First Submission

Remember my New Year's Resolution to try to get one thing published?

I'm actually working on it for more than a day or two this year.

In fact, I've just submitted something to be published - the Barbie anthology thing. It was exactly 150 words, and it made my boyfriend laugh (which I'll take as a compliment, even though he kind of has to...).

It's kind of uplifting. Even if it doesn't get picked (and I'm sure a lot of people are submitting, so it very well may not), at least I tried.

Like it or not,

"Barbie is a role model!" (As the character Starla so charmingly puts it in the movie She Gets What She Wants.)

Now, I must admit, I was definitely one of those girls who loved Barbie. But whether you loved her or hated her, chances are, at least if you're a girl, you have a Barbie anecdote.

If so, check out the website of Tanya Lee Stone. She's writing a book about Barbie, and she wants anecdotes of, at most, 150 words. So polish your skill with succinctness, and take a stab at getting published.

And, to give credit where credit is due, I heard about this opportunity from the livejournal of Sarah Dessen.

I'm going to try. I even think I kind of know what I want to do... The hard part is keeping it to a mere 150 words. Eesh. Why am I so wordy?

Oh, and to get you in the mood, here's the first Barbie commercial. Ever! (Courtesy of YouTube)

A Bit of Dialogue

This is something I whipped up as application to a writing position. I'm not surprised I didn't hear back - the writing sucks. But, still, it's something I wrote, and therefore feel a compulsion to save somewhere before deleting it from my computer. And it's not all bad. It's not executed great, but the scene is there, and might inspire someone with greater writing talent than I possess. So read on - at your peril. ;)

Setting: A college classroom, with a chalkboard on one wall. In front of the chalkboard is a long table, behind which are two chairs. There are various student desks facing opposite the long table. About twelve students are seated.

Graduate Student Instructor (GSI): (walks into the room and sits at a chair behind the long table): Hello, everybody. (Removes a copy of the Aeneid and a legal pad covered with notes.) Now that we’ve finished Vergil’s work, we should be able to hold an interesting discussion.

Meg: Who’s Vergil?

Tiffany: (disdainful) The author of the Aeneid.

Meg: Oh, right.

GSI: Anyway, what are everyone’s thoughts on the end of the poem?

Meg: Poem?

Tiffany: I hope you don’t pass this class after making it so obvious you don’t do the reading.

Meg: (pouting) Well, that’s not very nice.

GSI: Now that we’ve covered the fact that the Aeneid is an epic poem written by a guy named Vergil, why don’t we begin analysis of the piece?

Tiffany: I thought the end of the poem was perfect. I mean, there’s a reason this poem has withstood the test of time – Vergil was a great writer.

Andrea: Well, Vergil was a fairly good writer, but I didn’t really like the ending. It was so abrupt.

GSI: It does seem abrupt, but that may not have been the way Vergil planned on ending it.

Tiffany: (haughty) That’s right. Vergil died before he considered the poem finished; he actually asked them to burn the manuscript entirely. Thank God they didn’t.

Andrea: You know, as much fun as it is to hear you sucking up to the GSI, I have SparkNotes, too. Why don’t you shut up and allow those of us who actually did the reading have the discussion?

(Conspicuous silence)

GSI: (wearily) Did anyone literally hold their copy of the Aeneid open and read the words contained therein?

(Andrea raises her hand)

Meg: (sighs) I wish you wouldn’t use such big words; we already know you’re smart.

GSI: (raises her eyebrows for a second, then lowers them) Well, it seems pointless to hold a conversation about something only a couple of people have read. If anyone actually does the reading, and wants to talk about it, come to my office hours. Next week, we’re having a quiz on the reading – one you can’t pass by glancing at SparkNotes. (picks up her bag and storms out of the room)

(Students glare at Andrea, who giggles nervously.)

New Year; Hello, 2009

So, an important part of a new year is, of course, setting goals.

