I have a huge paper due, so I’m going to start messing around with my Tumblr, you know, make it look pretty and stuff, actually give some fucks. Because fuck writing that paper until the night it’s due.
Okay, so I am super paranoid and I have a lot of sleep disorders that need to be treated (mostly due to anxiety at night). But tonight I was actually pretty calm listening to music and watching Hey Arnold and suddenly, out of fucking nowhere, the remote that is like six inches away from me, starts shaking, like rocking up and down real fast, and I’m not touching it, so I scream “Holy shit!” and jump to the other side of the couch. And my dogs, the real small one and the real big one, they’re fucking sleeping through it, like it’s nothing, because fuck it they’re dogs. And I’m silently freaking out, but then I calm down, rationalize it. Whatever, it’s not that scary, and besides I probably bumped it. So I just ignore it for a while. And then eventually I try to recreate what happened, but nothing I do besides moving the remote with my hand can make it do the same motion. AND THEN I remembered the time the same thing happened to me like six years ago when I was showering and a bottle of shampoo did the same thing. And then I remembered when I was a kid and one of my dolls moved by itself.
And meawhile, I’m like:
“I’M TWENTY-TWO, I NEED AN ADULT.”
And then I proceeded to make my mother sleep on the other couch in the living room with me.
I realized I will have a nice eight month period after I graduate before I begin grad school. In that time I will dye my hair cherry red, get a slew of tattoos (including my Whitman tattoo), work at a mindless office job for forty hours a week, travel and write and send my novel to publishers.
And then I’ll go to grad school and pretend to be a functioning adult.
So I saw the Avengers twice in two days, which is a big deal for me because I can’t deal with watching movies more than once. What I’m saying is that I loved that movie. What I’m saying is that there will probably be more Avengers shit on my dash for a while, but it will still be outnumbered by the gratuitous amount of GoT/ASoIaF, especially now that the show’s dealing with THAT story line.
Please stop being so stupid.
tiny rib cage is tiny.
I love my boobs
My boobs are large and bothersome.
36B. PROUD MEMBER OF THE ITTY BITTY TITTIE COMMITTEE!
No one believes me unless they seem them unsheathed.
That time I broke up with my boyfriend of two years because he hates Game of Thrones.
Okay. After writing a depressing, rambling Tumblr post about how shitty I’m doing right now, and then proceeding to cry at work (the big, ugly, sobbing kind), I’ve decided to create an action plan for actioning to get my life back into some semblance of order. And I’m posting it on Tumblr so I actually do it.
Putting a cut, because this is probably going to be long and boring.
There is sincerely no feeling in the world like writing a story and knowing it’s good and when you are done it will be the best thing you ever wrote. That sound pretentious as hell, but it’s true. 90% of the time, the things I write are shit. It’s just fact. I can honestly say of the hundreds of stories I have wrote in my life, there are probably five or six good ones. Two of those are published, two are waiting to be polished before being sent out again and one is getting a name change and is getting sent out to a few places tonight.
Anyway, at the moment I’m working on a novel. I began writing it in November last year for NaNoWriMo and it was shit. Absolute shit. Like my brain vomited on a blank Word document. It started out as a story about two friends in post-WWI Germany who are trying to make a film. I was really, very depressed when I was writing it, so it was a very bleak story. It can probably be summed up as “life is horrible, your dreams will be crushed and the only person you’ve ever loved will betray you.”
A year and five drafts later, and it’s dark comedy, fantasy, post apocalyptic, violent story about werewolves. Not pussy werewolves either. The kind that eat people and stuff because FUCK YOU. Cool werewolves. If they were in high school, they’d probably wear sunglasses and not let you sit at their table.
I’m not really sure where the transition happened. I just know that for the first time since I’ve tried writing a novel, things are actually coming together. Important parts of the plot aren’t replaced with messages to myself that read “Dear Future Self: Hey Asshole, figure this shit out.” Characters are finally coming together. There aren’t glaring plot holes. The writing is actually good instead of monotonous. I’m so excited for where this will be by the 6th, 7th, 8th draft.
(Submitted by jurassicparkjesus)
That awkward moment when you realize bought three copies of that book you were published in, and two of those are for your grandparents. And your story is about zombies and love and the main characters happen to be gay. And your grandmother HATES homosexuals. (And interracial couples, but that’s not the point…)