Squeak, squeak, squak
Feb. 4th, 2002 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neversremedy8Well, I just got my hug . . . ::sighs:: A certain little Squeaker, caming (literally) squeaking into this room (she insisted on sleeping with her squeaky shoes on). She's wearing a pale pink onsie, a hot pink scarf, her dark blue mittens, and her white and red Hello Kitty shoes. I've talked to her about her fashion statements, and though I make suggestions for a different combination of clothing, she coordinates the way she wants to sometimes. Silly baby. ::smiles::
I shouldn't put myself down too much... I may not have been working on *the* story, but I'm two-thirds of the way through on the Hotel California story. I just have to work out an ending that makes sense . . . and isn't too cliche. Hmm . . . endings are such a bitch! But I'll get through it, really. I knew I could do it when I wrote a short story (beginning, middle AND end) and sent it into a contest. No, I didn't win, but I FINISHED THE STORY. That's the important part. We'll look right past the fact that the Stranger's editorial staff loved my story but still didn't choose it. Why? Not for me to question. But if you'd like to write letters of protest, feel free. ::smiles wickedly::
Why are we put here, filled with all of these stories and ideas, and then find our writing implements (namely our brains) broken and lacking in the connections needed to take what's inside and present it to the world exactly as we envision it? I feel the same way about my drawing, my dancing. Is it just me? I mean, there's a reason writers are driven to drink and use drugs, right?
It's all words, all meaningless, so why the persistent push to write? Maybe some of us don't want to worship at the altar of words, and yet I feel myself being made to kneel, to light the incense, to pray to the holy gods of language. Bah! I feel like such a Tomfool! Where's Enaen when you need him?
I shouldn't put myself down too much... I may not have been working on *the* story, but I'm two-thirds of the way through on the Hotel California story. I just have to work out an ending that makes sense . . . and isn't too cliche. Hmm . . . endings are such a bitch! But I'll get through it, really. I knew I could do it when I wrote a short story (beginning, middle AND end) and sent it into a contest. No, I didn't win, but I FINISHED THE STORY. That's the important part. We'll look right past the fact that the Stranger's editorial staff loved my story but still didn't choose it. Why? Not for me to question. But if you'd like to write letters of protest, feel free. ::smiles wickedly::
Why are we put here, filled with all of these stories and ideas, and then find our writing implements (namely our brains) broken and lacking in the connections needed to take what's inside and present it to the world exactly as we envision it? I feel the same way about my drawing, my dancing. Is it just me? I mean, there's a reason writers are driven to drink and use drugs, right?
It's all words, all meaningless, so why the persistent push to write? Maybe some of us don't want to worship at the altar of words, and yet I feel myself being made to kneel, to light the incense, to pray to the holy gods of language. Bah! I feel like such a Tomfool! Where's Enaen when you need him?
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no subject
Date: 2002-02-05 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-02-05 10:11 am (UTC)You know, when I get a decent computer again, I'll be *happy* to show you around EverQuest. ::winks::