Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. A Work in Progress by Barry Rachin (good books to read in english .TXT) 📖
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my faux pas—the My Fair Lady gaff. Who the hell am I, an upwardly mobile black woman, telling you or anyone else for that matter what the hell to do with their life?”
Eudora exploded in a spastic coughing fit. When it was done and her breathing back under control, she blew her nose and lay prone, staring up at the ceiling. “Myra Dobbins is in her eighth month and fat as a whale,” Eudora spoke in a hoarse, nasally tone. “I’d like a crack at her job unless it’s already promised to someone else.”
Dennis took a final drag on the stumpy, mentholated cigarette. He tossed what little was left of the butt into the cup, rose and went off to panhandle another smoke.
“The job is yours.” Tawana also got up to leave. “I’ll post the position as tentatively filled first thing in the morning.” She placed a hand on the sick woman’s shoulder. “You don’t look so hot, Dora. Take the rest of the week off.”
Later at home, Tawana sat in front of her fancy new computer staring at an empty white canvas. What was it Eudora Grossberg suggested? Don’t play it safe. Write from your private anguish… confusion and darkest fears.
An hour later Tawana's daughter wandered into the room. “What are you doing?”
“Writing the great American novel.”
The girl pointed dismissively at the screen. “All you got is three lousy paragraphs.”
Tawana leaned over and brushed the girl’s ebony cheek with her lips. “Consider it a work in progress.”
Imprint
Eudora exploded in a spastic coughing fit. When it was done and her breathing back under control, she blew her nose and lay prone, staring up at the ceiling. “Myra Dobbins is in her eighth month and fat as a whale,” Eudora spoke in a hoarse, nasally tone. “I’d like a crack at her job unless it’s already promised to someone else.”
Dennis took a final drag on the stumpy, mentholated cigarette. He tossed what little was left of the butt into the cup, rose and went off to panhandle another smoke.
“The job is yours.” Tawana also got up to leave. “I’ll post the position as tentatively filled first thing in the morning.” She placed a hand on the sick woman’s shoulder. “You don’t look so hot, Dora. Take the rest of the week off.”
Later at home, Tawana sat in front of her fancy new computer staring at an empty white canvas. What was it Eudora Grossberg suggested? Don’t play it safe. Write from your private anguish… confusion and darkest fears.
An hour later Tawana's daughter wandered into the room. “What are you doing?”
“Writing the great American novel.”
The girl pointed dismissively at the screen. “All you got is three lousy paragraphs.”
Tawana leaned over and brushed the girl’s ebony cheek with her lips. “Consider it a work in progress.”
Imprint
Publication Date: 04-11-2011
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