(no subject)
I am FRIGHTENED because my life has been abnormally spectacular lately, save for a few people bent on destroying my iron-clad morale (read: dickheads). I think this has to do with my constantly listening to The Boy Least Likely To and I'm From Barcelona lately (yay for really long weird band names) and talking to people who consistently succeed in making me laugh. But a period of awesome is usually followed by a period of suck so I'm vaguely aware of the fact that I should be checking around corners with mirrors for the masked avenger who will destroy my bubble-headed joy. Or maybe I shouldn't be so much on tenterhooks and just accept the free happiness that karma has chosen to grace me with.
That said, I would also like to say that an alarming majority of the people who write for my Story Writing and Creative Writing classes SUCK. This isn't me being pretentious or "holier-than-thou," but my legitimate declaration of the perpetual state of mediocrity that dwells within the intellectual abyss that is Winona State's Creative Writing Department. I want to smack all these wannabes with the two-by-four of writerly talent so that when the blood and skill rushes to their head, they realize that a psychologically-deranged, drugged-up narrator does not tell a good story. I mean, damn.
I'm going to Perkins with Shell to have a "Paper-Writing Fest" which rocks so much. WRITING AT PERKINS. Chicken tender melt, followed by spending time with my favorite character I've ever written, the vaguely emo Jim. He's cool. He reminds me of me, but a bit whinier.
Anyway, I kind of got eloquent and wordly in this entry and I supposed that's a little too hyper-literate and snobbish of me to do but hey. It's freakin' Live Journal and if I can't be annoying and blah blah blah then what can I do?
That said, I would also like to say that an alarming majority of the people who write for my Story Writing and Creative Writing classes SUCK. This isn't me being pretentious or "holier-than-thou," but my legitimate declaration of the perpetual state of mediocrity that dwells within the intellectual abyss that is Winona State's Creative Writing Department. I want to smack all these wannabes with the two-by-four of writerly talent so that when the blood and skill rushes to their head, they realize that a psychologically-deranged, drugged-up narrator does not tell a good story. I mean, damn.
I'm going to Perkins with Shell to have a "Paper-Writing Fest" which rocks so much. WRITING AT PERKINS. Chicken tender melt, followed by spending time with my favorite character I've ever written, the vaguely emo Jim. He's cool. He reminds me of me, but a bit whinier.
Anyway, I kind of got eloquent and wordly in this entry and I supposed that's a little too hyper-literate and snobbish of me to do but hey. It's freakin' Live Journal and if I can't be annoying and blah blah blah then what can I do?