(Minipost)

Between a tweet and a blog post, right.

I'm fairly certain that at some point in time, I've mentioned my obsessive, ginormous, unending crush on Chris Colfer.  His movie is coming out this summer.  I am excited, to say the least.



You're welcome.

I don't think I've mentioned it here before, but I'm a student editor at my school's literary journal.  It's very big and exciting.  Today was the first time that I received actual stories to make actual decisions about.  I felt very....Carsonesque, but I didn't even have to blackmail anyone.  It's kind of odd, to be making decisions like this.  I know that most of these people aren't aiming to be professional writers, so I feel like whatever I do, I want to be encouraging and nice, but I don't quite know where we're setting the quality bar.  The things that I've read certianly aren't the best pieces of writing on the planet, but they don't totally suck either, and I don't know how to decide this without seeming like a pretentious ass who thinks the literary journal is a far bigger thing than it really is.

YUP.

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Yeah. Everything.

Today was pretty eventful.
I don't think that I'm going to be writing my NaNoWriMo for the rest of this month.  Yes, this is the first year when I've just said that I was done.  Yes, I do have a good reason for doing this.  Yes, I have thought this out.  No, I have not discussed this with anyone else yet.  Yes, I do plan on continuing to write the novel.  Yes, I still like my novel.  Yes, I still want to write.  My wordcount is 13,702 right now.  This is not impossible to recover from.  I am confident in my ability to recover from this kind of a deficit.  I'm choosing not to.
I sound like a robot.
I don't feel bad about this.  I don't feel like I'm losing.  I don't feel like I'm quitting.  I think that this specific novel and this specific month were a match made in hell.

So, in other news, today was my carrer day at school.  For the furniture department.  The first person who came in was this guy who talked about finishing.  For his job, he invents new ways to finish furniture.  ALL DAY LONG.  For one of them, he painted a piece, then threw rice on the wet paint, then waited a while, then scraped the rice off, sanded it a little, then put gold leaf on, then silkscreened a design on top of the gold leaf.  WOAH SUPER EPIC AWESOME.
I took a lot of notes.

I learned a lot of things.  I learned that back in the day, Kendall basically funneled designers into Baker.  That's not so true anymore, which is probably a good thing.  I learned what you want to have in a portfolio, and that one of the guys in the furniture department is a totally amazing incredible woodworker. Like, woah.

And here's a picture from the tour of Grand Rapids Chair Company that I took.

Shiny.

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November!

Hi!  It's November, also known as NaNoWriMo, or TheMonthWhereISeemLikeIHaveADHD, or HolyCrapWhenDidCollegeGetDifficult or EwwwGrossMyHairIsFallingOutFromTheStress or ThisIsTheTimeOfYearWhenIGetTheMostHitsIDecayWhy.  It's a fun time.  I slept for about two hours this morning, and I feel wide awake.  My cousin came over because he has an AAA plus membership and I need to get my car towed a hundred miles away from here, but once he got here and we called, he realized that he didn't have that kind of membership.  So...that was kinda bad.  But it was good to see him.
I was kind of planning to stay up all night because I have ten hundred thousand million drawings for Design Drawing that I need to redo so that I don't fail the class and die sad and alone*, but then I curled up in my bed around five.  And got a call saying that my cousin was outside my house at 7:10, dealt with the situation, cousin leaves, I register for classes, and then I blog.  That's how the story always ends.  I think I'm going to try to finish the drawing I'm working on right now, then go to school and draw some more and go to class.  Today, I may be crossing the line into consuming energy drinks.  I'm surprised it's taken this long.  Energy drinks are kind of like meat: I'm capable of consuming it, I see other people consume it, but I just...don't.
My wordcount is shit.**  I am not worried about this in the least.  I have all weekend and no functioning car and nothing to do, so I can see myself camping out on the couch for hours, days, weeks on end and writing my heart out.  Although, as I was writing this, my mom called and asked if I wanted to come home for the weekend.  So that might be happening.
Sometimes I wonder if I want to write more than I want to design furniture.  Then I flip out a little bit.  I'm worried, constantly, that I'm not doing the right thing, but then again, would studying English really help me?  Writers don't have to be English majors.  Furniture Designers don't have to be furniture majors either.  So really, college doesn't matter at all.  It's like expensive high school where everyone smokes.
If I don't do well here, I'll have to go back home and go to Schoolcraft or OCC, which are even more like high school where everyone smokes.  That's some motivation, I guess.
Did I tell all y'all how I talked to one of my roommates for four hours straight and totally revamped my novel in the process?  It was great.  YAY.  It feels much more solid now.
*NaNoWriMo has the side-effect of making you dramatic as fuck.
**I typed "ship" first, which reminds me that I am not the only person who has pondered the idea of writing slash fanfics about political figures.  Joey thinks about it too!  And Derek, obviously.  MWWHAHHAHAHAAH.  Mangoes.
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Create.

