#390 Inside the Emotion of Fiction, the short story “Pursuing the Fix” from the short story collection ALWAYS ONE MISTAKE by Ace Boggess, published by Duende Literary and Running Wild Press on March 17, 2026

https://www.duendeliterary.org/ace-boggess

What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you finished the piece of fiction?

I wrote this story in 2012, my last year in prison.

Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail.

I wrote in lying in my cot, using a junk pen and a miniature composition book I got from the education department where I worked.

What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day?

My habits were variations of the method I always use. I smoke a cigarette, read for about fifteen minutes, then launch straight into the writing. The difference was that in those days the cigarettes were contraband, and I had to blow the smoke in the bathroom vent. I drank lukewarm instant coffee, black. I lay on my side and zoned out while prison chaos was going on all around me.

Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.

“Anyway, back to your other problem. It reminds me of this ancient Buddhist teaching.”

Singer felt himself growing anxious again. He didn’t want to hear any more of this mumbo jumbo, this ceaseless jibber jabber. But what could he do? The man had caught Singer completely under his spell.

“It’s something like this, I think. If you meet the Buddha on the road and he stands in your way, kill him.”

Singer winced.

“Think about that for a moment.” The man held silence for a breath, then added, “It goes on. If you meet your parents on the road and they stand in your way, kill them. And if you meet your lover on the road and she stands in your way, kill your lover.”

It was too much. Singer pictured the gruesomeness of this scene. It was a hideous massacre. Blood sprayed everywhere. Singer saw himself hacking away with a gleaming silver samurai sword. Again, he winced, shaking to erase the movie that kept rewinding and replaying the same scenes.

“Oh,” the man went on. His head bounced with lightness as he spoke. “I think it also says that if you meet yourself on the road and you stand in your way, you have to kill yourself.”

The image made Singer retch. He started to rise as if he’d found the courage to leave. However, the man waved for him to stay seated, so he did. Still, Singer couldn’t get thoughts of this vicious murder/suicide out of his brain.

“You know,” the man went on as though nothing bizarre had happened, “speaking of the Buddha, think about this for a while. So, the Buddha sat in the shade under an ancient tree and achieved enlightenment, right? He transcended himself and transformed into a being of pure energy. That is, literally, he became light. Right?”

Singer didn’t know what was expected of him, so he kept still.

“Here’s the rub. E equals MC squared, right? Like Einstein said? All mass can be converted into energy if we could just figure out how, and the average guy has enough mass to explode like twenty H-bombs if we could learn to convert it. For someone as clinically obese as the Buddha, let’s say thirty. Enlightening one of his thighs alone probably could level New York City. Am I right?”

This time, Singer didn’t nod or sigh or stand to leave. His mind went from picturing the murder of the Buddha to imagining his detonation as if the coming of the apocalypse.

“You see what that means? When the Buddha transcended himself, he must’ve taken about a hundred thousand people with him. Imagine, some poor devil comes home from work, expecting a little spicy food and maybe a romp with the missus. Then, all of a sudden, someone sets off a Buddha in his neighborhood. BLAM! He achieves enlightenment entirely against his will, along with his wife, kids, friends, bosses, the taxi driver that brought him home, and the grocer on the other side of town who sold him a bag of limes just the Thursday before last. All of them—BLAM!—just like that.”

Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? This emotional moment must not be from the character’s emotion but from your emotion as a writer.

I was a drug addict at my arrest. I had made many drug deals and been to many shady locations where I met many interesting but shady people. When I began this story, I wanted to capture the feel of those shady deals, which brought back many memories and overwhelmed me at times. As the story goes on, however, the reader discovers slowly that this is not actually a drug deal, but some sort of weird Jungian therapy session. I felt that, too. I felt the stumbling sense of healing as I went on. My emotions were raw from both the junkie side and the recovery side.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/therapy-types/jungian-therapy

Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt.

I’m sure there were sentences cut here and there. Maybe a paragraph. But I don’t recall what they were. I don’t keep those kinds of records and mostly move on from a piece once it’s out in the world. I also don’t do markups. I revise and edit during the typing stage. I get it together and send it out. If it gets rejected, I edit it a little more, tweaking and tightening. Rinse and repeat until an acceptance comes.

Anything you would like to add

Thanks for asking these questions. They brought back memories, both positive and negative, and I’m grateful for all of the,

https://www.wroteby.me/aceboggess

https://aceboggess.wixsite.com/aceboggess