"I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
You probably remember that inspiring scene from Dead Poets Society.
I kind of want to yawp like Todd Anderson was finally able to, but I guess that would scare my family, not to mention the rest of my neighborhood, half to death. So I'm settling for a virtual 'YAWP' today. Though it won't be nearly as gratifying as an actual one would.
I just got home a little while ago after a 9+ hour day at work. The truck comes in on Monday morning at 6am, so we have to stock till we drop. On the fourth of July, no one was allowed to go home until the entire store had been stocked up.
Anyway, today is the most stock I've ever done, at least by myself. I did almost the whole Unspeakable Aisle by my lonesome, with a bit of help from a male coworker, who was a good sport about it, and probably did a lot more than me today, so I have no place complaining.
I started out the day feeling a bit unwell (though somehow I kept up my 4-weeks-old tradition of Taco Bell Mondays for lunch), and before I got off I was stocking the strong-smelling shampoos and conditioners, so now I have a headache. It was hard to keep myself awake driving home, especially also since the sky is actually overcast in Austin right now. WHY WON'T IT RAIN? We've been in a constant drought all summer long.
There are quite a few reasons to YAWP today. And just in general.
1. Stocking
2. Headache
3. The drought
4. The e-mail I just got when I got home
5. Yesterday at JCPenney's
6. The false alarm
7. Awkward encounters of the other kind (not the third; I mean a gent, if you could call him that)
8. The ongoing search of the student for purpose
9. People on the road in cars who shouldn't be driving
10. The horrid state of the order of my room (or, the chaos that is my room) which I just can't seem to clear up
1, 2, and 3 have been explained already. YAWP.
9 and 10 are self-explanatory, I think. YAWP.
4. I can't say much about my e-mail for fear of offending anyone involved, though I am only really mad at myself for lack of creativity and for waiting so long to figure things out. I'm mad at myself and the situation, not anyone else but me. Basically I had what I thought was a great idea for an event, but it won't be possible for a few reasons. So now I need a new one. And my head hurts so much, and I'm working at 7am tomorrow. I do NOT have the capacity to troubleshoot this problem right now. YAWP.
5. Oh my God, so yesterday I drove to the mall to get a few important things for my roommate's and my off-campus apartment (which we'll move into in about a month). Went to JCP because they're having a Home Dept sale the 17-19th. (I recommend going! Though hopefully you won't have an experience similar to mine.) Picked up a 16-pc non-stick pots/pans set, went over to the checkout, and was the second person in line.
One of the two cashiers was just bagging stuff for someone who had already paid, but had Disappeared, and I was quite confused. This other lady who Hadn't Been in Line, but apparently felt she had been waiting as long as or longer than me, went to that cashier when she was done. The woman took ten minutes to checkout. The other cashier was dealing with a Problem customer who was insisting that she owned a JCP charge card when it was quite obvious she didn't (I know these people, and loathe them)--the whole time I was waiting, mind you.
Eventually, about ten minutes into my wait-time, I had to put down the box of pots (my arms are still sore from that today). Then I instantly (of course, because that's how the universe works) had to pick them up again, because Hadn't Been in Line just finished checking out. I was making my move to the cash register when another lady, whom I later realized was the customer who had Disappeared, just walks up to the free cashier and the cashier asks if she's ready. My jaw drops, and I set down my pot-set rather harshly. The other cashier is still dealing with the Problem customer, and I feared there was no hope I'd ever get home on time to the communal birthday party we were having for four family members that afternoon. Disappeared took just as long to check out as Hadn't Been in Line. Finally I got to check out, and the cashier didn't apologize for Disappeared taking my spot in line, as I would have, had it been me cashiering (it happens all the time where I work, but I guess the world isn't full of apologetic people like me...). But whatever. Then, at the end of my transaction, Disappeared reappears! From behind a pillow display tower! With a third round of things to buy! I high-tailed it out of there, dismissing the cashier's weak offer of sending the pots upstairs, because, honestly, then I would have had to wait for THAT, too. YAWP, indeed!
6. So I thought my alarm went off this morning, and I'm not quite sure why I thought so. Anyway, go to my bathroom to get ready for work, and get as far as washing my face, when I glance at the bathroom clock. 2:25am. I curse under my breath. I check all the other clocks in my room. Yep. 2:25am and I thought it had been 6:30am. No wonder I felt as if I hadn't gotten enough sleep. Of course, I ended up not getting enough sleep, still. I never get enough sleep. YAWP.
