Go on, read it. I dare you.
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The link goes to a short story that I did as my project for a creative writing class I took this last semester, and its 25 pages represent countless hours of brainstorming, writing, and rewriting. This last draft went from 3rd to 1st person and a extreme refinement of the prose and character of the writing within it, and I’m sort of proud that I was able to pull that off so well. Anyway, I go into more detail on the Author’s Comments for the story’s DA entry and I won’t blather on here. Feel free to post comments, criticisms, and friendly snarky remarks.
May 13
Hey folks.
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In the grand scheme of things, I’ve realized several things:
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1. That trying to juggle working nearly full-time, full-time college, and any sort of private life is nearly impossible, at least not without killing myself. Ah, there’s some joy.
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2. It’s also the fast road to sickness, judging how I handled a 35 hour work week in addition to Senior crunch time with was almost the same amount of time when factoring in my usual class and homework time. That’s nearly half the week there, and when you factor in eating, sleeping, and an hour and a half roundtrip commute, “free” time becomes rather scarce. Not that I’m really complaining or anything, if I was you’d be seeing a picture of my in mounds of black eyeliner and a bad black dye job since it is more or less that stressful.
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3. It also puts the kibosh on updating blogs and other cathartic wastes of time. I did find some time this weekend to open up and play some FES, so that cheered me up, along with seeing Iron Man and Speed Racer.
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I won’t promise that I’ll be updating more regularly, at least not until after finals are over this weekend, but I will more often.
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Addendum: I’m currently trying to write a final paper on George Lamming’s Natives of my Person for a lit class, and considering the beating my brain took earlier today on my History final, I’m surprised at how coherent I am writing both it and this. Boy, deconstructing and phrasing the relationships between men and women in post-colonial colonial fiction in terms of nation and national (as in peeps, not things belonging to a nation) is actually sort of fun.
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Please shoot me now.