I was accepted into the Juniper Summer Writing Institute.
Is this a big deal? I have no idea.
It's only for a week. It costs a little more than five times what I thought it did when I applied and I found out about it too late to apply for a scholarship.
Oh well. I will do it anyway.
I am one-up on the other people who will be attending since I live nearby and they will have to pay for housing unless I am not one-up on them.
They probably don't work at gas stations though.
I think I might be excited.
I wonder if I shouldn't use the story that got me into the Juniper program in my writing sample for the University of Massachusetts-Amherst (since that is where the Juniper program takes place). I wrote that story specifically for my UMASS writing sample. I wonder if I should workshop that story. Maybe it would help me improve it and ultimately get into an MFA program?
It would be a little weird to workshop the story that got me into the Juniper program while in a Juniper workshop. I could workshop my usual stuff, but it is my "usual stuff," not my "literary stuff." I think I only write "literary stuff" for MFA writing samples.
I rented a P.O. box. That angry, crazy man will not murder me now, unless he is waiting when I go back to my old house to pick up stuff to bring to my storage space in Connecticut. I am paying three dollars and thirty three cents to receive two pieces of mail a month and go a month without being killed by insane submitters. Pretty much all of my Bust correspondence happens online.
I have moved all my non-going into storage stuff into my new place. I still need to put a bunch away.
A bus passes my window every five minutes. This would be very nice if I was lazier (I would rather walk to town) and ever had somewhere to be during the day. I am sure the bus will come far less frequently during the week of the Juniper program in the summer.
My co-worker, Jessie (of An Interview with Jesse fame), is too lazy to do his job properly, so the new manager banned laptop use.
This is the way of the world. One person ruins it for the rest of humanity.
I will need to become more comfortable with writing fiction in a notebook. I am so dependent on my word processor.
I will probably end up reading more books now.
I might blog less, since I mostly blogged at work.
Or I will decide to be more ok with writing blog entries when I'm tired.
I will apply to the gas station that's near my new place. They are hiring for the third shift.
Gas costs so much. I drive a gas guzzler. My gas station is too cheap to pay me a little extra for working third shifts. Every other gas station in the known universe seems to do this.
Being able to use my laptop at work was probably the only reason why I would prefer to work at my gas station over another random gas station. So I will see what happens.
I just finished In Watermelon Sugar. It was great! It was sort of what I wanted Motorman to be like. I do not really remember Motorman though, so I don't know what I'm talking about. Oh, I do remember one thing. I remember that I did not like it.
I also read Trout Fishing in America because it was in the same book. I did not like it. I liked some chapters in it. Some chapters were some of the greatest chapters ever written. But overall, I did not enjoy it. I do not like to read books about fishing. I do not like to read books about nature.
To me, reading books about nature feels the same as watching a sports event.
Watching a sports event is incredibly boring. Unless it is "pro" wrestling or a monster truck rally and the five minute mark hasn't passed yet.
Sometimes, playing sports can be fun.
I like doing nature-y things like hiking. I would not want to read about someone going on a hike. Unless that someone was a "pro" wrestler who is driving a monster truck up a scenic trail with the intent of driving his truck off the top of the mountain after he gets to the summit.
But I would only like the first five and last five pages.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Blast
Around 2001 or 2002 or so, James (of "An Interview With James" fame) and I tried to convince Marvel Comics to let us write a comic book for them. It was for a superhero called Nomad. The only editor to write back to us shared his name with the actor who played the Karate Kid. He told us something like, "No, but good luck."
Nomad was probably the Marvel character with the most potential for awesomeness, while he was always used by really horrible writers.
I also have the script for the first issue. I'm pretty sure I wrote it myself. It is not very good. It was one of my earliest attempts at scriptwriting.
James and I wrote like a zillion emails brainstorming this Nomad thing. Our correspondence was awesome. It probably would have been more interesting than the comic had it been produced.
I just read our proposal. I think it is pretty great. Because we both worked on it and James is really good at writing essay-like things.
Here is out proposal in its full glory:
Proposal for a Nomad Limited Series
--------------------------------
When the real battle for the survival of humanity comes, it is not fought by godlike beings dressed in brightly-colored, ungainly costumes, wielding inconceivable powers while their capes drift through the air behind them. The war does not have twenty-four hour coverage on CNN, with members of the Avengers on hand to offer reassuring sound bites.
In fact, very few people are ever aware of the danger, and some of them never even figure out for sure who won. It turns out to be not the big things that were important-- not the armadas of alien ships, the giant nuclear-powered robots, the powers of the ancient gods, the Ultimate Nullifier-- but a series of very subtle choices, and barely-noticeable variations in routine.
