Aquarium Baquarium

Hello! I’m back and writing because it’s summer break. My hiatus should not have happened in the first place, but I can only apologize for the same thing so many times until it becomes a personality trait. So thanks for bearing with me.

I swing on a pendulum between being comfortable showing my meager writing practice and only wanting to show my best work. I mention this blog in job applications, for writing samples, and as something I’m generally proud of. But this also puts a level of pressure on my writing that is inherently inhibiting–if I am always writing to impress, when will I write for me? This blog is a space that I believe both forms of creativity can exist cohesively. Some of my pieces will be carefully curated, and some will be the fifteen minute rambling of a mind that needs to get back in the practice of writing daily. After all, my best work is in the Submittable inbox of literary journals, who often will not accept pieces for publication that have been previously posted on a personal blog. Alas, this makes it easier for this site to exist as both a professional haven and a safe place to shitpost.

For this bit of writing practice, I wrote from the perspective of a fish in one of my aquariums (I love my endlers). I gave myself ten minutes to brainstorm/write and five minutes to revise. The resulting piece is the culmination of those (out-of-practice) fifteen minutes.

He’s there, ahead of me, I think, or at least I think that I thunk. The same bugger (booger? broker?) that tried to intimate (intimininate? intimimate?) me yesterday.

I am fast on his tail, and he doesn’t see me coming. If I play my cars (cards? carnes?) right, I’ll surely move up the cane (chain? maine?).

Shit! (shite? shot?) I used too much of my bulby (bulbis? bulbous?) brain and forgot to look ahead of me. He’s right there, too close, and he looks angy (angry? cranky?) with his tail vigrating (vibing? vivation?).

Oh, shoot, his tail moves so fast that I lose my sense of purrpose (purr? purple?). Why? Me? Here? Not anymore. I will go morass (harangue? harass?) the shrump (shramp? shrimp?). His legs move fast, but I move fast-er. The yellow booger (buger? bugger?) won’t even see me coming.