lj's a bitch, but life goes on.
lj's not being very nice to me lately. Screwing up and not letting me in and such. But hey, what can you do but keep writing.
The election is tonight. It's going to be a Liberal minority, I can smell it. That might actually be a good thing, because some bills might actually get passed if they're reasonable. After all, the best legistation that Canada has ever had was passed in a Liberal Minority Government with help from the NDP. (Canada Pension, Health Care, etc.)
Anywho...I miss Megs. A lot. It's wierd because I keep picking up the phone to call her, but it always hits me quite abruptly that I can't reach her because she's in New York. Deeam. *shakes fist*
Camp is tomorrow. I'm really excited! Mary Fay's all...working there and stuff and she's on mainland so that's cool, and I'll be finished my period by the time we get to the island so that's really good. I'm not finished packing yet, but I will tonight while I'm waiting for the election results to be tallied.
Christine and I are going to write a book. A novel. A story of our lives. I think that we should try to get it published, or get a contract or something. We could go places with this. We really could. I've read books by 14-year-olds who have been offered six-figure contracts to write their lives through high school.
I was just reading over my report card and looking at the comment that Ms. Swain put at the bottom and starting to feel really bad about how I treated her this year, because she's really not that bad of a person, and it must be really hard to be the principal of a junior high school. You can't count on people liking you or admiring you or trusting you...and I didn't help the situation. I feel so guilty...that I just...hmm. I don't want to admit anything. It's kind of sad. I want to pretend that I didn't say any of it, or that I didn't do any of it or feel any of it.
I did.
I don't think I can write a story. I'm not good with plot. I can't sit down and decide where characters are going to go or how they will feel or anything powerful like that. All I can seem to do is describe what I know. Mr. Coughlan said to write what I know. Maybe that's why my Buffy stories were good. haha. But what do I know? Can I combine feelings that I've had from different situations and people whom I've met and places that I've been? I don't feel like I know anything well enough to write it down and convince anybody. The most brilliant stories come out of an imagination. Look at Tolkien, and Lewis...they were incredible. JK Rowling doesn't cease to amaze me. But there are other kinds of stories that are wonderful, but they're normal. Like John Grisham! He's a superb writer, but it's not fantasy. It's day-to-day, guy-next-door kind of writing. I wonder how I'll be.
I really don't know.
I guess the only way that I'll find out is to keep writing.
The election is tonight. It's going to be a Liberal minority, I can smell it. That might actually be a good thing, because some bills might actually get passed if they're reasonable. After all, the best legistation that Canada has ever had was passed in a Liberal Minority Government with help from the NDP. (Canada Pension, Health Care, etc.)
Anywho...I miss Megs. A lot. It's wierd because I keep picking up the phone to call her, but it always hits me quite abruptly that I can't reach her because she's in New York. Deeam. *shakes fist*
Camp is tomorrow. I'm really excited! Mary Fay's all...working there and stuff and she's on mainland so that's cool, and I'll be finished my period by the time we get to the island so that's really good. I'm not finished packing yet, but I will tonight while I'm waiting for the election results to be tallied.
Christine and I are going to write a book. A novel. A story of our lives. I think that we should try to get it published, or get a contract or something. We could go places with this. We really could. I've read books by 14-year-olds who have been offered six-figure contracts to write their lives through high school.
I was just reading over my report card and looking at the comment that Ms. Swain put at the bottom and starting to feel really bad about how I treated her this year, because she's really not that bad of a person, and it must be really hard to be the principal of a junior high school. You can't count on people liking you or admiring you or trusting you...and I didn't help the situation. I feel so guilty...that I just...hmm. I don't want to admit anything. It's kind of sad. I want to pretend that I didn't say any of it, or that I didn't do any of it or feel any of it.
I did.
I don't think I can write a story. I'm not good with plot. I can't sit down and decide where characters are going to go or how they will feel or anything powerful like that. All I can seem to do is describe what I know. Mr. Coughlan said to write what I know. Maybe that's why my Buffy stories were good. haha. But what do I know? Can I combine feelings that I've had from different situations and people whom I've met and places that I've been? I don't feel like I know anything well enough to write it down and convince anybody. The most brilliant stories come out of an imagination. Look at Tolkien, and Lewis...they were incredible. JK Rowling doesn't cease to amaze me. But there are other kinds of stories that are wonderful, but they're normal. Like John Grisham! He's a superb writer, but it's not fantasy. It's day-to-day, guy-next-door kind of writing. I wonder how I'll be.
I really don't know.
I guess the only way that I'll find out is to keep writing.