You know, like, make stuff.  I need to do that.  I need to make something for myself, something not school related, something that is satisfying and makes me feel like I matter.  I should really work harder on this novel.  I like it, I like it a lot, but it's hard to motivate myself.
Okay.  Here's the deal(io).  My current wordcount is 3391.  By the time I go to sleep tonight, it will be 8,000 or higher.  And, as an added bonus for my lovely, lovely readers, there will be a drawing, created by me, of something in my bedroom.  Probably my chair.  Or desk.  Posted on the blog.
Making promises is probably a good way to force myself to do stuff.

Today during lunch, I made myself a new twitter profile image.  I like it quite a bit.  I used the tutorial made by the ever-inspiring Door Sixteen.

And here is a random picture that I took quite some time ago.  It's muffins.

Finance is such a party

And when I say "Party" I mean "A class where I have computer access and don't have to talk to anyone" they're practically the same thing.

Anyway, I plan on spending the rest of the month gloating about France.  It'll be great, but now is not the moment when that is happening.  For serious here.  Being in France made me realize just how much I need to leave the place where I am now.  I need something to get me out of here, to the point where I'd never have to go back.  As we know, I have three routes out of my situation.  They've convinently been named A, B, and C.  So, in short, I'm spending an hour every night this week editing last year's NaNo.  I feel like it has something, like it wouldn't make someone vomit.  Winning.  Yeah.
This was a fantastic blog post.

Oh, right

I decided you might want to know what  NaNo 2011 is about.  You know, maybe.
I need a drumroll here.

VIRAL VIDEOS.

You think this concept is not interesting and lacks plot.  Psh.  You lack imagination.

And I'm still on the metaphorical fence about Script Frenzy.
And I did choose such an ugly colour because  I thought it would stand out.

BAZINGA

I promise that one day, in the near future, I will actually blog instead of posting random bits of writing for other things on here. Promise.
Today is not that day.

This is my last college essay. Yay! Woohoo!


Dreams are the things we live for. Goals are like that, but they're more important because they give us direction and they keep us from wandering aimlessly throughout the universe. Goals allow us to dream big and put everything towards reaching that dream because maybe, just maybe we can make it. That hope, that idea that one day, we can live the dream means everything to us.
Making people happy is the overarching goal in my career and my art. Making people happy, giving them that little pep that keeps their day going, Art makes people happy because it makes people think. When you see something and it invokes an emotional reaction, it's not just the art that's doing that. It's the connection that art can give to people. Not all kinds of art, though. Pictures and movies, they entertain us. They give us a little escape from reality. And while some escapes leave us alone in our own little worlds, art connects us on a level that isn't available any other way.
When I was in kindergarten and the teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, I said I wanted to be an artist. My goals flitted back and forth for a long time, but after asking myself about it for years and years, I realized that I knew it all along. I was supposed to be an artist. That was why I was always drawing. That was why I was the only kid who liked going to art museums. That was why I read The Series of Unfortunate Events and obsessed over the illustrations, not the words. That was why I watched animated movies long after they were age-appropriate. I was meant to do this, I saw. I just had to figure out how I was going to.
College. I needed to go to college, specifically art school. It was scary though. I didn't know anyone who had gone to art school, and everyone who was looking at colleges was aiming for math and science. I was all alone. Then, Mr. Boyer stepped in. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life, pushed me to figure it out, and do so for myself. I researched. I looked into careers, trying to find the one that was perfect for me. And in the end, I had it narrowed down, but I wasn't sure. I knew I wanted to be commercial more than fine arts, and I knew that I wanted to make things that told stories. I've loved stories for a very long time, and I knew I wanted to have something to do with that. Animation or illustration, those were perfect for me. That is where I belong. And Columbus College of Art and Design is the school that can take me there.
Those goals will guide me through the next for years and on into my career. I hope that I can wake up every day and realize that I'm living the dream and telling stories that light up peoples lives.

