Yippee! See you tonight, maybe we'll get a submission, maybe not, but we WILL write and we WILL be encouraged by our creativity and imagination, no matter how faint and awkward it may be. We will. Because I say so. So there.
July 9--Write what you wanted to do--"Please, I... " Her hand fell to her side, palm up, fingers curled in despair. She had been so certain that the job would be hers. So sure that she had been the best of the lot, that she would be the one in the sparkly gold costume and high-heeled tap shoes. But for all her rehearsing and lessons and trying to please, once again she was one of the ones shoving her taps in her bag, flinging on a sweater over her colorful scarf-made-into-a-skirt, chosen to catch the director's eye, and walking out into the autumn chill to catch the subway to her waitress job with the rest of the losers. All she needed was one chance and she knew she'd be set. She was not destined to schlep coffee and tuna on rye for the rest of her life. She was a dancer, an artist, damn it. She said it out loud. "An artist." The woman next to her nodded and looked her in the eye as if to say, sure you are, honey. That's when the tears began to flow.
Okay, I was pretty happy with this drivel last night and I still like it this morning. It's not great literature but it's slightly more interesting than what came before. I'll take it.
See you later.
--Barbara
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