The Writing Club Post
Alright, it's about time i sat myself down and mashed this all out, and it has nothing to do with the journal entry on Confucius i'm trying to avoid. Right, i've mentioned i joined a writing club? It meets four hours on Saturdays in a little sub shop in town, which i'm told has pretty good food, even though i've never been able to eat there. *kicks diet*
The group is pretty loosely structured at the moment, with people coming and going and eating and writing and talking, and conversation flows accordingly. If you ever drift out, someone always drifts in. Questions about whatever you're writing are standard and preceede any other topic of conversation, but the talking recommences as soon as your concerns are addressed. The girls (they're all girls) are very friendly and chatty and excellent help.
Helpful with what? you ask. Are you sharing your deep dark slash secrets with them? (Actually, weirdly, i can hear one of the girls monologuing this as i type, which is strange and disconcerting. o_O)
The answer is HAHAHA NO. While a good chunk of them seem to be geeky enough about television (we've got a Dr. Who and White Collar girl in the house, respectively--holla!) and i've heard them mention fanfiction, as in they have writ it, i've also gotten the distinct impression that their fics are gen and het.
Yes. Ew.
And Gundam Wing, which. Idek wtf that is, besides manga.
You ask how i know? One of the girls mentioned dragging along a closeted gay friend of hers to the club, because "he needs an outlet and wants to write gay fiction" and another of the girls, (yes, the monologuing one) said, "Did you try to disuade him of that?" with a tone greatly implying that she should have.
(I was too caught off guard to demand what the hell was wrong with that, why would you force someone to write about a sexuality that doesn't appeal to them, but if it comes up again she's so going down. In the meantime i'll just sit here and feel quietly ashamed about myself. :( )
Anyway, back to what they're helping me with: In highschool, i wrote a 250 page fiction novel based upon myself and my three best friends having adventures while accompanied by attractive looking men. YES I KNOW, OKAY, SHUT UP. But i've always had a soft spot for this story (read: i always expected it to make me a millionaire) and now, years after i wrote the damn thing, i've taken the time to sit down and read it with a more experienced eye.
Speaking of eyes, i'd like to gouge mine out. I do know that no one is more critical of a novel than the author, but oh god really why. It needs some major overhauling, and i need major incentive to do it.
So this week i've made myself a promise: I'm going to brush up the first little chunk of this story into something that doesn't make me want to break my fingers and never write again, and i'm going to print it, and i'm bringing it to Writing Club. (Which they call ML, by the way, and i have no idea what that stands for.)
That's probably enough blahblahblah for one entry. Besides this teaser for next time: One of the club rules? Signing up for NaNoWriMo. Which.
...Yeah.
*sigh*