Straight to you from my bitchin' new laptop!
I’m reading this compilation of short stories. At the beginning of each story there is a blurb about the author and their accomplishments. One of the authors has published over 270 books. That fails to mention all the unpublished works, all the rough drafts and sketchy outlines.
I want to do that. Granted, all these people do it write. But damn. I’d be happy with just one Hugo award. Some of those authors have award after award on top of award. Hell, I don’t even need a freaking award. Just give me a good story line I can follow through with.
I’ve got ideas. Who doesn’t? But I can never seem to get farther than that. Perhaps I’m just out of practice. It’s been a while since I went to school. It’s been even longer since I had someone to compete with. Competition is probably not the best motivation for writing one can have, but I’ve always been competitive. I’ve got this desperate need to be better than others. Unhealthy? Probably.
Everything I write has been done. I can’t seem to think of anything original. There are millions of published works. Can there be something that has yet to be thought of? Obviously there is. I mean, new books keep coming out. Sure, the same old archetypes are used and there’s always the Good vs. Evil thing. But there always seems to be something unthought-of in a new book. Even if that new something gets mangled in it’s execution, it is something.
So far in this book I’ve been reading, there have been kids who see sound, deceptive albino parrots and a kid who lives in a graveyard. The one story about seeing sound, I think, is the most imaginative. I read that and thought, “fuck me, I should have thought of that!” It’s always so obvious after it’s already been done.
I’ve been so tired lately. I seem to be sleeping for most of the day. I’m on vacation, damnit! I should be going out every night, partying and carrying on. But no. I sit at home, read, play Sims and watch Patrick play the Xbox. Don’t get me wrong! I like to do these things! But Jesus, can’t I do something else once in a while?
I love my life. I love my family. I love my Honeybunch. But, on occasion, I get into these funny moods. Maybe it’s PMS. I am, after all, a hormonal wreck. Ah, the joys of womanhood.
There are bright spots. Sex, of course, being one of the brightest. I must admit, I like to have sex. But also, there’s coffee and clothes and fancy gadgets. Oh, and Mr. Poopypants. Mustn’t forget about him. I haven’t murdered him yet!