file under: old stories

i wrote a short story a long time ago about an artist losing his eyesight due to a physiological adjustment to his abstract/expressionist style of painting. he starts seeing the world the same way he chooses to represent it, and then spends a lot of time on a park bench trying to figure out what other personal malfunctions are his own fault.

it was for a short fiction contest sponsored by the local free weekly (very short - 500 words or less, maybe?). i called it sense and sensibility (i know, i know), which made me instantly worried no one would read it, ever, based on the title alone. i couldn't resist, despite the risk. i was of the younger age, then - that's my excuse.

the short story that won the contest was a mildly graphic account of andrew jackson having sex with a slave (from the slave's point of view), with vaguely political allusions swirling in the background. i think the prize was a $100 gift certificate to one of the city's better bookstores.

i'm telling you this so that i can forget it for another decade and then revisit it only upon sifting through october 2006's archive some rainy day.