7. About two weeks into my summer job, the first time I was working until 11pm (you get a little loopy working that late, in my experience), around 10:15pm this Scruffy-looking guy comes into the store, reeking of cigarette smoke, and wants to buy a pack of Camel Blues, or Camel Lights, as they used to call them until recently. He looks older than he actually is (from the smoking I guess), so instead of asking him for his I.D. I just asked for his birthday, though I usually just make them up (because we have to put them in the system and I get tired of making them up...I end up making most people's birthdays in 1970...that's nice to some, mean to others...but they don't have to know). He was actually an 89er like me, and I told him that I was. I'm nice to all my customers, so I must have smiled at him before sending him on his way.
Scruffy comes back in about ten minutes later, when I don't have any customers. He says, "Well, so, I just knew I'd be kicking myself if I didn't at least ask, do you have a boyfriend? Because, you're just really nice and you have a beautiful speaking voice."
So Scruffy wanted to go out with me. Meep. Not that I would know from experience, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like dating a cigarette smoker. Especially one so dependent on them. I told him I was flattered.
But I lied and said, "Why, yes, I do have a boyfriend, actually. Sorry." Hey, he gave me the opportunity to say if I did, by asking. Otherwise, had he just asked me out, point-blank, I don't know what I would have said. Let's just say it probably wouldn't have been so kind and gentle a way of letting someone down.
Anyway, he came in again the other day, and I realized by his outfit that he waited tables at the nearby pizzeria. Awkward. He came to me and asked for Camel Blues again. Awkward. I pretended like I didn't remember him. Cowardly, but saved myself from more awkwardness. Anyway. YAWP.
8. More of the same, if you've read my first post, 'Grand Realization.' But even more-so than the same. Thought seriously about law school, for a day (as in, must not have been that seriously...guess I'll just leave that field to my friend James, who's way better at it than I'd ever hope to be). Thought about being an assistant librarian, this weekend. Nixed it when I found out you actually need a background in library sciences to be one. So I'd have to go to school some more for that, too. Thinking now about being an administrative assistant. Or a receptionist. Are those the same thing nowadays? I feel as if I keep hearing about them interchangeably. Anyway. Still want to be an author. That's not going to change. Of course, now I heard that "A writer is someone who finishes." More on that another time...but very disheartening. YAWP.
And here we are. Since I won't be expounding on 9 and 10. But I already said that.
I kind of want to quit my job, but that wouldn't be very economical of me. I'm pretty stressed out lately. I'd list the things that are getting me down, but I've YAWP'd enough about all that other stuff.
Note: I am a generally happy person. I promise. I just have my limits, and one of the purposes of this blog is to let it out when those limits have been reached.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: How great was that Harry Potter movie?? Right?! (That was a rhetorical statement.)
Monday, July 18, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Bad Days > Good Days?
Why is it that telling stories about bad days is infinitely more interesting than telling stories about good days?
Maybe because it makes us feel better to treat the bad stuff lightly, later, as a sort of joke.
Okay, I thought I was going somewhere with that. The real reason I decided to post again was because I realized I hadn't posted for almost a week.
I just cleaned out all the drawers in my dresser, in hopes of eliminating all the clothes I no longer wear. It was actually a lot to give away, and my motivation behind doing so was selfish. I want new clothes! Is that wrong?
Yeah, kind of. But at least I'm being honest about it?
Perhaps that fails to redeem me. Oh, well.
I went to Half Price Books for the first time yesterday. I already want to go back. Unfortunately, the reason for my visit was school-related, so I could see if they had the correct editions of my books for class. They had one, Travesties by Tom Stoppard, which is in fact a play. It's all right, most of my books are going to be brand new from Amazon, and I can't resist that new-book smell. Two of them came in already, and I just want to read them because they're gorgeous.
That could possibly be almost as bad as judging a book as bad from its cover. What I'm doing is, essentially, judging books by their covers, but just that they will be amazing, instead of horrible or boring.
I was looking for a French textbook on a low shelf in the Languages section at the store, and I couldn't find it, so I stood up. And what stood me in the face, but for the Writing/Getting Published section. Four solid shelves of self-help books pertaining to what I've been thinking about so often these days.
