On Writing Fiction Alone

Dog-faced Atheist

A year or two ago, I wrote a story called “The Black Tiles on Split Road.” It was originally called something else at the time. Something with the color green. The story was about this man struggling with his alcoholism and anxieties about fatherhood. He is outside mowing the yard on a Sunday morning when he finds out that his youngest daughter has been involved in an accident at the church. After reading this story aloud, a man came up to me and told me all about his childhood mowing yards with his father and how the smell of cut grass made him feel sick too. He said his father had recently died and that “The Black Tiles on Split Road” had connected with him. He didn’t cry, but his voice had that edge to it. When he finished telling me about the funeral, he paused, then said, “Thank you…

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4 thoughts on “On Writing Fiction Alone

  1. Sarah Key

    Thank you for sharing this on your blog! It means a lot. I felt like I might have been rambling a little bit and being slightly experimental in the last paragraph, but it seems like people are enjoying this entry for the most part.

    1. thecuriousbum Post author

      Not a problem. If all we did was wrote what we knew, we’d be lacking entire genres (and, well, all the way down to small details we might otherwise miss). My reply sounded better in my head, so I’ll leave it at that hehe.

  2. ohellino

    @curiousbum Thanks for this. I thought it was you at first. A great piece of writing in a sea of shit. What a wonderful find. Keep up the good beach combing..


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