I forgot to brush my hair this morning

So, if yesterday I couldn't button my sweater properly, today I forgot to brush my hair.  It's amazing how a new routine can mess up the details of my old routine; how could I forget to brush my hair?  It wasn't until the middle of this afternoon that I walked into the bathroom of my room and noticed the mess.

The morning had involved workshopping the writing of three different members, including me at the end.  The commentary and feedback were all helpful, and I learned that of the three short pieces I submitted and which we workshopped, the one that is the most fictional is the one that was best liked by the group.  David Carpenter asked me the following question:  What is it that, in your mind, makes these pieces creative non-fiction?  I had to come clean.  The real answer to his question, I told him, is that I've applied to come to Banff before, once for poetry, once for fiction. Not accepted either time.  So for this application I pulled three of the most non-fictional pieces from my short story collection and used them to apply for the non-fiction program.  Accepted.  So, I was outed.  But really, I wasn't fooling any of them anyway; they all "knew" that I was a fiction writer.  I maintain, however, that the three pieces I am working on this week are more non-fiction than fiction; crap-a-doodle, one of them is literally a transcript of something that really happened.  

Tonight I am "doing a reading".  Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights are "reading" nights.  I thought to read three poems but no, I've decided to read a REAL non-fiction piece about when I worked in High River and Calgary.   I only have 7 minutes to read, so that means I won't get the not as strong part of the narrative.  I spent this afternoon reading the piece out loud to myself so that I could edit for the oral experience and to ensure that I keep under the 7 minutes.  Eight others will be reading, including David Carpenter, and the readings will be a mix of poetry, non-fiction and children's literature.  

Is Banff really out there around me?  Occasionally I remember to look up as I move from building to building, but mostly I am writing, eating, editing, workshopping or sleeping.  Soon enough I'll be back home, or travelling somewhere else; maybe on my way out on the bus I'll look at Banff.

Nobody actually commented on my hair this morning, my hair not being brushed.  Maybe it didn't get messed up until the afternoon's rewrites, maybe I clutched chunks of hair in my hand and twisted them around until they knotted; I just don't remember.