7/24 A Perfect Sonnet

Well, after the CNN debacle that inspired so much rage in my thin frame, I sat down and read an uninterrupted 40 pages of Ulysses-- and I didn't hate it. Then I received last semester's final assignments and read the comments. Phillip's were useless cheerleading, as usual, but the other reader was really great in terms of feedback. And it was the exact feedback I would prefer on all of my stories-- "While the narrative is beautifully paced, there is probably scope for this to be a somewhat longer piece. I'm not suggesting that the story is constricted in its current form, rather that there are moments where more detail, more meandering around more themes, might be welcome." Yes! Victory! If I have one terrible tendency as a writer, it's to go way too far, becoming self-indulgent and blatantly sentimental. I would one thousand times over rather have my readers go away with a hunger for more than the urge to vomit a third of what they just read.

So, success! Writing today wasn't quite as successful, but I did sit down to work for a while this morning, and this evening (after a long nap) I wrote a 1,000 word treatment of Phylloxera just to ensure that I knew what I was going for so that I might be able to actually get there eventually. My 'big' assignment this semester is 6,000 words (alongside a proposal for an MA project) and if I can pull it off (highly unlikely), Phylloxera just might be that story. I have some other ideas worthy of that length, but as of now they are not coming together terribly well. But, to be fair, I've heard not a word of this particular class, nor met the professor. Tomorrow I'll have a slightly better, if still incredibly faulty, idea of what the haps is. And you people need to know the haps.

Drink Count: 6

My rejection letter!!
I love this picture because it's such an honest appraisal of my Adelaide life-- My Desk, which I spend at least 6 hours each day sitting at-- on my desk: my rejection letter, framed, which will never cease to make me laugh; three books, two visible (Katherine Mansfield's Collected Stories in the near ground, Aldous Huxley's Brave New World in the far ground, and my traveling journal underneath that); several beverages: 1.25 liters of coke, 2 liters of Just Juice (orange & mango) and a glass containing equal parts white wine and juice; my phone, 6 tablets of Sudafed, spare change, miscellaneous papers and headphones, wallet and keys; my computer (on) with Winamp and Instant Messenger running, a conversation with Kait displayed onscreen. In the far back corner is my lamp which is rarely plugged in, a stick of deodorant, and a packet of tissues... for, um, colds that I might have.

This, to be completely honest, is what I live with at least 75% of the time. Welcome to my world-- and people wonder why self-indulgence (be it in blog or novel format) is so indredibly boring to read. What if I got desperate enough to write a 400 page novel about my life? Think it would sell 8.3 million copies (in just 24 hours!)? For some reason, I broken fucking doubt it...