Excuse me, wtf are you doing?
So I know I haven't updated in a a kazillion years and I'm sorry for that. But I was constantly not able to think of anything to say and didn't want to post anything that was just too terribly random. So I waited, and here I am.
School
I'm at a point of blissful ignorance. Midterms have not fallen yet so I'm not sure how well or how bad I'm doing. I'm confident that I have a B in all my classes if not better and I'm going to sit on that and enjoy that. I have a Midterm in History of Vietnam tomorrow that I'm a little terrified of but it's an essay test and we all know I'm the Queen of BS.
Writing
I want to be a writer. Everyone knows this. Recently I've been doing my best to purge all my story lines of some of the immature elements that I clung to for so long. However, now I'm stuck struggling with the pain of purging so much from my beloved characters and stories that I almost feel like they're not mine anymore. I know shit gets published. I've read shit. I've read Twilight. And I know I'll probably never hit the fame that woman did with her vampire teen angst but I really don't want to get all the fame, notareity, and precious precious money because I can scribble a few words on a page that string together a semi coherent plot that thirteen year olds will eat up.
So what's next? Write shit down. I have neither the courage nor the will to put my hands to a keyboard, a pen to the paper. Everything I write glows with the complexity and warmth of a masterpiece for a second and then like a star going supernova it all flashes before me and melts into shit. Pure, unadulturated, shit. The way it stands I'd be midway to the publisher's, manuscript in hand, when I crack open to page 123, scream in horror, and flee.
Not to mention, how the flippity fuck do you write a book!? I just don't get it! How do you start? Where do you start? Am I doing it horribly wrong by starting on page one, paragraph one, sentence one, word one? Fuck. I don't know.
I think I had more rants but the writing one wore me out. Well, now you can count on more semi random updates since I've broken the silence. Asta lavista, baby.
School
I'm at a point of blissful ignorance. Midterms have not fallen yet so I'm not sure how well or how bad I'm doing. I'm confident that I have a B in all my classes if not better and I'm going to sit on that and enjoy that. I have a Midterm in History of Vietnam tomorrow that I'm a little terrified of but it's an essay test and we all know I'm the Queen of BS.
Writing
I want to be a writer. Everyone knows this. Recently I've been doing my best to purge all my story lines of some of the immature elements that I clung to for so long. However, now I'm stuck struggling with the pain of purging so much from my beloved characters and stories that I almost feel like they're not mine anymore. I know shit gets published. I've read shit. I've read Twilight. And I know I'll probably never hit the fame that woman did with her vampire teen angst but I really don't want to get all the fame, notareity, and precious precious money because I can scribble a few words on a page that string together a semi coherent plot that thirteen year olds will eat up.
So what's next? Write shit down. I have neither the courage nor the will to put my hands to a keyboard, a pen to the paper. Everything I write glows with the complexity and warmth of a masterpiece for a second and then like a star going supernova it all flashes before me and melts into shit. Pure, unadulturated, shit. The way it stands I'd be midway to the publisher's, manuscript in hand, when I crack open to page 123, scream in horror, and flee.
Not to mention, how the flippity fuck do you write a book!? I just don't get it! How do you start? Where do you start? Am I doing it horribly wrong by starting on page one, paragraph one, sentence one, word one? Fuck. I don't know.
I think I had more rants but the writing one wore me out. Well, now you can count on more semi random updates since I've broken the silence. Asta lavista, baby.