Jack Monroe, aka Nomad, has never been known for subtlety. He would probably not be well-equipped for this situation even if he were relatively sane and, right now, he is not. Ever since his teens he's been going into and out of cryogenic storage, and he's stuck in a permanent case of culture shock right now, to say nothing of his massive brain-freeze headache. He's STILL suffering the side effects of the destabilized Vita-Ray used on him in the 1950s, as well as withdrawal symptoms from the elaborate antipsychotics pumped into him by the CSA in the 1970s. Then there's the many rounds of cerebral chemical depressants and stimulants, and the barely-dormant nanoprobes circulating through his bloodstream. There's the latent psychological afterglow of his many brainwashing sessions, all clouding into one confused mess of guilt and fear. And there's the fact that he has NO idea what year it is anymore, or where Bucky's gotten off to... To put it bluntly, this man is a few superheroes short of the Avengers.
Jack's actions lately have made his paranoia in the 50s and his schizophrenia in the 90s seem mild and desirable by comparison. His fragmented identity cannot be described as anything less than psychotic. To make matters worse, Jack's brain is playing tricks on him. He has lost his grounding in the present and finds himself reliving and confronting the various roles he has assumed throughout his life. He's got at least four active identities all making noise in his head, and he's not sure who to listen to. Is he quiet, mild-mannered Jack Monroe-- the bookish young student with a chip on his shoulder and a secret in his basement? Or maybe he's Bucky III, proudly fighting Communism alongside his best friend Steve Rogers II? Or, is he Nomad II, crashing on a different Steve Rogers' couch, wearing bright blue spandex and hurling titanium discs at the evildoers of New York? Or, is he a trenchcoated antihero, exploring the country means of exploring himself? All of these voices are struggling for control of the body that is Jack Monroe, and it's really starting to get him in trouble.
Jack has never known his own limits, after all. And even as his mental state slips past delusion into pure hallucination, he remains wrapped up in the investigation of a mysterious drug cartel, marketing a newly-synthesized and highly addictive drug called Cliometrizone. Whoever is behind the manufacture of the drug has hidden his tracks very well, and Jack keeps running into dead ends-- none of the dealers he busts seem to have any idea who it was that sold them their supply. Finally, admitting defeat, Jack turns to his old friend Giscard Epurer (the Favor Banker) for help.
Epurer's help is cryptic at best, utterly confounding at worst. And there's something a bit odd about Giscard Epurer, anyways. You see, in 2010 he will come up with a plan that threatens the very existence of humanity's random element; its unpredictable evolution and its unforeseen catastrophes. Having discovered that the entirety of human society functions as a single higher-level brain, with each human being performing the function that a single synapse performs in a human brain, Epurer has decided to reprogram the global consciousness to his own specifications-- to, very carefully, bring every living human into line, and to make a focused unity out of the chaos of sentient life. While such a goal may have been impossible in the past, in 2010 Epurer has come into the possession of a time machine, and from that point on everything changes. Epurer has always been a master of working smart, not hard-- of economizing his effort so that not one twitch is wasted-- and he immediately seizes onto the potential of time-travel. No longer are his plans limited by the blind tyranny of linear time. He can now travel to an almost infinite amount of specific points within time, setting up the most minute details of his plan with tremendous care-- in a sense, adding subtle programming commands to the development of human society at all of the necessary stress points. His new capabilities allow him to be anywhere, at any time. And, while the effort might hopelessly boggle a lesser mind, he can be at any place, at any time, MORE THAN ONCE, working in concert with his other temporal manifestations. In a nutshell, he is no longer the lone gunman: he can fire from the book depository and the grassy knoll at EXACTLY the same time. This is the best news of all. He no longer needs to depend on unreliable henchmen and mercenaries for his work-- he can recruit his own past selves into the struggle, and even tap into other versions of himself, from alternate timelines.
When Epurer's plan succeeds, the beautiful diversity of human individuality will be gone. Everything will have its place and there will be no room for God to play dice. This world will still seem meaningless to an observer of average intelligence but will actually be a manifestation of Epurer's will-- nothing more than the most complex clockworks ever constructed. It is fortunate that Epurer has never needed applause from the wings (his work brings its own satisfaction), as no one will ever know what has happened.
In fact, to have any idea that ANYTHING was going on, one would probably have to be highly tuned to the random fluctuations of probability and complexity in the universe. One would probably have to spend one's entire life swimming in a sea of uncertainty, getting to know just how liberating chaos could be, and exploring all of its idiotic, entropic potential with the passion of an ardent lover. One would probably have to be the dapper antihero Madcap, actually. And Madcap feels the world changing, the way the rest of us can feel the seasons shift. Something is slowly ebbing from human life and, while the disjointed mind of Madcap may be unable to cognitively understand it, he is nonetheless able to fear it, and to resent it. For the first time since his rebirth into madness, he knows that his usual techniques of flashy grandstanding and non-sequitur dialogue will be insufficient-- that he's going to need to proceed with some sort of plan if the greatest catastrophe never noticed is to be averted. And he's no good with "plans." He'll need some sort of ally-- someone who knows how to use time productively, and carry on a logical train of thought. He hits a goldmine when he runs into his old friend-- or, the closest he's ever had to a friend-- Jack Monroe.
