Awkward Writing Novels & Stories

December of the twelfth year had a quality that Ernest tried to describe and found required the full journal entry rather than the accurate sentence. He had been trying to write an accurate sentence for twenty minutes. The sentence would not come. The sentence was too small, too contained, too neat for the thing he was trying to describe. The quality of December was not a quality that could be captured in a single sentence, no matter how accurate. The quality of December was the quality of the accumulated twelve, the quality of the ordinary days that had built something that could no longer be described as a collection of ordinary days but had become something else, something larger, somethi

We lay there and talked about where I moved from and talked about some of his childhood. Brooks asked me if I was ok with everything that happened the other night and I said I was but it was still a little awkward for me and he said, “What about it was awkward?" I said talking about what was going on with my body and I felt a little awkward when you grabbed my hand and put it on you. He said, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to make things awkward for you." I told him it was ok and that it was something I was going to have to get used to anyways. Brooks looked at me and said,