Be amazed. For serious.

There's a novel? Forrealz?

It occours to me that I have a novel ("Because I have a voice!" from The King's Speech trailer, which I have not seen the movie for because it is only showing in New York, Toronto, and L.A.) and since I have said novel, I can give you quotations. Yay quotations.

“Well, it's sort of like an apology. In fact, I think you deserve a formal apology. So here it is; I'm sorry. I'm really sorry that I thought and talked like I knew everything about your life, because I totally didn't. I'm sorry.” I looked into her eyes, which were pointedly looking away from me “Will you accept my apology?”
“I would.” My hopes flew, until I realized quite what that could mean. “Except for one thing.”
“And what is that one thing?”
“The fact that you said it in the first place. The fact that you said it in the first place tells me one thing, and that is that you think you really do understand me. You don't. I need to talk to someone, and you're here, and I'm going to talk. I hope you're okay with that. I hope you don't read more into it than it's meant as, because all I need is a friend. You're that friend.”
I nodded. “Okay then. I'm here to listen.”
“Just listening.”
“Yeah...yeah, just listening.”
“And not judging.”
“No judging will be happening.”
“And all psychoanalysis will occur solely inside your own head.”
“But it's helpful, it really is. I'm just trying to help.”
She glared at me.
“Okay then, I get it. No psychoanalysis. Got it. That's fine.” She could be a little scary sometimes.
“Here it goes.” She nodded, closed her eyes, and started talking.

That's it, then.

I won. I won with less than twenty minutes to spare. I'm sitting on the couch. I won. I won. I won.

Last year, I was jumping up and down when I won.

This year, I'm just sort of in a daze. I wrote a lot today. More than I thought I would have, because things ended up being added wrong. 9,208, to be exact.

My 50,000th word was "She" Fitting.

I was really, really close to not winning.* I was worried.

He thought he would be the only one to win. I have some things to say about this, but the internet is a public place (so they say)

I like this novel. I really like it. At the end of the month, with all the others, I couldn't stand the thought of reading them, let alone editing them. I want to edit this one. I want to make it good. I want it to be great. While we're on the topic of editing, how do you make people sound as though they're a certain age? How do you make them sound like they're men or women? Any ideas?

I'm going to jump up and down for a while now. And do my book talk. And IR homework. And you know, go to college. Go college!

I won. I won. I won.
I still can't believe I won.

I won.

I won.

I won.

I think it feels just as good as last year, if not better.

*Under no condition is it acceptable to call me with an hour and a half of NaNoWriMo left. I do not care if your leg just fell off. You should not be seeking my attention. Sorry if I was being a bitch, but...I was very stressed out.

2 AM, we've got to stop meeting like this.

I'd much rather sleep with you.
Anyway, we have an excerpt. An excerpt, you say? How exciting! Jazzhands are in order, surely.* I've been on the computer a lot, mostly getting distracted. If all the words I see suddenly got a lot smaller, does that mean that my vision's going? Because it totally is.

“Yeah. This is impossible. You're amazing, but you can't do everything in a superhuman way. You'd kill yourself trying that.”
“I want to try, though. Don't you just want to hit that point where you've given something everything you've got and you know, for once, that you really wanted something?”
“Wanted it enough to die for it?”

So yeah, that's what I'm writing right now. Partayyyy. I think things are getting angstier** for both of my main characters, when in reality, only one of them should be angsty. But the diolauge? I love it so much. I love writing diolague between tehm, because they talk the way all of the characters in my head talk (and you should know that the above conversation isn't between them) sort of bantering back and forth very quickly, adding onto each other's unfinished thoughts because they fit together so perfectly.
*As I type this, I'm realizing just how interesting the things I'm writing right now will look in the morning. 'Tis the beauty of NaNo, is it not? Stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
**Spellcheck*** is telling me that this isn't a word. Clearly we need to have a chat about language.
***My footnotes have footnotes; I need to go to bed. But...shouldn't wizards have spellcheck? Yesh. Makes sure you don't do stupid things like sectumsempra without knowing what you're doing.

This post is questionable

What is happening with that title. And what is happening with my life?

I wrote 1882 words today, so that's mildly sexy.

Why is everything about sex now?

Because sex sells, that's why. Isn't that pathetic? Yes, yes it is.

