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Steve McNeill


I wrote my first creative words after meeting a girl named Kate in a Georgetown bar. She stole my heart and my Stanford hat in the same night, and mauled them both. I was off to the races.

I memorialized Kate and a few others in poetry, but made the switch to fiction the precise moment I realized that writing with a heavy dose of youthful angst makes for bad rhymes and worse rhythm. I dabbled in short fiction throughout the better part of the nineties, and have spent the past year toiling away in Atlanta, subsisting on an irregular diet of beer, peanut butter, and Hemingway, determined to trade my Gen-X slacker life for money and celebrity. Along with a handful of published stories and inflammatory sports articles, I am the proud author of two half-finished novels that double as coasters when my beer sweats.

To date, the healthiest (and longest) relationship I've had was with a green Jeep Wrangler. She's gone now. Every day I wonder why I let her out of my life, but my therapist says I have to move on, and start looking for something more romantically satisfying.

If you know a brunette named Kate who went to Virginia Tech and owns a purloined Stanford baseball cap, please contact me at tinman4875@hotmail.com so I can thank her for her inspiration. And maybe get my hat back.

Steve McNeill's writing on Conversely

Listed from the most recent.

Defect
We lay together, not touching. And all I could do was think bad things about myself.  Date: 12/01/01



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