shot all to hell and haunted by things I haven’t done, promises I haven’t kept. I don’t read much, so I don’t know why you’re here. Sometime, when the roles are reversed, you’ll have to tell me about that, because I’m sure it’s a fascinating story,” he said, and everybody clapped.

Tags: micro fiction, writing, short fiction, chicago school