And I went a bit spastic, going through all the titles and not knowing which one to choose (because of course upon finding the section I knew I must buy one of them, as long as it was under four dollars).
Then I saw the book Sparknotes put out on writing short stories (and I have, actually, finished three short stories and begun more since), and it was $3.98, so I went for it.
And it hasn't been very helpful. I've skimmed it, and handed it off to my sister Sarah (aka Food Nut, on blogspot), who will benefit from it, she says.
I went to Barnes & Noble later in the day, after bringing my other sister to her piano lesson. Saw the new Meg Cabot book, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to purchase it. I don't understand the kind of power that woman's writing has over me, she's not nearly the crème de la crème of the writers in contemporary literature!
Sigh. What else?
I can't seem to stop writing lately. Great, now that I said that, I'm sure I've jinxed myself. Awesome. But yesterday I managed to write about a thousand words in one sitting, which is better than I usually do.
I keep getting so distracted while I'm writing this post, gosh.
In other news, I don't know what kind of job I'll be getting in LAUD, but I hope to God I'll be able to pay off my student loans at a good clip. Just thinking of that since I had to get this year's financial aid sorted out recently.
Is a day 'bad' if you're just kind of bored? Or full of ennui? Ennui is a type of boredom, but an extreme kind. The French kind. Okay, now I'm just being silly. This isn't an interesting post at all.
I think I'll just blame the 97-degree heat (I feel as if it's hotter than that, though), and the fact that I have to wake up at 5:30am tomorrow, for my ennui and general discontent, and call this lamest-post-ever a wrap.
Christine out.
PS: Keep hearing this song on the radio, and I kind of like it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E It's a bit haunting.
Maybe because it makes us feel better to treat the bad stuff lightly, later, as a sort of joke.
Okay, I thought I was going somewhere with that. The real reason I decided to post again was because I realized I hadn't posted for almost a week.
I just cleaned out all the drawers in my dresser, in hopes of eliminating all the clothes I no longer wear. It was actually a lot to give away, and my motivation behind doing so was selfish. I want new clothes! Is that wrong?
Yeah, kind of. But at least I'm being honest about it?
Perhaps that fails to redeem me. Oh, well.
I went to Half Price Books for the first time yesterday. I already want to go back. Unfortunately, the reason for my visit was school-related, so I could see if they had the correct editions of my books for class. They had one, Travesties by Tom Stoppard, which is in fact a play. It's all right, most of my books are going to be brand new from Amazon, and I can't resist that new-book smell. Two of them came in already, and I just want to read them because they're gorgeous.
That could possibly be almost as bad as judging a book as bad from its cover. What I'm doing is, essentially, judging books by their covers, but just that they will be amazing, instead of horrible or boring.
I was looking for a French textbook on a low shelf in the Languages section at the store, and I couldn't find it, so I stood up. And what stood me in the face, but for the Writing/Getting Published section. Four solid shelves of self-help books pertaining to what I've been thinking about so often these days.
And I went a bit spastic, going through all the titles and not knowing which one to choose (because of course upon finding the section I knew I must buy one of them, as long as it was under four dollars).
Then I saw the book Sparknotes put out on writing short stories (and I have, actually, finished three short stories and begun more since), and it was $3.98, so I went for it.
And it hasn't been very helpful. I've skimmed it, and handed it off to my sister Sarah (aka Food Nut, on blogspot), who will benefit from it, she says.
I went to Barnes & Noble later in the day, after bringing my other sister to her piano lesson. Saw the new Meg Cabot book, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to purchase it. I don't understand the kind of power that woman's writing has over me, she's not nearly the crème de la crème of the writers in contemporary literature!
Sigh. What else?
I can't seem to stop writing lately. Great, now that I said that, I'm sure I've jinxed myself. Awesome. But yesterday I managed to write about a thousand words in one sitting, which is better than I usually do.
I keep getting so distracted while I'm writing this post, gosh.
In other news, I don't know what kind of job I'll be getting in LAUD, but I hope to God I'll be able to pay off my student loans at a good clip. Just thinking of that since I had to get this year's financial aid sorted out recently.
Is a day 'bad' if you're just kind of bored? Or full of ennui? Ennui is a type of boredom, but an extreme kind. The French kind. Okay, now I'm just being silly. This isn't an interesting post at all.
