Editor Woes

It's midterms and I couldn't give a fuck. I have my first one in exactly 6 minutes. I should be studying. But all I can think about is writing. Perhaps I haven't been writing enough so that now it's the only thing I can think of. I think I might be on the brink of discovering a new voice. My voice hasn't been used in so long that it sounds strange to me, I have to tune it. 3 minutes. I should read more, but not the crap the school gives me in my writing workshops, but new, in-your-face, experimental good-ass shit. I've been reading Opium Magazine and am really impressed with the stuff they get, I especially liked Sam Pink's piece. I'm going to look more into his stuff. Maybe if we started accepting more flash fiction, we'd get better stuff at the Berkeley Fiction Review. I should mention it to Rhoda. I'm bored with everything we get. Nothing is new or exciting. I'd like to reach out and grab all our contributors and shake them. I feel a new genre rising like a tidal wave, perched to take over everything, a hybrid between poetry and prose, maybe prosetry. I'm going to try to make sure the Berkeley Fiction Review rides it, if only we could get good writing submitted. I'm so tempted to submit a bunch of stuff under pseudonyms just so we can publish some interesting stuff. Ergh, I better go take my final now. grumble grumble.