47: Metafiction
My hard November bled into a hard December. But last night I saw—above Brooklyn!—the constellation Orion. It was my childhood favorite, rising in the north, around the glow of the city of Rochester, when I lived between corn fields. I take it as a happy solstice omen. May you find your omen too.
Metafiction
Around the year I turned 40, I wrote a hundred versions of a story about kitchen knives for a newsletter. I couldn’t convince many people to read it, but I did convince myself this was the best story in any form. I got my mom to show a version to my dad. I saw the read receipt on my dashboard; it was in a tab as my mom texted me about plans to visit. On my phone I opened the newsletter to show her how to subscribe, and in the attempt I sent her the version with a sex scene. Next year I’ll write a journal in a notebook.