It's Depressing, So I'd Like to Win

There's kind of a running joke in the Emory creative writing cycle that everyone thinks good writing=depressing writing. Pretty sure that isn't just an Emory thing; Blake Snyder reports in his explanation of The Beat Sheet that out of 50 screenplays in one of his classes, 46 of them ended in death, destruction, or loss.

I think that's because everyone plays to the pathos of death--they sort of prey on our ability to be moved by death. The problem is twofold: one, if you don't care about it anyway, then death doesn't mean much (Kenny?); two, that is just plain lazy writing. A happy ending written well could move anyone to tears, if delivered right and established throughout the context of the story. And what's wrong with a happy ending? I love happy endings.

So anyway, I caved and wrote a really depressing piece for Emory's Creative Writing Contest. I have entered this contest once before, I believe, with zero expectation in winning. This is because not only are there people who are better writers than me, but also because I am a terrible short story writer, and Emory is obsessed with the short story. I do not get it. Sure, mastering it is no easy feat and I bow down, I really do. But I also don't get it. It's damn near impossible to get a collection of short stories published nowadays, because short stories kind of suck to read. All the good ones are sucked up in middle school English classes ("The Most Dangerous Game," anyone. "The Lottery?"). Which is why I typically have never entered many contests in general--because I am not a very good short story writer. And that's all they are.


In any event, tomorrow I drop off my story about a suicidal ex-Vaudeville star. We'll see how that goes. The loss of life AND the loss of art--what a whammy.