I think I'll just blame the 97-degree heat (I feel as if it's hotter than that, though), and the fact that I have to wake up at 5:30am tomorrow, for my ennui and general discontent, and call this lamest-post-ever a wrap.
Christine out.
PS: Keep hearing this song on the radio, and I kind of like it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E It's a bit haunting.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Novel Seeking Ending
It's one of my days off. I love these days. I feel as if I have all the time in the world to spend on absolutely nothing.
If only that were true. Hey, even future bestselling authors (I'm not conceited, I'm just hopeful) are told by their fathers that they have to clean their rooms. Heck, especially future bestselling authors. We're a disorganized bunch, aren't we?
Anyway. As you can tell, I'm procrastinating from all the cleaning I ought to be doing.
Just got back from errands for Mom. And potentially a secret mission for my dad and my sister Emily's birthday next week. They actually have the same birthday. There's a lot of that in my family. I was almost born on my grandpa's birthday, and my cousin was almost born on my uncle's birthday.
Damn, I wish I had something more interesting to say. This is all just talk. No less, and certainly no more.
Lately I've been writing a novel. Well, two. Well, more like five or six, I just can't seem to stick to anything.
Mainly I'm working on the mystery novel I started when I was a sophomore/junior in high school. One of those stories I began in the summer. Anyway, I was looking at patching up the bits of it I've actually written (about 29,000 words altogether; I tend to write entire scenes at once, but not necessarily in order--I write whatever comes to me at the moment, so first maybe I write a climactic scene and then I go back and work on the status quo of the main character--I'm insanely out of order when I'm inspired).
And then, like a bolt out of the blue, the storyline of its sequel hit me. Just, hit me. It's all I could think about for a few hours, and I wrote bits and pieces of it, and now I'm inclined to believe this sequel is quite possibly going to be better, more interesting, and easier to write. More will be at stake. So actually it's brilliant.
One problem. Because there has to be a problem, if the idea seems so wonderful. A big problem, actually.
I have to finish writing the original story first. That doesn't seem so bad, does it? I mean, patch it up, write up the scenes that are missing, edit it and re-write the parts that need work, get an agent, have them find a publisher who'll take it, see if it's successful. Then maybe a sequel.
Okay, no, that's not at all how I work! I've already started the sequel, of course! Because I can't help myself, and I can never leave well enough alone. That's me. I meddle even with my own stuff.
One might ask if I could make the sequel the first one, somehow, but so much of what happens in the first novel, which is not entirely exciting, is necessary to the understanding of the proposed sequel.
God, I'm confusing myself.
Anyway. I'm one of those insomniatic writers. I don't achieve full inspiration until about 12:30am. And then it's time for bed.
Well, take care, you reader you. May you not be plagued with these anxious thoughts and imaginations.*
Christine out.
* Sort of a quote -- but not really -- from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers. Also, my Confirmation saint. Even though he's a man and I'm not.
If only that were true. Hey, even future bestselling authors (I'm not conceited, I'm just hopeful) are told by their fathers that they have to clean their rooms. Heck, especially future bestselling authors. We're a disorganized bunch, aren't we?
Anyway. As you can tell, I'm procrastinating from all the cleaning I ought to be doing.
Just got back from errands for Mom. And potentially a secret mission for my dad and my sister Emily's birthday next week. They actually have the same birthday. There's a lot of that in my family. I was almost born on my grandpa's birthday, and my cousin was almost born on my uncle's birthday.
Damn, I wish I had something more interesting to say. This is all just talk. No less, and certainly no more.
Lately I've been writing a novel. Well, two. Well, more like five or six, I just can't seem to stick to anything.
Mainly I'm working on the mystery novel I started when I was a sophomore/junior in high school. One of those stories I began in the summer. Anyway, I was looking at patching up the bits of it I've actually written (about 29,000 words altogether; I tend to write entire scenes at once, but not necessarily in order--I write whatever comes to me at the moment, so first maybe I write a climactic scene and then I go back and work on the status quo of the main character--I'm insanely out of order when I'm inspired).
And then, like a bolt out of the blue, the storyline of its sequel hit me. Just, hit me. It's all I could think about for a few hours, and I wrote bits and pieces of it, and now I'm inclined to believe this sequel is quite possibly going to be better, more interesting, and easier to write. More will be at stake. So actually it's brilliant.
