I hate writing stories; God, I really do. But I write them anyway because I think I hate myself. Or the idea really appeals to me to get good at something that I hate doing, better than other people who actually like doing it. I’m a sick freak.
Stories are hard, man. It’s not like poetry- poetry’s a big stinking cakewalk of flowers compared to stories because with poetry everything’s interpretive. If your poem sucks people will still make allowances for metaphoric creative nonlinear expression and all that, and most likely they’d rather assume that they just don’t get it than come right out and say they don’t like it. But with stories there’s more logic expected of you, more of a reason for someone to spend twenty or thirty minutes connecting with your characters and such. A story doesn’t cut you any slack.
It’s tough to write anything in prison, especially with a crowd of people outside throwing chicken bones and cabbage heads. They’re yelling for poetry but I don’t write that anymore. I write stories now. They promised that I’d be safe from the chopping block as long as I keep the people in poetry but I’d rather not. I write stories now. It won’t be long.