When Bonnie and I were in fourth grade, we were bussed to GATE (“Gifted and Talented Education”) every Wednesday at a nearby school the district wasn’t using. My main memory of GATE is that there was a microwave there, so you could bring Cup O’ Noodles, which was very exciting. So yes, I went to a special school to learn how to microwave soup.
|NoodleBot: what a truly gifted kid would have made for lunch.|
This past spring, my sister went through some big shit, and I spent a lot of time yelling at her for stealing my cancer spotlight. I’ve been in therapy long enough to know that I was really yelling at Cathy for being born thirty-three years ago and stealing my parents. Back then, I saw quickly that I wasn’t going to get anywhere by being cute and needy now that someone cuter and needier had come along. So I did my three-year-old best to suck it up and be independent and good at things, which got me some decent parental attention.
|Sometimes I throw weeknight pity parties too. Weekends are for amateurs.|
But the good thing about acting like an immature jerk is that you can write about it, if you happen to be a writer (or even if you don’t). In doing so, you see your own jerkiness with more clarity, but you’re also nicer to your small hurting self on the page than in real life. And so that’s what I did, and the story that resulted from the aforementioned experiences is called “The Legend of Camella,” and it’s available for free download (see Issue 1) at Stone Crowns, a new YA lit mag I’m very excited about.