Does the vast majority of this novel, like every other novel I've ever written, take place within the heads of my main characters? Does that disgust me? Does it disgust me that my characters don't feel like separate people, even though they are? Is characterization one of my main flaws as a person? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Was that a stylistic choice? Did I attempt to lighten my hair a little more today? Did it go well? Did I cause a TV to fall in the back of my car in an attempt to get to the library in time to return a DVD? Was that DVD Cat On a Hot Tin Roof? Was it totally awesome? Did it remind me absurdly of A Streetcar Named Desire, but with a markedly different ending? Did I think that Brick was pretty hot? Did I start the chess still life in CHARCOAL today?

Most importantly, have I been binging on fanfiction to procrastinate on my NaNoWriMo and my portfolio? That one, is, of course, a solid yes.

My brother is coming home tomorrow. It sure was nice to be an only child for a couple days. Zut.

So yeah.

I feel like all y'all deserve something more, but I don't really have anything to give you. So...wanna read my college essay? Yay college.
This was for the architecture school. Just so you know, if that isn't evident. Also, it's kind of dramatic, which...well...maybe wasn't the right thing to go for. Either way, I got in.

I like pretty buildings. I want to make pretty buildings and Lawrence Technological University is the school that can help me achieve my dreams. The first time I remember noticing a building, it was a church. I'm not sure where it was, but it was magnificent. The whole time I was there, my main focus was the ceiling. Where I come from, ceilings look like a flat, white piece of drywall. This was different. There were arches, there was stone, and it merged so effortlessly with the walls and windows that it appeared to be other worldly. Never before had I given thought to a ceiling, but after that, the thoughts wouldn't leave me. I realized I needed more of this, more pretty buildings.
I'm an art kid. I'm the one who turns in a math test covered in doodles, after which I go off to the nirvana of Commercial Art. Commercial Art taught me something that no other art class bothered with: Craftsmanship. Mr. Boyer, my teacher, thought that planning a project out and executing it perfectly was just as important as, if not more important than, having a good idea. I learned from him that a good idea isn't the only factor that goes into a good project, but that you need dedication and attention to the smallest of details to make a finished piece that you can be proud of.
For a long time, I thought that I wasn’t a natural leader. People didn’t gravitate towards the idea of following me, and it was a challenge for me to lead others in the right direction. Then I decided to become a counselor at the camp that I’ve gone to for years. Suddenly, I had to be a leader. People were relying on me. After the initial shock, I realized that I wasn't bad at it, that I could make judgments about the right thing for my group to do. I could persuade people to listen to me, and maybe, just maybe, I was a bit of a leader after all.
Everyone has their hopes and dreams. Some are possible, some aren't, but we cling to them because without them, we would have nothing. I want to re-purpose old buildings or design easy-to-construct, durable shelters for disaster victims. I want to make things that cause people to question the assumptions that they used to make about buildings. A building can change the world. I want to make magic, and architecture is that magic.
Lawrence Technological University can help me make magic and change the world through architecture. My leadership skills, dreams, and attention to detail will make me a successful architect.

Yay

I haven't blogged in a week. I've been tired and stressed and portfolio day didn't go nearly as well as I had hoped, but that's okay. It's fine. I'm alive, I'm mostly functioning, my hair is blonde (but not the parts that I can actually see without a mirror. Funny, that.) I was Narcissa for Halloween.
I have these ideas of stories that are told with words and pictures, but they're not illustrated, per say. They're just stories with images that sort of vaguely relate. Not like when people (not naming any names here) are writing a blog post and are like "OMR, no one will read this without a PICTURE" and proceed to find a random picture of a field or sunset on flickr and post it. These would be illustrations, and they would preferably feel like this and this and this. Like the kind of book that you just want to put on your shelf and read and love and sniff occasionally.
The pile started to fall over today after I turned the light off and hit it at the wrong angle. This is slightly worrying. Do I need a new bookshelf? What am I going to do with these books when I get to college?
NaNo Excerpt time? I think so. You should feel so privileged in that you are allowed to read this, which just so happens to be my baby. I may have gotten into a physical fight with someone who was larger than me in order to maintain possession of this book. It's that important.

She insulted me, yeah, but the way she insulted me, you could tell she was thinking about how I felt and what I thought and what my place in the social order was. That's an exciting feeling that someone who was once a far off social stretch has noticed you and given you some thought.

