hungry eyes
I just had one of those really cliched conversations you see in movies - someone with some measure of experience looking at someone with less, and telling them what to expect from themselves.
"I've been doing this for nine years," my English advisor said, looking at me over her desk. "I've gotten pretty good at reading people. I can tell who the good students are. You have a - hunger in your eyes.
"You're talented," she continued. "It's time for us to get you going."
Get you going. I don't like it. I don't like being singled out, particularly; it makes me feel guilty and silly. I know what I'm capable of; I am also my worst critic.
However - this woman does have ins. Does she. It makes me feel stupid and silly that I could just drop in the office of a literary magazine, say she sent me and do some slush pile reading. Anyone - anyone who submits there is likely better-educated and -read than I.
But I really, really want to. :) It feels like too much, you know? I get to write for the wedding magazine, I get a small stipend for meeting all these people at my university, and now possibly working for (for no pay) a nationally known and respected literary magazine? gaaah.
Not that I have the position now. But I don't know how I get to be this lucky. I guess I thought opportunities would be harder to come by.
And they are, in high school, I'll give you that. But you're still earning a badge of pain, I think, at that point in life.
I still feel scorned in love, and pretty much accept that at this point there's not much I can do. That's also not going to limit me. I had to laugh when reading an opening passage in Midsummer Night's Dream for class today; it reminded me so much of what I and my friends have been going through.
Ever wonder where "The course of true love never runs smooth" comes from? It's from Shakespeare, this play. The lover Lysander compares love to the flashing of lightning, that disappears before anyone can exclaim about it. "So quick bright things come to confusion."
Beautiful. Another character, Hermia, is in love with a character who is smitten with someone else. Ouch.
As I wrote to a friend, Be proud, you are taking part in a great and storied tradition! Shakespeare knows exactly what you're talking about.
And that is a comfort.
I cannot try to be good enough for anyone but myself. I'd fail, in any case. All I can do is be like Whitman's spider throwing out strands, hoping for connection. That is what matters.
P.s. I'm still rather blushing and proud of what she said about me, nevertheless.
"I've been doing this for nine years," my English advisor said, looking at me over her desk. "I've gotten pretty good at reading people. I can tell who the good students are. You have a - hunger in your eyes.
"You're talented," she continued. "It's time for us to get you going."
Get you going. I don't like it. I don't like being singled out, particularly; it makes me feel guilty and silly. I know what I'm capable of; I am also my worst critic.
However - this woman does have ins. Does she. It makes me feel stupid and silly that I could just drop in the office of a literary magazine, say she sent me and do some slush pile reading. Anyone - anyone who submits there is likely better-educated and -read than I.
But I really, really want to. :) It feels like too much, you know? I get to write for the wedding magazine, I get a small stipend for meeting all these people at my university, and now possibly working for (for no pay) a nationally known and respected literary magazine? gaaah.
Not that I have the position now. But I don't know how I get to be this lucky. I guess I thought opportunities would be harder to come by.
And they are, in high school, I'll give you that. But you're still earning a badge of pain, I think, at that point in life.
I still feel scorned in love, and pretty much accept that at this point there's not much I can do. That's also not going to limit me. I had to laugh when reading an opening passage in Midsummer Night's Dream for class today; it reminded me so much of what I and my friends have been going through.
Ever wonder where "The course of true love never runs smooth" comes from? It's from Shakespeare, this play. The lover Lysander compares love to the flashing of lightning, that disappears before anyone can exclaim about it. "So quick bright things come to confusion."
Beautiful. Another character, Hermia, is in love with a character who is smitten with someone else. Ouch.
As I wrote to a friend, Be proud, you are taking part in a great and storied tradition! Shakespeare knows exactly what you're talking about.
And that is a comfort.
I cannot try to be good enough for anyone but myself. I'd fail, in any case. All I can do is be like Whitman's spider throwing out strands, hoping for connection. That is what matters.
P.s. I'm still rather blushing and proud of what she said about me, nevertheless.