Bad Fiction – Part 1

John my so called friend told me I couldn’t write a story. I told him he was a lie. This is how it went.

“You can’t write a story. What makes you think you can?”

“I bet I can. Why shouldn’t I?”

“You ever wrote a story? I mean a real story?”

“Well no…”

“See, I told you, you can’t do it.”

“Well, I can. You ever heard of Hemingway?”

“Yeah, he’s the guy who lived in Key West, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah, theres that, but he wrote a book, too. A coupla books.”

“But you don’t live in Key West. Nobody from here ever wrote a book, not even a story.”

“But I know how to fish, and he wrote a book about a man and a boat and a fish.”

“What kinda fish?”

“I don’t know, a fish.”

“Well, didn’t the book say what kinda fish?”

“I don’t know, I saw it on TV.”

“See, you can’t write a story, you ain’t in Key West.”

“Well, I’ll move then dammit. Then write a story.”

“Go ahead!”

“I will!”