The Gulf Coast Dispatch
Hot Hot Heat & The Three- Minute Fiction

There is nothing more boring than talking (or, in this case, writing) about “the heat.” But I do so, ad infinitum, because of its deleterious effect. The hotter the weather, the worse I feel. And since there is nothing to be done about it, I complain. Complaining steadies me, tides me over until I can get past what’s bothering me and move on to something fun or productive. (I might be the first person to type straight through a heat stroke.)

An early-season heat wave began on Thursday of last week, and today is at full boil. I mention it because the heat has shut down the world. Or the world south of Mobile, anyway. Everyone just stays inside, waits. The bank sign read 100 at 1 p.m. Monday, Tuesday was supposed to be hotter… Happy summer!

Point is: there’s nothing going on. Twenty seconds away from the AC, and my plans and ambitions are torn asunder; I become a lame, doddering idiot. Doom is all around. And nothing is more palpable than Doom. Personal Doom engulfs the writer; Vicarious Doom consumes the reader.

Enough, already…

NPR wants your short, short stories: an original piece of fiction that can be read in three minutes or less. The submission deadline is July 18th – so hurry, hurry! After hearing a sample reading (“For Sixty Cents” by Lydia Davis) I decided that the bar was set appallingly high and recused myself on the grounds of incompetence.

Should you (brave soul) decide to pursue it, you might have your story read on air. When it’s all said and done in late July, the king or queen of Three-Minute Fiction will be crowned and he or she will receive an autographed copy of a book…written by the judge…who edits at The New Yorker. Best of luck, and DO check out the sample reading mentioned above. Damn good.

JH