Friday, January 28, 2005
(palabras negras)
I got a call yesterday morning but it went unanswered because it was a strange number. So, pensive and out-there, I called the unrecognizable number back. ring. ring. the dialtone was cut by a warm voice:
Austin Chronicle?
and my ittie-bittie heart started breaking beats like Autechre. off-kilter and austere. but, inquisitively I told her that someone had called my phone from this number and she eventually plugged me through to a nice gentleman who uttered the following words: Martin? Hello. I was just calling to congratulate you on making the top 10 of our short story contest. then, my ittie bittie heart swelled up and I remembered the story I submitted a month ago to this. To be honest, I was a bit bummed because I hadn't heard anything back and all sorts of not-good thoughts fluttered in my mind (maybe I should just stick to music journalism, fuck these folks, whats the problem? why can't I be you!).
it's strange, really, how one phone call can change your day.
then, the nice gentleman told me that I had made the cut out of 400 participants who entered their short stories. cuatrocientos. and he also told me I have to sweat it out for another two weeks when the judges select the first prize, second prize, etc. at a ceremony here.
its like Andre 3000 said at some old Source awards: I'm tired of folks not listening--it's like...this all I got to say: the South got somethin' to say. by South, I mean South America.
(quiet hum of breaths/televisions buzzing)
