I applied for a fiction fellowship. I knew I wouldn’t get it. I mean, I’m such a newbie to fiction writing; It would have been a little insulting to all those people who’ve spent decades identifying as fiction writers if suddenly a playwright/blogger threw her hat in the fiction ring – if she went, “How ’bout this?” And won a fellowship. It would definitely have been a surprise upset.
But – even though I don’t really identify as a fiction writer, I have to acknowledge that I’ve been writing fiction almost every day for the past few years. So, by virtue of how I actually spend my time, I’m a writer of fiction. I may feel as though I’m a theatre maker dabbling in fiction but I actually spend more hours writing fiction than I do making theatre. So you never know. So I applied anyway. Because you never know. And now that I’ve been rejected as a fiction writer, I can apply next time as a playwright.
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