I had the opening of a short story critiqued at the writing group last night. I took a little bit of real life in the form of a green folder I've been moving from house to house since I was 19 years old. A casual friend of Steve's put together a collection of his poetry and a couple of stories back when he was 17 or 18 years old. Alvin. Every time I look at it, I wonder whatever happened to him. I tried finding him on Facebook but had no luck. However, I found an old newspaper article about a street poet named Alvin, who is the right age. That got me thinking and writing. Fiction has a way of growing, first one direction then another. The writers critiquing my scant six pages were kind and encouraging. I have some new ideas now for growing the story in a balanced way. Other writers know how hard it is to work a concept to completion.
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