One problem. Because there has to be a problem, if the idea seems so wonderful. A big problem, actually.
I have to finish writing the original story first. That doesn't seem so bad, does it? I mean, patch it up, write up the scenes that are missing, edit it and re-write the parts that need work, get an agent, have them find a publisher who'll take it, see if it's successful. Then maybe a sequel.
Okay, no, that's not at all how I work! I've already started the sequel, of course! Because I can't help myself, and I can never leave well enough alone. That's me. I meddle even with my own stuff.
One might ask if I could make the sequel the first one, somehow, but so much of what happens in the first novel, which is not entirely exciting, is necessary to the understanding of the proposed sequel.
God, I'm confusing myself.
Anyway. I'm one of those insomniatic writers. I don't achieve full inspiration until about 12:30am. And then it's time for bed.
Well, take care, you reader you. May you not be plagued with these anxious thoughts and imaginations.*
Christine out.
* Sort of a quote -- but not really -- from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers. Also, my Confirmation saint. Even though he's a man and I'm not.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Grand Realization
So I'm a noob. To this blogging thing, anyway. All right, that's a lie. I used to blog on Xanga years ago with my misadventures in baby-sitting, but then I quit my gig and therefore didn't need to vent about the horrible woman I was working for any longer.
Anyway. I tend to say 'anyway' a lot. I hope that won't be a problem. Or distracting. Of course now that I said something about it, that's going to be distracting.
Anyway. Today I was talking with my dear friend Allie about LAUD (my own shortened form of 'Life After UD'--life after college). LAUD is coming up, and much too fast. I'm going to be a senior this coming year, and I'm terrified about my prospects as far as the 'after-life' of college goes.
It seems that half the people we know at school (Allie included) are taking the GRE this summer, fully intent on going to graduate school right after we, well, graduate.
I found myself in a similar state a few weeks ago. I was PMSing like crazy, got super depressed, and was on my way to the mall for retail therapy (okay, just buying a pair of requisite khaki pants for my CVS uniform) when I accidentally missed the turn-lane to merge onto the correct highway. I happened upon (well, I knew it was there, truth be told) a Barnes and Noble. I parked, went in, and made a beeline for the testing books section. Before I scarcely knew what I was doing, I had gotten to the front registers and was purchasing the Princeton Review's guide to the new 2012 GRE. For a stint, that made me feel better. As if, that were my grand purpose, you know? My plan. A plan.
Went to the mall, tried on about twenty pairs of pants until I found a viable option for work, and looked at myself in the dressing room mirror. I seriously didn't know that girl in the mirror, with the bags under her eyes, and the gross-looking hair (if there's one physical feature I'll claim any worthiness to it's my hair. It's a naturally-straight smattering of gold, red, and brown strands, and I've never done anything to it--usually it behaves with conditioner and I'll have a decent hair day), and the flushed cheeks.
God, I can't tell a story without never-ending tangents.
Basically, I looked like a wet dog. It was disgusting. So, feeling sorry for myself, I indulged at the Steak and Shake in the food court. Felt kind of pathetic, just hanging around the mall by my lonesome...it's not fun to go there yourself, really, even though in theory it seems it would be.
I got home in about an hour and announced my GRE book purchase to my parents. They were a bit surprised, if I recall correctly, and wondered, 'well, what are you going to do if you go to grad school? Do you really want to go? Or is it just a way to put off deciding, because you're going to have to have a pretty good reason to go to school more?'
Fair enough, of course.
I practically broke down. I just didn't have an answer, and it had been bothering me for so long, that I didn't have an answer (and still don't). So Dad sat me down and helped me list my options. I don't want to teach anymore, so that limited the list. The list pretty much consists of technical writing, editing, and...oh wait, that's it.
For a couple months now I've been saying, 'oh, yeah, I want to go into publishing' when people ask. And everyone asks. I'm going into my last year of school, for crying out loud. I just wanted to PICK something, you know? And yeah, I kind of like editing. Enough to make it my career? Sure.
So it's not what I want. What I 'want' isn't something you can simply say you're going to go out and do. It's one of those things you just have to be practical about, what you're going to pursue. You have to aspire to an attainable goal, don't you?
