Sudden Fiction - Another Turns Over

Ciao, Tutti!

So I have discovered some very important things while typing up my Istanbul journal:

1) The writing is terrible. Just disgraceful. Not only can I not tell what I am writing half the time, but I often write ahead of my own thoughts. I have to edit it substantially for it to make any sense to anyone else, referring to characters (people) I know but no one else does. This editing process, while being something I wanted to avoid, is inevitable. Darn it.

2) It is long! I knew it was long already, but to make the absolute minimal post, which would cover a day of adventures, is ridiculously long. Like, 20 pages long. It will bore you all to tears if I put it in the way it is now. And, with Nana and Papa and Aunt Jan visiting, I don't think I will be able to work on it anytime soon. And work is starting on Monday.... sigh!

3) It takes until day 2 for me to meet any of the Turkish people, and it takes until day 3 to realize how awesomely cool they are. So the language is pretty dry until about midway through. In short: also boring!

So, to give the world something exciting while it waits (because I know you're all waiting on the edges of your park benches where you all live after the stock market crashed), I am going to share with you a sudden fiction story I wrote that will BLOW. YOUR. HAIR. OUT. OF. PLACE.

Which is just a little too high up there to blow your mind.

Also, thank you everyone for making my latest MySpace upload, "My Own Fault," the #14 song in the online world!

That is the message you will see if you follow this link and listen to the song "My Own Fault" enough times. Let's work together to make this happen, folks.

In other news, look out for the Sam Goldsmith undetermined group at the Cheeseboard on an undetermined day each week. Um, I'll have details soon, assuming I can get myself motivated... But I posted it! So now there's no turning back! Hand me that phone, secretary!

Mom: [grumbles]

Another Turns Over
292 Words

He cleared his throat. “The truth is that there’s someone else.”

Davora tried, without much success, to silence the violently quivering breaths sputtering between her lips. “So,” she managed at a near whisper, “That’s it? After all we’ve been through?”

“I’m sorry, Davora.” He cruelly maintained eye contact with her, unwavering from either sadness or remorse. “This is for the best.”

“For the best?” she demanded, her distress swinging towards anger. “I gave it my best effort every day, and I played my absolute hardest to make it work.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated slowly, calmly. “This isn’t an easy thing for me, either, but I’ve thought about it for a while, and…”

“What does she have that I don’t?” Davora interrupted. “I’m just as good as her.”

“Well, she has this amazing mid-range jumper that you just can’t compete with,” he said with forthright simplicity. “And we could really use the offense.”

“But Coach Johnson,” she pleaded, her pointed resolve crumbling as the inevitable truth wrapped around her like a straight jacket. “I’ve been on the team for three years, and I’ve always helped us win big games. Don’t I deserve to play for the championship?”

“As you know, I decide who plays based on merit, not seniority,” he said, his facial expression still slack. “Again, I’m really sorry this has to be so painful for you.”

This formal, legally sound language closed any possibility to avoid rejection. Davora closed her eyes and humiliated herself in front of her coach by letting her tears go, a display of immature grief she wished she could handle more gracefully. Coach Johnson kissed her trembling, swollen lips in that familiar way, except now it had the foreboding pain of being the last.

Fine

I'll get to work on the Istanbul journal. Hopefully you can get your hair back in place by my next post.

Ciao, Tutti!

California's political and economic environment sucks, and the sun isn't even shining, so what's the point?

In better news, there is a new song up on my first regrets myspace page, which can be found at if you're interested. The song is called "My Own Fault," and it's a breakup song! Oh, boy! Actually, it's just a song, but it could be a break up song if you want. Whatever.

Women. Huh.

In other news, THERE IS NO OTHER NEWS! It's summer vacation, and while I could be productive by typing up my Istanbul travel log (like I promised) I have instead been preoccupied with a combination of nostalgic childhood memorabilia, White Rabbits music, friends living in Turkey, playoff basketball and hockey, and vocal harmony. And what do those things all have in common? The fact that they are totally boring when blogged about.

Hopefully next time I will write back 1) sooner, and 2) longer.
-Sam goldsmith