Napping on the Job

In some places, Flux Factory’s little novel experiment that wouldn’t hurt a fly is being likened to the monster that devoured Cleveland in its brutish, unnatural aim to foster Chia-fiction. Purely by coincidence, one of the resident writers, Grant Bailie, hails from Cleveland. In this week’s New Yorker, Ben McGrath wrote a “Talk of the Town” item alerting readers not of the dangers of laboratory engineered literature but of the laziness of part of its labor force. Me. Being a novice in the production of insta-fiction, I have humble expectations for my efforts. I am, however, proud of my capacity to stay awake. Awake is what I am good at. Ask anyone. If Ben had tried to make contact with me, I would happily have shown him my stash of melatonin, Unisom and Ambien tablets displayed prominently in my cabin to aid sleep. For anyone who cares, I have not met Ben McGrath, nor has he met me. (That I know of. What does he look like?) I was not called by Ben McGrath. I did not hear Ben McGrath knock on the door of my cabin, probably because I wear ear plugs and over them Bose sound reducing headphones most of the time. During the day, I don’t want to be disturbed by just anyone who happens along. At night, I'm protecting my fragile sleep. I do not nap. The blog he quoted was not part of a fiction piece and did not purport to be part of a fiction piece. It was titled "Things Found in the Kitchen of Flux Factory," part of my log of impressions of the residency. Like this one.