Hellllloooooo faithful readers!
I apologize for the delay in my blogging. The reason I haven’t yet posted anything since I got home is feeling the pressure of the daunting task of writing down my entire month of backpacking. This caused me to go into “I’ll do it tomorrow…” mode. So, here’s what I’m going to do… I’m going to wait and do the month of travel part at another time. I took lots of notes while I was gone. Quite honestly, it was all memorable enough without notes and I PROMISE it’ll be up eventually, but it’s realistic to say it might not happen until I get back to the states.
Mom is coming to visit in a week. Maggie and Marja are coming on the 15th of May. Pat is coming at – some point – in his traditional Pat fashion. I’ve got finals to study for, and a short story to make perfect in the next week.
But, I’m back! I promise! I’ll return to doing my normal “whats happening” blogs, and maybe if I have a slow day here and there, I will pound out a few words about the backpacking.
This is a long way of saying I’ll do what I can. It probably won’t be very well organized, but I’ve got this all on a word document on my computer, so, I will organize it when it’s complete.
After the month was over, we got to Amsterdam Schipol Airport, and flew back to London. Hopped the train to Norwich, and then got the bus from the station to the dorm. I turned my phone on and sent a text message to Dom, reading: “Crack the champagne, bitch! D-Funk-Robbins is back in town!” Dom sent me one back saying “I’ll chill the bubbly. Good to have you home.”
Now, I’m a fan of demanding people ‘crack the champagne’ for minor accomplishments. I don’t ever really mean it, and though I don’t think Dom believed I was serious… he indeed WAS chilling a bottle of champagne, and cracked it when I walked in. I felt very, very loved. Most of my 9 roommates were in the kitchen and they made a toast. It was a wonderful welcome home.
The next few days – hell – the rest of the week was almost entirely dedicated to resting, doing laundry, grocery shopping, oh yeah – and homework. I had an interesting experience in my fiction class.
The first story of the semester I turned in I turned in thinking “Yeah! This is bad ass!” I turned it in then emailed Mom a copy. I’ll break here to say that Mom is an excellent editor, and has been trying to prove to me for years that she won’t just say she likes something ‘because she’s my Mom.’ She proved it, once and for all with this story.
“Uhm… well, sweetie – at no point, anywhere in this entire story does it make any rational sense, resemble anything such as coherency, or have believable characters…” I took this criticism like a champ and IMMEDIETLEY got defensive and suggested that she just didn’t get ‘what I was going for.’ Well, the rest of my class thought it was pretty bad, also. But, the work shopping process succeeded, and I actually think the story turned into to one of the finest pieces of craft I’ve written.
So, I was suppose to turn in my second story of the semester the day I returned. I didn’t. I emailed the professor to inform him this wasn’t going to happen. He said this was fine but I needed to have one into him by Thursday AT THE LATEST. I pounded out 1,800 words, edited it a few times, sent it in. I was thinking “This is shit, this makes no sense.” I sent it to Mom.
“It’s really good…” says Mom.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my-”
“DON’T YOU DARE SAY I AM JUST SAYING THAT BECAUSE I’M YOUR MOM! I WAS HONEST ABOUT YOUR LAST STORY, WASN’T I?!?”
Point taken.
“Okay… but… I think it sucks. How can it possibly be as good as you’re saying?”
She told me what she liked about it, and we agreed that I’d see what the workshop group said.
Even they liked it! Even the metal-head who writes about snapping people’s necks and kicking zombies in the face seemed to like it.
Conclusion: I’m a terrible judge of the quality of my own work.
1 comment:
Yeah, I didn't email you asking when you'd be writing again because I don't give a crap!
Oh! Zing!
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