Quick Fingers - SCN
Jun. 14th, 2003 02:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlI tried to type this entry last night. Unfortunately, my laptop was being a pain in the ass and wouldn’t let me. That damn thing is so fickle. Actually, I don’t think it’s the laptop. I mean, that thing worked just fine for 9 months. I think it’s the AOL connection. It just sucks. I am absolutely FIENDING for my new computer AND the new Netzero connection I’m gonna force Mom to get. I even left Mom a note this morning reminding her to call Greg to see when he can go shopping with us. And when I get my hands on Tina again I’m gonna ask her to tell me once more all of the programs and software I need to get for my comp. I’m growing obsessed, mainly because I cannot type poetry or resumes until I get the new computer. I should prolly tell Mom that. If I can make her think there's no way for me to apply for jobs without it then she’ll be quicker about getting it into the house.
Seems I’ve been crying a lot recently. I was crying last night. Seems that the longer I sit in front of my bookcases the more books I decide to sell. Last night I realized it was time to do away with “The Handmaid’s Tale” which I never liked. Added it to the pile of other critically acclaimed books I hated and plan to heft down to the Strand on Monday: “Emma” by Jane Austen, “Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, “How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents” by Julia Alvarez (I liked “In the Time of the Butterflies” MUCH better.) But, as I flipped through the pages and read the little critic blurbs, I got sad. Because these women are all well respected writers; people know them. Regardless of my own opinion of their craft there are individuals who like these authors. That’s more than I have to say for myself. Made me wonder how they do it? What they did to develop such unique voices that are so well received. Reading random paragraphs I realized I don’t know any more about how to craft a story or a poem then I did when I entered college, and that made me sad. So I cried. Because I don’t understand how people write. I still don’t get it. In fact, I get it even less then I did 5 years ago. How can I ever expect to get anything published when I don’t even know how to write? Maybe it was just stress relief, just a random reason to let myself cry, lord knows I’ve had plenty of those in the last week or so with all the pressure of graduating circling around me. And I feel better today so I dunno if my hopelessness was just fleeting or genuine. Point is, I wanted to write all of that last night and I couldn’t.
And I know there is more I want to write now and I can’t think of it. And I’ll turn off the moniter and shut down the comp and I’ll remember what it is half way down Broadway and I’ll just have to swallow it until the next time I can get back on. Until the next time I can forget it.
Seems I’ve been crying a lot recently. I was crying last night. Seems that the longer I sit in front of my bookcases the more books I decide to sell. Last night I realized it was time to do away with “The Handmaid’s Tale” which I never liked. Added it to the pile of other critically acclaimed books I hated and plan to heft down to the Strand on Monday: “Emma” by Jane Austen, “Wide Sargasso Sea” by Jean Rhys, “How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents” by Julia Alvarez (I liked “In the Time of the Butterflies” MUCH better.) But, as I flipped through the pages and read the little critic blurbs, I got sad. Because these women are all well respected writers; people know them. Regardless of my own opinion of their craft there are individuals who like these authors. That’s more than I have to say for myself. Made me wonder how they do it? What they did to develop such unique voices that are so well received. Reading random paragraphs I realized I don’t know any more about how to craft a story or a poem then I did when I entered college, and that made me sad. So I cried. Because I don’t understand how people write. I still don’t get it. In fact, I get it even less then I did 5 years ago. How can I ever expect to get anything published when I don’t even know how to write? Maybe it was just stress relief, just a random reason to let myself cry, lord knows I’ve had plenty of those in the last week or so with all the pressure of graduating circling around me. And I feel better today so I dunno if my hopelessness was just fleeting or genuine. Point is, I wanted to write all of that last night and I couldn’t.
And I know there is more I want to write now and I can’t think of it. And I’ll turn off the moniter and shut down the comp and I’ll remember what it is half way down Broadway and I’ll just have to swallow it until the next time I can get back on. Until the next time I can forget it.
