maybe i'm amazed
04.02.04 @ 11:45 p.m.
I was really tired when I thought about writing earlier (and Ena was using the internet) and so I kind of petered out on my will to write. This may well be short, then.
Jodi, away away in Australia, mentioned that she never got to read Riverwood, though I had told her I would let her at some point. There were issues of emails never arriving. But I sent her the URL of where it is skulking on my university server space... yesterday, I'm guessing, or Wednesday at the earliest. Today she IM'd me, gushing that she'd finished it and she couldn't put it down (for all that she was reading it on her computer), etc etc, I'm such a wonderful writer. This is not good for my ego, in that it inflates it insanely. But I'm modest, too, (I'm humble, damnit, LISTEN TO ME BRAG ABOUT MY MODESTY) and I don't really believe her, for all her enthusiasm. I know it's continuity-error strewn, Austen-quoting mess. Emma's too perfect, her clash with Beck is insignificant, blah blah blah blah blah. I know it needs editing. And while I have plans in my head, I haven't the will to implement them.
Still. The surreality comes from discussing these people who lived in my head and drove me insane for a month with someone else. I mean, I had critique in Creative Writing my freshman year, but 7,000 words doesn't make as big a mark on your mind and soul like 50,000. R is my BABY. My scarred, deformed baby I'm afraid to show people, but my baby none the less. "I wanted to see Beckford's proposal," she said to me. "And George's apology." I certainly can't write those now, not after all this time, but I'm not sure I could have written those scenes then. If I had, you would've had to drill a hole in me to let the sap out. Which is perhaps why my second attempt is worlds different. I sent that to Jo to read, too.
I guess it's no big risk sending what I write to someone who, quite honestly, doesn't write well (mechanics and flow) and isn't fiction-inclined (well, she an insatiable reader, but not one to create stories), but it still feels like a big, vulnerable step. No one gets to read what I write except Rachel, due to our mutual "I'll read anything you send me" pact, which has faltered lately, partly because I get nervous sending things that are getting more mature to a 15 year old. I guess she's 16 now.
If I can make myself let go of the topic of writing...
I am somewhat convinced that my Chaucer teacher said something funny today or perhaps something I wanted to remember, but it's gone now. We worked on the Great Vowel Shift this morning and I think I might comprehend it, though I'd probably still need to look at the Middle English vowel chart. It's all completely fascinating to me, but I'm losing steam fast and so I shan't go into detail. I came home between classes to shower, read, and eat lunch, and while I didn't NEED to leave the house until 12:30 to get to Italian, I decided I didn't want to be around when Fuckwit Landlord showed up to fix a few things (which he did not finish, but at least he got the glass guy here to replace our fogged window), so I got ready to leave at noon. Of course the noon oh five bus came early and I missed it. I was ready to go and it was a beautiful day, so I walked.
"I'm One" by the Who is good soundtrack music to life, especially walking somewhere, if I'm feeling poignant. "Maybe I'm Amazed" came up on random play when I was near and walking through the cemetary. I find it funny that the cemetary is the most peaceful place on campus and one of my favorite places while the idea of ghosts and ghost stories freak the living hell out of me. It's not helping that I was just reading in Johnny Cash's autobio about ghosts at his Jamaican plantation house. Brrr. I've creeped myself out and set myself up for a long night, I suspect.
I was going to make most excellent nachos for dinner, nachos to make a grown man cry, but I ended up snacking a bit too much over the course of the day and by the time I'd gone to the supermarket to get the last few crucial ingrediants (what the fuck, Albertsons, why no Medium red taco sauce? why you gotta make me buy green taco sauce to get sufficient hotness?) (of highest crucialness, though, was sour cream), I was completely not hungry. So delicious tortilla chip creations must wait until tomorrow.
Sleep! Oh how I missed you last night. I need you now.
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
