So I've been working my ass off lately, and I'm doing it at what's basically construction, and I'm terrible at it, but I fucking do it anyway, and I do it right. And so long as I do it, it'll be fine. I hope that's an attitude I'll carry with me into the new school year ( Read more... )

Drugs are self-flagellation. People with high self-esteem barely fool with them.

I'm trying to write about what it's like to be the kid who sits in the back of the bus, because that's how this novel scene opens. The tricky part about writing about someone who's cool and mysterious in a high school sense is that you can't get around the fact that it's high school and therefore inherently uncool, and that what's cool in high ( Read more... )

Today I read that Malcolm Gladwell thinks that you need 10,000 hours of practice at something to master it. I'm totally not there with writing yet, but I know I'm on to something from the encouragement I get in advanced workshop. My professor isn't doing anything un-orthodox. We're going by the John Gardner school, and I've read both of his books. ( Read more... )

Not like this

I can't communicate what it's like to experience severe psychological trauma with poetry. I can convey notions of the experience, sure. To get accurate though, I need an awful lot of sterile exposition. This sets up a mental frame based on the expectations of the reader unexposed to the trauma, but they will not be able to relate. The reader who * ( Read more... )

I was about to sleep when it struck me that my subconscious is a writer and trying to communicate with me. I have been writing on my hands a lot lately, and when Rebeccah wrote on the back of my hand I marveled at her handwriting and then purposefully didn't pay attention to it for awhile. It was as if she had written in my journal, and she has ( Read more... )

Today I got up two hours in advance of class, as per the norm, so I would have time to eat, shower, and mess around on the internet for awhile. I did these things in reverse order, and have discovered that there is an inch-deep layer of water in the shower which will not drain, and the bottom of the tub is littered with hair. Diary, I am going to ( Read more... )

It's my last day at 211 Welsh Hill, and of course I already moved out nearly a month ago when the semester ended. Now it seems somewhat alien, since Daniel's been living in it by himself practically this whole time. He's watched all of so many TV shows that I'm a bit astounded. I've only seen Mad Men lately, as everything but Glee ended and I ( Read more... )

*coughs up a green loogie marbelized with fresh blood*