It’s My Bed But Not My Bed Bugs.

I’m writing about a piece of creative non-fiction called “Woken” that talks about bed bugs. My bed does not have bedbugs. (Although I’m sure it has plenty of Jackson bugs.) So there is the small picture connection for today. Some of my adoring fans (aka. Julie) probably will see the bed picture and hope I’m writing something perverted, but I’m not. Bed bugs. Just bed bugs.

Laconia Koerner, who lives in New York, recounts her experience with the bloodsucking bugs “the size and shape of a large apple seed”. With each piece of furniture she puts out on the street as a victim to the nasty little boogers in her bed, she feels she slowly is stripping away her identity, which ultimately provides her an opportunity to get a fresh start in her life personally and as a writer.

Reading this essay was entertaining, but it felt a lot like reading a blog entry because how informal her tone is when she says things like:

“[Now,] I sit at the desk of my dearest friend who has compassionately welcomed me into her home and onto her couch.”

So to me, this feels like a blog entry on a blog entry. I always enjoy seeing what other writer’s get away with (when it is well written and successful of course).

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