I've always thought so. Ever since my grandpa had my dad show me Parade magazine's annual income issue, wherein they give examples of different salaries for different people in different occupations in different parts of the country. And see who makes what. It was a way of showing me that what I want to do is impractical, so I have to go to school and learn to do something else. Well, I didn't necessarily do that. I learned to do what I want to do, and while this blog post may not be a great example of what I can do...
I want to write. Desperately. And I don't just want to write. I do write, a lot. I've written enough to fill volumes. Fiction, mostly. I haven't finished a novel yet, but I've halfway finished a few different ones.
And I need to write. I need it sometimes like I need oxygen. I am aware of the sheer corny nature of that statement, but its corniness (poetic license much?) doesn't make it any less true.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: Well, there you go, Allie.
Anyway. I tend to say 'anyway' a lot. I hope that won't be a problem. Or distracting. Of course now that I said something about it, that's going to be distracting.
Anyway. Today I was talking with my dear friend Allie about LAUD (my own shortened form of 'Life After UD'--life after college). LAUD is coming up, and much too fast. I'm going to be a senior this coming year, and I'm terrified about my prospects as far as the 'after-life' of college goes.
It seems that half the people we know at school (Allie included) are taking the GRE this summer, fully intent on going to graduate school right after we, well, graduate.
I found myself in a similar state a few weeks ago. I was PMSing like crazy, got super depressed, and was on my way to the mall for retail therapy (okay, just buying a pair of requisite khaki pants for my CVS uniform) when I accidentally missed the turn-lane to merge onto the correct highway. I happened upon (well, I knew it was there, truth be told) a Barnes and Noble. I parked, went in, and made a beeline for the testing books section. Before I scarcely knew what I was doing, I had gotten to the front registers and was purchasing the Princeton Review's guide to the new 2012 GRE. For a stint, that made me feel better. As if, that were my grand purpose, you know? My plan. A plan.
Went to the mall, tried on about twenty pairs of pants until I found a viable option for work, and looked at myself in the dressing room mirror. I seriously didn't know that girl in the mirror, with the bags under her eyes, and the gross-looking hair (if there's one physical feature I'll claim any worthiness to it's my hair. It's a naturally-straight smattering of gold, red, and brown strands, and I've never done anything to it--usually it behaves with conditioner and I'll have a decent hair day), and the flushed cheeks.
God, I can't tell a story without never-ending tangents.
Basically, I looked like a wet dog. It was disgusting. So, feeling sorry for myself, I indulged at the Steak and Shake in the food court. Felt kind of pathetic, just hanging around the mall by my lonesome...it's not fun to go there yourself, really, even though in theory it seems it would be.
I got home in about an hour and announced my GRE book purchase to my parents. They were a bit surprised, if I recall correctly, and wondered, 'well, what are you going to do if you go to grad school? Do you really want to go? Or is it just a way to put off deciding, because you're going to have to have a pretty good reason to go to school more?'
Fair enough, of course.
I practically broke down. I just didn't have an answer, and it had been bothering me for so long, that I didn't have an answer (and still don't). So Dad sat me down and helped me list my options. I don't want to teach anymore, so that limited the list. The list pretty much consists of technical writing, editing, and...oh wait, that's it.
For a couple months now I've been saying, 'oh, yeah, I want to go into publishing' when people ask. And everyone asks. I'm going into my last year of school, for crying out loud. I just wanted to PICK something, you know? And yeah, I kind of like editing. Enough to make it my career? Sure.
So it's not what I want. What I 'want' isn't something you can simply say you're going to go out and do. It's one of those things you just have to be practical about, what you're going to pursue. You have to aspire to an attainable goal, don't you?
I've always thought so. Ever since my grandpa had my dad show me Parade magazine's annual income issue, wherein they give examples of different salaries for different people in different occupations in different parts of the country. And see who makes what. It was a way of showing me that what I want to do is impractical, so I have to go to school and learn to do something else. Well, I didn't necessarily do that. I learned to do what I want to do, and while this blog post may not be a great example of what I can do...
I want to write. Desperately. And I don't just want to write. I do write, a lot. I've written enough to fill volumes. Fiction, mostly. I haven't finished a novel yet, but I've halfway finished a few different ones.
And I need to write. I need it sometimes like I need oxygen. I am aware of the sheer corny nature of that statement, but its corniness (poetic license much?) doesn't make it any less true.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: Well, there you go, Allie.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)