There's that moment when the fear within you suddenly vanishes. It tends to be the same moment that you suck the last bit of alcohol from your second drink. At least, that's how it is with me. Thank God for alcohol, otherwise I never would have had the courage to get up in front of a room filled with writer types and introduce my story by saying, "My two biggest weaknesses are music and boys, this story deals with both."

I read a story called "Last Night at the Fair: Or How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Smiths Song." I wrote it last December, sent it to a hotsy-totsy lit mag and received a half-sentence rejection letter. Then Razorcake picked up on it. I think the story initially ran last April or May. When a friend of mine said, "Hey, I saw your story 'Last Night at the Fair.' Is that true?" I knew that I could be proud of the piece.

I'm not posting the story here, but will give you a synopsis. Basically, when I was fifteen, I was obsessed with the song "Rusholme Ruffians." To make matters worse, my best friend and I were both obsessed with getting boyfriends. Putting the lyrics of the song together with our quests, I decided that I was going to fall in love at the fair. After a failed attempt my freshman year of high school, my friend and I returned to the carnival the following year with a planned "date" between yours truly and the local goth hero. It started out briliantly, thanks to my careful planning in accordance with Morrissey's lyrics. We ended the day as a couple. We were totally, madly in love until we decided that we totally hated each other. You know, I still can't stand the thought of him nearly 15 years later, but the story is good fun.

People laughed. Even though I wrote it as a humor piece, I didn't really expect people to laugh. Maybe a chuckle here or there, but not all out laughter. That was exciting.

This all might make more sense if you read the lyrics for the song. Go here and do so.