don't look, my soul is bare
2:59 p.m. on 2005-10-24
Well! I've been working on my little novelito all day. My character has found the money and is almost out of her house. I've finally realized that I'm going to finish this damn thing. I don't know if it will ever be published, or if I'll even try to get it published, but just the fact that I am going to complete it is like a huge weight lifted from my soul. I think I'm going to be proud of my story, I think that, although I have been having troubles with parts of it, in the end it will be something that I would not only read, but that I would enjoy immensely. I know that sounds weird, conceited almost, or just meaningless because why wouldn't someone want to read what they have written? I mean, it is their story, the creation of their imagination, they can make it whatever they want. But I have written plenty of tripe in my life that I can't stand to look at as soon as it is put to paper. And, I was listening to an author on NPR last night talk about her latest book, how it wasn't something she would actually want to read herself. And it gave me tingles, it made me realize that, be it as it may, at least my story is something I personally like. It is a piece of my bare, geeky, twisted soul laid bare in literary form, and whether or not other people will enjoy it is really secondary. Of course, writing is in itself an exercise in futility, shouting obscenities into the looming void. What's the point? But who cares. I have to keep myself awake somehow. My dad tells me that my Uncle John, at the completion of his album, fired his whole band and said he's going to re-record the whole damn thing. i've heard one of the tracks and it sounds fine, but, you know, he's the songwriter. Perfection has its place, as does the artistic hissy-fit. What a scandalous young man.
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