Writing Exercise, or Journalism

Several typewriters in a row on a long table.

From the 3:00 AM Epiphany

(More exercises here.)

Journalism. Write part of a story in the form of journal entries. Everything that happens in the story will most likely happen between the entries. Make sure your readers can see the events offstage, but also present your journalist’s blind spots – she will not present the whole story, just parts of it. Your journal writer may not even understand the significance of the events until a few entries later – if ever. Keep all the entries close together in time (within a week or two). This exercise will challenge those writers who think there is no limit to realism: Make sure that the journal writer is still telling a story – showing as often as telling, revealing things about herself. In other words, you have to work just as hard in this exercise to choose the words of the narrator.

February 1

Such an asshole. I can’t believe he keeps asking me to do things that he says are related to my job. No. They. Are. Not. My job is a lot of things but it isn’t the things he says. Or maybe the things he wants.

What does he want? Who knows. I mean really, who can chart the asshole’s trajectory? I can’t. At least not his anyway. And it’s not like I even want to.

On a different note, I’ve been eyeing a new tie at Neiman’s. Tom Ford. Kind of James Bondish in Quantum of Solace. I know I shouldn’t get it. But I do think I deserve it. I’m working with the asshole constantly, after all, having to do his job and mine.

If I make two minimum payments this month, and don’t eat it out for the next thirty days, I think I can do it.

February 3

God he asked me again to do some shit that isn’t related to my job. And then he had the temerity to ask me, “well what do you think your job is?” and I said, “Not that!”

Doesn’t he know that everyone at work is laughing at him? That he is the joke of the department? He seems to think he can do whatever he wants because he’s sleeping with the Director.

Now. That is just heresay. But they do oggle one another in meetings. So there must be some merit to the rumor, right?

And he is so lazy. What does he do all day? I mean I’m already working on the 53,000 other things he’s given me to do, which, I want to point out, he should be doing since these are manager’s tasks I’m doing, and what does he do?

Go for coffee. A lot. Who takes orders from a barista? If anything, I should be giving him orders.

February 3

He just sent me an email telling me I’m to meet with him and the Director tomorrow. Good. I will be more than happy to tell the Director his precious little boyfriend protege doesn’t do a fucking thing all day except go for coffee.

I’m writing this at the mall. I’ve got that new Tom Ford tie in a box in a bag next to me and a coffee and a sandwich from the little shop next to Nordstrom. I didn’t eat lunch today and I didn’t go home after work. I stayed late at work.

I’m going to wear it to the meeting tomorrow, in my grey flannel suit. The asshole will probably be wearing some shit rayon/polyester/wool number he got from the Men’s Wearhouse on sale. With a matching tie/pocket square combo. God how can a gay  man be such a shitty dresser? I mean the whole thing defies logic. A lazy asshole and a shitty dresser.

February 3

I just have to say I look sharp in my new Tom Ford tie and my grey flannel suit. I tried it on before getting ready for bed.

The asshole will be suitably (haha such a good pun) impressed, I’m sure. Especially with his shitty suit and those fucking square toed shoes he keeps buying. Doesn’t he know the oughts are naught? God sometimes I impress even myself.

I know I could have bought the tie on ebay. But I hate waiting and sometimes those ebayers don’t ship stuff when they say they do. And I’ve been working hard and I really deserve this tie. So I bought it. And I didn’t buy lunch out today, either.

February 5

I’ve been so fucking pissed it’s still hard for me to write even now. I just got off the phone with my lawyer. He told me I need to sit down and write out exactly what happened at the meeting yesterday to the best of my recollection. I also need to print out any emails pertinent to my case. But I don’t know if I can because I don’t have access to that work email address anymore.

He was absolutely shocked when I told him they fired me. He kind of paused and said something, and I said, Excuse me and then he said Okay and told me I need to write everything down.

Well, here it is: I got fired because my now old boss is a fucking transphobic asshole.

My essay collection, Moxie, Vol. 1, will be released later this year.

For prerelease discounts, a free short story and more sign up below

Where can I send your FREE short story?