So that's the end. It's a short excerpt. Also, why on earth am I incapable of writing a character who doesn't sound exactly like me? WHY? Am I just too cemented in my voice? WHY?
Also, I'm so freeking behind on my wordcount. Like, 3,600 words behind. Kill me now, kthnxbai.

I'd just like to point out

That it's tententententen. And I'm so close to finishing this stupid drawing, you have no idea.

I'm thinking about professionalism and people who tragically misunderstand each other (Paper Heart) and supervillans who care about each other and art made of duct tape (DUCT TAPE!!!!) and strangely magnificant paper shapes and words in the sky and novels that are all part of the same story happening at different times.

Mental overload, just a little bit.

But I'm excited.

You want all those ideas mapped out, even if it makes for a less graceful and amazing blog post? You bet you do.

1. Professionalism. When do you become professional? Is it when you make money from something? Is it when you make a living from something? Is it when you go to college for something?

2. Paper Heart. That's the novella project, that's the NoQuNaNo, and that's the title that I just pulled out of thin air. Check it out, yo. Read it. Next summer. Tell your kids, tell your wife, and tell your husband.

3.The summer novel...Supervillans. There's four. The novel has pacing, yo.

*4. Duct tape. It looked like a painting. And then I went closer and it looked like cut out paper. And then I went closer and holy cow is that duct tape? It was ahamazing.

*5. Sculptural paper shapes. Sitting on the floor. It was awesome. They were folded paper, but they looked like they were magic.

6. Words. In the sky. This should happen in a movie.

7. A series of novels where different people tell different parts of the same story. Just thought of it today. May unseat the supervillans as the summer project. Is amazing, no?

*AAAAAAAAArtprize! I went there yesterday! It was awesome! It was mind-stretching! Yay!

Acquiring Awkward Absurdisim

I'm not quite sure what absurdist fiction is. Remember Fascism? It's like that.
"Absurdist fiction is a genre of literature, most often employed in novels, plays or poems, that focuses on the experiences of characters in situations where they ultimately cannot find, or where actions and events do not seem to be guided by, any higher purpose. Common elements in absurdist fiction include humour, satire, incongruity, the abasement of reason, and controversy regarding the philosophical condition of being "nothing."[1]. Works of absurdist fiction often explore agnostic or nihilistic concepts.
"While a great deal of absurdist fiction may be humourous or irrational in nature, the hallmark of the genre is neither comedy nor nonsense, but rather, the study of human behavior under circumstances (whether realistic or fantastical) that appear to be meaningless. Absurdist fiction posits little judgment about characters or their actions; that task is left to the reader. Also, the "moral" of the story is generally not explicit, and the themes or characters' realizations—if any —are often ambiguous in nature. Additionally, unlike many other forms of fiction, absurdist works will not necessarily have a traditional plot structure (i.e., rising action, climax, falling action, etc.).
"The absurdist genre grew out of the modernist literature of the late 19th and early 20th century in direct opposition to the Victorian literature which was prominent just prior to this period. It was largely influenced by the existentialist and nihilist movements in philosophy and the Dada and surrealist movements in art. Due to its non-conformist nature, many readers struggle with literary absurdism when they are first exposed to it. Indeed, it would be accurate to describe absurdism and absurdist fiction as an "acquired taste". Conversely, this genre is a favorite among scholars because it lends itself so well to interpretation, discussion, and debate."
Did I tell you how much I love it when I can fit an entire wikipedia article into a blog post? Does this mean that absurdist fiction is whatever you want it to be, as long as it makes very little sense? That seems like someone has just demolished the box I was trying to fit myself into. Absurdism seems to be like all other fiction, just another way for us to try and make sense of being human. I actually came to a ginormous revelation about this while ago, while I was trying to fall asleep with much futility (I cannot sleep while counseling. At all.), but I feel as though that is like a random discussion of sexuality: it might be better left unsaid.
In other news, my foot feels like it is going to fall off. Maybe not my whole foot. Maybe just part. Also, I learned to drive a stick shift today. Learned, in the sense that it's still pretty rough to start the car.
Aaaannnnnnnd, I finally saw A SINGLE MAN. This is crazy exciting. The movie was...well...it wasn't bad...it wasn't what I expected...but holy cow, the main character's house is gorgeous.
Isn't that what everyone gets out of the movies they watch?

