I hope I am not jinxing anything by saying that I'm almost finished with my capstone project for Penn. I took my last class a year ago in the spring--a feminist theater class that I really liked--and then thought I might get to the final project in the summer, but didn't. I then thought I could do it in the fall semester, but the project got lost again in moving to a different city and starting a new job and living with this guy Dan, and all of those adjustments. But this spring, I worked on the project more and had lots of good feedback from Professor Zhuraw, my first reader (even though she sometimes yells at you over email by writing to you LIKE THIS AND WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM WITH SEMI-COLONS?) and so I think I might finish this time (unless Rebekah reads this and gets mad and refuses to sign off on this, but she has a good sense of humor and so I am praying to God that's unlikely). I didn't work on my fiction as much as I told myself I would. I thought that having deadlines would motivate me more, and it did, a bit, but I still wasn't inspired. The stories in the final capstone will be okay, but not great. A few are better than they were, but I've lost touch with how my stories used to evolve. Did I sit with them for hours on end? Did they go through seven revisions? Did I write long and then cut a bunch? I don't recall. I think most of them were workshopped at least once (and all of the stories in the capstone have been workshopped as all were written during classes I took while at Penn), but then what? I wish I could remember. Maybe it's the end of my fiction writing too. That could happen.