DT Only Reads My Stuff If It’s Really Short Because He’s a Baby with a Wife and Kids and Adult Responsibilities Blah Blah Blah

My buddy, Kevin, texts me and our other buddy, DT, that he’s feeling a surge of hope and healing coming his way.

DT texts us that he’s thinking of applying to a job, that he’s hitting the point where he hates what he does.

I text them that I don’t know how long I can keep this up, but I’m feeling especially inspired and productive and like a new me.

*

I go on a run and TV on the Radio sing:

Oh, I keep telling myself

"Don't worry, be happy"

Oh, you keep telling yourself

"Everything's gonna be okay"

*

I text Kevin and DT to don’t worry, be happy.

DT texts, Like that annoying dumbass song from the 80s?

Kevin texts, Didn’t you write an essay about that song?

I text back, Actually, yeah, but I was quoting TV on the Radio not Bobby McFerrin. But maybe they were quoting Bobby McFerrin?

Kevin texts, Probably.

DT texts, Dumbass.

I text back that everything’s gonna be okay.

*

I read this excerpt from a Joy Williams short story:

“You’re a Christian, right? I bet, I mean, I can imagine it.”

"I believe in guilt and longing,” Liberty admitted. “Confession and continual defeat. The circle and the spiral."

*

DT texts that he needs a fucking break from… life. 

Kevin texts back that life doesn’t allow breaks for artists.

I text back that I am currently taking a break from life, and that I recommend it.

*

I go on another run and TV on the Radio sing:

Rain comes down like it always does

This time, I've got seeds on ground.

*

I text my buddy, Kevin, and our other buddy, DT, asking if they’ll read a new lil short thing I wrote.

DT texts back, How many words? I only have time for a certain amount of words. 

I text, 400.

DT texts, I have time for that. 

DT reads the story. Really good ending, he texts.

Kevin doesn’t text anything. Maybe he’s busy, in the middle of a surge of hope and healing.

*

 

I go on a run and think about circles and spirals, and guilt and longing, confession and continual defeat.

*

Kevin texts that he was busy but that he liked the story. 

DT texts that he has officially applied to the job he told us about.

I text that I finished another new story and ask if they want to read it. I tell them it is about guilt and longing and confession and continual defeat.

Kevin texts, YES.

DT texts back, I don’t know if I’ll have time today but send it anyway.

I text back that this one is closer to 750 words. 

Kevin texts that maybe I could cut it to 500 words.

I text back that I knew when finishing it that it was probably more words than DT would have time for.

Kevin texts a long, dumb, jokey title, the idea being that it might get DT’s attention and make him want to read it. 

*

 

I go on more runs; I listen to more songs; Kevin and DT and I text each other about hope and healing, about inspiration and productivity, about needing breaks and taking breaks, about life being circles and spirals; I read more stories with excerpts that grab my attention; I see in everything — in runs and songs and texts and stories and friends and life — potential and beauty, a wealth of seeds on ground; I write more stories; I write this story; I send this story to Kevin and DT; I send this story to you.


Aaron Burch

Aaron Burch grew up in Tacoma, WA. He is the author of A Kind of In-Between and the How to Write a Novel anthology, which are both from Autofocus Books. He is also the author of a novel, Year of the Buffalo; a memoir/literary analysis, Stephen King’s The Body; a short story collection, Backswing; and a novella, How to Predict the Weather. He started the literary journal Hobart, which he edited for twenty years, and is currently the editor of Short Story, Long and the co-editor of WAS (Words & Sports) and HAD. He lives in Ann Arbor, MI and is online: on Twitter and Instagram at @aaron__burch, and the world wide web at aaronburch.net.

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