few weeks ago, waiting for an emergency bike
repair left me with about an hour to kill in an
unfamiliar neighborhood. I was pleasantly
surprised to find an unaffected dive bar in an
area that was rapidly losing its character, a
familiar pattern by now in Seattle. What happened
next was so distasteful and distressing that I
wrote it all down. But in this case, the truth
didn't go far enough, so I recast it as fiction
with a more satisfying ending. To paraphrase
Bukowski: Fiction is an improvement on life.
Inspired by Debritto's book on
Buk, I've been laying off this website
lately, trying to find other outlets for my work.
To that end, this morning I emailed the
story to an editor of a local blog that has
its heart in the right place. Then I went to my
usual weekly 4Shadows jam
session, which ended with a drizzly stroll through
Lake Union, probably the single neighborhood
that most epitomizes the city's rapid change.
Checking email when I got home, I was surprised to
learn that the story had not only been accepted,
it was already
posted! As another author
said: "Writers get even."