Apparently

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I don't know who the eff this is. Never comes up in quizbowl.

What?

As you may have noticed, my most recent post was my 400th. I could take this opportunity to reminisce about the past three years of blogging and how it's changed my life in ways I couldn't have imagined, but I don't really want to. We'll save that for graduation or my 500th post or something. Really, I'm just thinking about the fact that I have 100 drafts floating around on blogger.
As for the Next-Week-Novel, Ixente and the steampunk world have been ditched. You could feel it happening, couldn't you? There was just less and less love with that story, and I knew that I would go crazy if I tried to write it when there was a new, shiny, wonderful story idea sitting in my notebook.
I have a page and a half planned out, compared to the 11 pages I have of the steampunk thing. This story is current and it involves death, two things that I require when writing. I'm going to aim for 8k every day, and I think that it should be attainable, given my lack of social life. If I can just get off facebook, I should be fine. On that note, if you want to talk to me in the next week and a half, you should call me. If you don't have my phone number and can't get it from someone else, you probably shouldn't be talking to me. The way I see it, 8k seems like a lot, but 2k four times a day doesn't seem too bad. If I want to, I can go to the new shiny wonderful library and write there. The only possible problem with this plan is that my hands may give out after a certian point, as they've done during previous NaNos. Well, they haven't given out, but they've started hurting in a way that says "Samantha, now is the time to stop writing and lay on the floor in the fetal position if you want to be able to use your hands in a week."
So yeah, that's my life.
I've been studying for finals too. And talking to someone about the ridiculousness of the possibilty of someone else being pregnant. Yeah, gossip.

Spiral

I just saw Sweeny Todd for the first time. It was awesome. Ahhh, handwaving awesomeness. It's the kind of awesome that requires me to invent words.
Among other things, I've been doing an awful lot of thinking about the steampunk novel thing lately. This involves a bit of writing and a lot of imagining what the world should look like. For instance, I realized the following in a burst of awesomeness: The mayor is Edvard Vossa, he was elected on something of a populist platform, against the world that Ixente and her family is a part of. There's about 400,000 people in the city, there's bunches of crumbling gothic architecture, the mayor and the council of seven are elected by popular vote. Legally, all adult males can vote, but measures are taken to prevent "gypsies" from voting. They constitute about 1/4 of the city and are very segregated.
Gee, does this explain my current lack of understanding in Algebra II?
In other news, I quite like this house and this bit of happiness and these videos and this ideal of the Black family* and this drawing and these illustrations and frankly, pretty things make me happy, and I just want to make pretty things. Is that too much to ask? I just want to make people happy with pretty things.

*No blog post is truly finished without a Harry Potter mention.

What? Why do things need titles? That's so arbitrary and meaningless!

I am feeling a little bit at odds with the universe right now, like I want some things but I'm not really sure what things they are, and the universe doesn't think that I should want those things. We have different agendas, and they never seem to coincide. I don't need them to coincide. I don't want them to coincide. I don't want to be like you, because I'm not like you.
That made no sense.
I'm okay with that not making sense.
I'm starting to think that nothing I think makes sense to anyone else.
I feel more and more obscure.
I want to run away.
I want to hide in the corner and tell stories that no one is listening to.
The people in my head, they want to get out.
They want to save the world.
I can't save the world.
I'm only expressing myself to myself.
I don't have anyone else to express myself to, do I?
You don't want to hear it.
I can hear you saying so.
Is that healthy?
I need to write more.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Wha wha what?

You've learned by now that it's easier not to ask.
Did everyone have a good Victory Day yesterday? I did. Anyway, there was no Fiction Friday last week. Why? Hadn't I written anything? Did Math and English suddenly get wildly interesting? No. Both of those statements are, thankfully, false. It's just that...the thing I wrote was bad. Terrible. I could be responsible for deaths, not because I really pulled on people's emotions, but because people threw themselves out of windows rather than read my zero-to-angst-in-two-hundred-words unfinished short story. You want an excerpt? Are you a masochist? Of course you are, of course you are, so you must want an excerpt.
"And i just want to get away from it right now, I want to scratch and slice my skin until I can't feel it anymore and then maybe, just maybe, it'll go away and I'll be alone and everything will be fine again like it hasn't been in a long time and I can do whatever I want. I'll be free, and I don't know quite how I'll handle it."
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go puke.