"This is a story. A story about fish. The

"This is a story. A story about fish. The end." Susan was never very good at folding stories. She tried so hard to be like the others, but never succeeded. It was only when

she made a real commitment to junk food, insomnia & rough red wine that the folding story muse descended and lifted her up in her burly arms. Susan could barely control the flood

of tears as she typed out her entire life story, 180 characters at a time. The folding story muse whispered lies into Susan's delicately formed ears, and stroked her vanity with a

Brush of purple mojo ink. She folded her best story ever as a result and her cat sniffed it. Fluffy was a rare female philosopher and art student. They went everywhere together.

The end, The story was folded and the writer decided to take a break. The Writer took her cat and went out the door when someone shouted, "Hey Fluffy!!"

It was her open browser window. The folding story she had just finished wasn't finished with her. "Hey Fluffy!!" it shouted again. She ran back into the house. The cat clawed her.

She dropped Fluffy and flung herself at her laptop. Joke after insipid, soulless random joke spewed forth, cutting apart her emotions. She could feel hard literature die by her own

hand. She imagined the slamming of a million library doors, the blank facades of a million book store web sites, and it was all her fault. Meanwhile, Fluffy, at her feet, had

given her the side-eye and slunk away to who-knows-where. She sighed. Recently, it seemed that everyone was ticked off at her for one reason or the other.

'Whatever,' she thought to herself. Their opinions were awful anyway. She kicked off her shoes, unhooked her bra and settled in for a night of baseball and sparkling wine.