Open Diary Entries



ARGGHH! Damn you, Eoin Colfer.

Why do you have to be such a good writer?

So I'm reading book 3 of the Artemis Fowl series, Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code. Halfway through or so at this point. (Haha, you poor bastards--this book won't be for sale for another week or so. I bullied my boss into letting me abuse the book checkout policy to read a book that isn't released yet. Never let it be said that having a manager with no backbone isn't nice sometimes.)

Right, so. I'm reading. Laughing hysterically when Artemis, a thirteen-year-old genius, gets pissed off when adults patronize him. "I'll take tea. No sugar, obviously. It might make me hyperactive." "No, I do not want to see the children's menu." Smiling when Artemis actually cries over his bodyguard. Being annoyed at Grub Kelp and his concern over his hangnail. Reading intently while Holly attempts a healing way out of her league. Just generally enjoying the book immensely.

Enter self-doubt: Damn, I'm not this good, am I? Boy, that sucks. I want to be a writer but how good am I after all? Is Ivy as compelling a character as Artemis Fowl, Domovoi Butler, or Holly Short?

Enter realistic mindset: It's not like I can make a living writing even if I ever DO find someplace that wants to publish my amateur ass. Unless I'm the next J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, or (ahem) Eoin Colfer, I can't hope for much, can I?

Enter calming, oh-well mode: Well, so what? I've got a good job that I like okay. I make enough money to pay my bills. I'm not in debt. I have a billion friends and I'm generally happy and have no pressing problems short of finding time to maintain my Web site. Why am I being such a bitch about wanting more?

Enter panic: Oh shit, am I going to be doing this shitty bookstore job for my whole life??? Get me out of here!

Enter flashback: "I think you just need to tell everyone to fuck off for a couple of weeks." --Advice lovingly given by Meg. This was offered in response to my frustration (read: random burst of crying) over not having enough time to pursue my goals; the last day of complete bliss I can remember was a "day" that faded into two weeks, where I didn't sleep much, walked in the rain, and wrote and wrote and wrote until there was a whole novel in my hands. That was the first couple weeks of August. In 1996.

Enter more frustration: Telling everyone to fuck off for a couple weeks is no good. I need more than a couple weeks to pursue my life goals. My life can't possibly be put on hold long enough to chase the rainbows; there isn't that much time in the world.

Enter analyzation mode: What're my options? Short-term goal: Get enough editing contracts that I can drop to part time at the bookstore. How many contracts do I have? Count the professional editing contracts: One. How often do they send me stuff? Count the manuscripts: None, so far, save my ability tests to get the job. Other option: Drop to part-time after finding a part-time job as an editor of a local publication. Problem with that: None to be had, really. Another problem: Well fuck my ass! Working part-time and doing editing contracts, does that honestly leave me enough time ANYWAY to do my writing and pursue its publication? Analysis completed: DOES NOT COMPUTE.

Enter more self-doubt: Crap. What if I'm not good enough? My short stories keep getting rejected when I get up the courage and initiative to send them out. Now I've discovered that I write short stories when I want to make a point, so I make my point, leaving little room for ACTION. There's the problem, I think. Nothing happens, I just make little POINTS. Magazines don't want to publish my preaching. They want stories. And when I write stories, they're novels. I initially wanted to break into the short story market because that gives me a fighting chance at name recognition in the novel market. Getting a short story published was supposed to be EASIER. Now I can't even do that. It's not that I'm writing badly; I'm not writing what they want to buy, pure and simple.

Enter Cleanliness Alert: Damn, I really need to bathe, don't I?

Enter teary-eyed self-righteous bitching: Everyone needs to kiss my ass because Ivy rules.

Yeah, I think I'm having a pseudo-crisis. I hate feeling like this. Especially when I have more going for me than most of my friends who are keeping their mouths shut.


How can you read 3 books at 1 time...isn't that hard? [PumpkinTits]

That last comment: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Hoo boy, three at a time... more like 5 or 6. :) I wish that 2 weeks or a month would be enough... :( I love you sooooooo much and I want your happiness. [Meggie]

Happy last moments of Beltaine....... Self doubt=Bad, Self analysis=Good! There's always a way, but I'll be damned if it isn't hard to find. I feel the same way about my music....... Best Wishes.... [For Your Life]

You know, pumpkintits is very original name *teehee* Ivy is a very compelling character. :) Well, at least to me... though, I haven't read her stories in full. But you're latest character (waaay into the future here) Delia is just as compelling as Holly Short! [katqueen]

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