I'm not much of a goal setter, but I've been pretty unhappy lately, so I figured, maybe that's one of the things that need to be changed.

Other than the weight loss and new job, I wish to focus on writing, as well.

I really am revising that silly story of mine from high school. It's going slowly, and I want to work on it everyday.

Then, I'm also working on a couple of short stories, and occasionally, (really shitty) poetry.

So this year, I want to focus on writing, and trying to get one thing published. If I can get one piece of writing published, I will be satisfied.

I mean, I'm bound to write something good sooner or later, right?

Um, yeah

So I quit.

Big surprise, huh?

I was just too exhausted, mentally, to make myself finish this year. I got incredibly behind, but for that last week, I just threw my hands up and said, "That's it. I give up. It's not happening."

I really did try, and I didn't even quite make it to the halfway point. And the story sucks, and I'm not looking at it anytime soon, because I just can't make myself.

Instead, I'm going to work on my vampire stories... And this is totally NOT b/c of the current Twilight craze. I've always been crazy about vampires. Not to the extent that I think I am one and wear false teeth and try to bite people or anything. I think it's because I think the idea of immortality is cool. I am very afraid of death, though I certainly don't want to get old, and the idea that not everything has to die is an appealing, if fantastical, one.

Anyway (note the lack of the s? I've got skills), I might continue posting about my writing here. Or I might just revert to my LiveJournal, which I still use, 'cause I'm a nerd. We shall see...

I don't know if it's going to happen this year

I'm trying. Valiantly. (Well, maybe not so valiantly, but trying, nonetheless.)

Maybe I just can't turn off my inner editor.

I was fairly excited with my story for the first couple of days. And then life intervenes, and I have to struggle to make myself drive to the library so I can use a computer, b/c I detest writing at least 1,667 words a day by hand. My word count is horrible. And I just feel like my writing is horrible.

I know everyone had to start out somewhere. We're not all Fitzgeralds. I'm certainly not. I can't push out a This Side of Paradise in a few months (or whatever it was). But I just have this feeling that I could never be a great writer. I'm not even sure if I want to be.

I have all of these ideas for stories, is the thing. But they never come out the way I want them to. And writing them kind of feels like an ideal.

I would love to write something that other people genuinely enjoy reading. But am I capable of that? I don't know.

And vague historical/literary references aside, what if I can't even write as well as that much beloved, much hated Meyer? (In my opinion, her books are too large due to lack of proper revision rather than because her writing is so good that it just had to be that large.)

I know how to write an essay. That's what I've done for the past four years, and I think I've done it fairly well. But fiction? I feel like I used to possibly have a talent for it, but if I did, the talent evaporated as I forced myself to write within the restrictions that my teachers wanted. "If." That's quite the conditional.

I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Guess I just needed to vent.

Back to my self-imposed torture chamber, a.k.a., Microsoft Word.

I Hate Everything

Okay, not really.

Today is just really, really not a cool day.

I'm behind on my writing, of course. Part of the reason is that I have to force myself to return to Purdue campus every day to use one of the computers available at the university because my own computer is not yet set up. Part of the reason is that I'm a born procrastinator. Exhibit A: This blog, which, technically, I shouldn't be posting in at all if my word count of the day isn't done, right?

I woke up today with a headache, and with my head feeling warm, though I'm not REALLY warm, I just feel that way. And I'm not really tired, so I don't think a nap is going to solve anything. I'm not sick, but I don't feel well.

And, as usual, work made me furious. In a way, this should be a good thing, because my novel is about a person who allows her frustrations with her fast food job to develop into homicidal tendencies upon which she acts. So my fast food job of the moment is actually a good thing. I have been writing a lot, so far, that draws from my actual experiences, but hyped up a bit. At the same time, I don't like doing a job I hate. It's such a chore to drag myself out of bed every morning at 6:30, and I think part of the reason I feel like crap a lot is because I don't like my job.

But what job would I prefer to do?

That is an excellent question. And honestly, I haven't a clue as to what the answer is.