About to be shoved in a corner and forgotten about....

my creator is leaving me. she has decided it is time to move on. apparently my story is finished. as if she would actually know that. so i have decided to say f her and use this blog space that no one actually reads as a means to practice my art. so anything that may or may not be read from this point on should be seen as fiction. my fiction. nothing more. nothing less. i need a mentor and no one is coming to my rescue. so i will rescue myself....
i started to read a book of short stories. i found it incredibly remarkable. the stories lacked a great deal of exposition. i suppose that is what makes a story a story not a novel. i wonder if i am capable of writing this way. the biggest problem when i write is that i feel the need to explain too much to the audience. there. see? i'm already theraputing myself. "you need to let the audience figure some things out for themselves. do you enjoy watching a play where all the answers are given to you? no. no you don't" lesson one is over and it didn't cost me a thing. what a concept. i will now write a super short story, perhaps a poem if given correct spacing - with no exposition....its called 'the nearly empty glass of water'


Innocent, it stands on the small table not realizing its purpose. Cold, alone, deserted. Placed there by a familier voice, but forgotten. The company it keeps is perhaps a little less than desirable - a red phone, a blue lighter, a book on graphics. The bed it keeps is a simple face, mutated by the artist who chose the pattern. It sits for hours while the world passes by without a single thought to its existance. Today it is still, tomorrow it will be water for the plant.

oh really....

i think you have forgotten about me and i am not too pleased with that. tonight you gave me some attention and tomorow you promise me a great time and amazing company. i would really like to see you deliver. don't make me jump out of the page and slap you. show me brilliance...