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where the mice call shots in the corner

10 Jan

As you’ve probably heard, I have a story to write. I’ve made it mandatory. The thing though, is this. When I finish writing my story, it will be only a submission among hundreds for a contest. A contest. The word alone is depressing. But while the odds may not be in my favor, I figured I should use the pressure of a deadline to complete something anyway.

Okay. okay. You and me. We’re close, right? I mean, I can trust you. So, I’m going to let you guys in on something. Something private. Something personal. When I heard about the contest, apart from the immediate stress of realizing I’d have to complete a story in two short months, I was optimistic.

Now we’re getting real. For a few brief moments, I felt that I was the perfect candidate for this assignment. I write stories. Stories about young people. And love or like. And, sometimes, what I write doesn’t completely suck. I felt that maybe this could be the time I write something good. Something I’d want Hayley G. Hoover to read. Something I’d want to share with everyone when it is published in a book, a real book, with other interesting stories.

So, that’s my huge confession. I confess that I am not entirely pessimistic about my chances. There is hope. And when March rolls around and my hope is returned to me in the form of nothing, I will learn to deal with it. On the floor. In a puddle of sorrow and chocolate. But for now, I think it’s best that I continue to hope.

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