Watch Her Lift Upright A Ziggurat
A chapter from one of my novels was reviewed during the final Eng 221 class. The only negative feedback was that everyone wished i'd handed in more. Not even the excessively high-brow writers could think of anything bad. My face went scarlet. It was so great that i was embarrassed! Mr. Barnes went last, and said, "This is a writer who has nearly perfected her craft. There's story here and there's excellent writing. It's so close to completion that--although i haven't done this before--i'd be willing to read the whole manuscript over the summer or winter break. This is the kind of stuff that could easily find a publishing house."
Jesus fucking Christ.
Steven and i went out for celebratory pasta afterwards. "I look up to Mr. Barnes a lot," he said. "That's got to be the best compliment a writer could give you." I laughed and thought, 'this is colossal!--as big as a whale!'
No one but Steven seems to understand what a big deal this is for me. Ah well. Anything that i have a passion for--writing, art, music--has always been a painfully solitary thing, not always out of choice. I have about 50 pages of this untitled novel down. I have... what?--7 months to write it? There's a good and lenient deadline!
