Creative Writing

Thirteen narcissists in a room.

One occupies the head of the table,
gently fondling his first published novel,

Milk Toast, 

which the university press declares
"a wry and energetic romp" 

chronicling the misadventures 

of an associate professor
struggling with success
and an arranged marriage gone awry.

He admires the glossy cover of his book
while the rest of us huddle in groups of four

to discuss dialogue construction.

"Good dialogue should sound real," 

someone offers.

"It should advance the plot," 

says another.

They turn to professor.

He nods.

"Alright," professor says, 

"here comes a timed exercise 

to help you think more creatively."

He produces an assortment of newspapers
and instructs the class to find story ideas

in the headlines.

"You have six minutes."

I am handed a paper 

and encounter a piece covering

a group of Japanese students
who built a world-record-breaking,

one-hundred-foot-tall structure
made of Legos.

The Japanese celebrated

with a parade of streamers, 

fireworks,

and musicians.

The fireworks grew out of hand, 

and the wooden platform 

supporting their creation 

caught fire.  

Attempts to control the blaze failed.

The structure collapsed.

A photo portrays teenagers 

standing in horror and weeping.

The headline reads: 

       JAPANESE LEGO-TOWER RECORD 

       DESTROYED BY FIRE.

Yet, those students─

 

the months of planning and labor,

their monument to God knows what 

disappearing in flames.

I pass the paper.

Others scribble furiously,

pencils racing.

"Time's up!"

Then it hits me, 

in what professor calls

"the divine, creative spark."

I get the hell out of there

and hustle to the Student's Union Bar

before the story

gets away.

**First published in The American Dissident

**Illustration by Morgane Xenos