This is a story about madness: about the unclear contradictions between sense and nonsense, about the ultimately symbiotic relationship between patterned information and chaos, about the thin line between altruism and solipsism, and about what it means to have a defective mind in an ultimately defective world. As Madcap might say, "if modern life doesn't drive you insane, you MUST be crazy." More importantly, though, it's about freedom. For the present-day Giscard Epurer, it's about freedom from predestination, and from the irreversible tug of a predetermined future. For Madcap, it's about the freedom to be ridiculous, to continue to live moment-to-moment, without ever feeling the need to make sense. And for Jack Monroe, it's about the freedom to be human, and to make human mistakes, in a world that seems to demand otherwise. Ultimately, it is the disparity-- not the similarity-- between these three motives that allows the trio to avert the most insidious act of misdirection ever committed.
After all, how do you prevent a crime that has already been committed? How do you fight a villain who's already seen how things turn out, and who already knows that he's won? You'd have to be crazy to try. Have you ever managed to unpop a balloon?
Nomad was probably the Marvel character with the most potential for awesomeness, while he was always used by really horrible writers.
I also have the script for the first issue. I'm pretty sure I wrote it myself. It is not very good. It was one of my earliest attempts at scriptwriting.
James and I wrote like a zillion emails brainstorming this Nomad thing. Our correspondence was awesome. It probably would have been more interesting than the comic had it been produced.
I just read our proposal. I think it is pretty great. Because we both worked on it and James is really good at writing essay-like things.
Here is out proposal in its full glory:
Proposal for a Nomad Limited Series
--------------------------------
When the real battle for the survival of humanity comes, it is not fought by godlike beings dressed in brightly-colored, ungainly costumes, wielding inconceivable powers while their capes drift through the air behind them. The war does not have twenty-four hour coverage on CNN, with members of the Avengers on hand to offer reassuring sound bites.
In fact, very few people are ever aware of the danger, and some of them never even figure out for sure who won. It turns out to be not the big things that were important-- not the armadas of alien ships, the giant nuclear-powered robots, the powers of the ancient gods, the Ultimate Nullifier-- but a series of very subtle choices, and barely-noticeable variations in routine.
Jack Monroe, aka Nomad, has never been known for subtlety. He would probably not be well-equipped for this situation even if he were relatively sane and, right now, he is not. Ever since his teens he's been going into and out of cryogenic storage, and he's stuck in a permanent case of culture shock right now, to say nothing of his massive brain-freeze headache. He's STILL suffering the side effects of the destabilized Vita-Ray used on him in the 1950s, as well as withdrawal symptoms from the elaborate antipsychotics pumped into him by the CSA in the 1970s. Then there's the many rounds of cerebral chemical depressants and stimulants, and the barely-dormant nanoprobes circulating through his bloodstream. There's the latent psychological afterglow of his many brainwashing sessions, all clouding into one confused mess of guilt and fear. And there's the fact that he has NO idea what year it is anymore, or where Bucky's gotten off to... To put it bluntly, this man is a few superheroes short of the Avengers.
Jack's actions lately have made his paranoia in the 50s and his schizophrenia in the 90s seem mild and desirable by comparison. His fragmented identity cannot be described as anything less than psychotic. To make matters worse, Jack's brain is playing tricks on him. He has lost his grounding in the present and finds himself reliving and confronting the various roles he has assumed throughout his life. He's got at least four active identities all making noise in his head, and he's not sure who to listen to. Is he quiet, mild-mannered Jack Monroe-- the bookish young student with a chip on his shoulder and a secret in his basement? Or maybe he's Bucky III, proudly fighting Communism alongside his best friend Steve Rogers II? Or, is he Nomad II, crashing on a different Steve Rogers' couch, wearing bright blue spandex and hurling titanium discs at the evildoers of New York? Or, is he a trenchcoated antihero, exploring the country means of exploring himself? All of these voices are struggling for control of the body that is Jack Monroe, and it's really starting to get him in trouble.
Jack has never known his own limits, after all. And even as his mental state slips past delusion into pure hallucination, he remains wrapped up in the investigation of a mysterious drug cartel, marketing a newly-synthesized and highly addictive drug called Cliometrizone. Whoever is behind the manufacture of the drug has hidden his tracks very well, and Jack keeps running into dead ends-- none of the dealers he busts seem to have any idea who it was that sold them their supply. Finally, admitting defeat, Jack turns to his old friend Giscard Epurer (the Favor Banker) for help.
Epurer's help is cryptic at best, utterly confounding at worst. And there's something a bit odd about Giscard Epurer, anyways. You see, in 2010 he will come up with a plan that threatens the very existence of humanity's random element; its unpredictable evolution and its unforeseen catastrophes. Having discovered that the entirety of human society functions as a single higher-level brain, with each human being performing the function that a single synapse performs in a human brain, Epurer has decided to reprogram the global consciousness to his own specifications-- to, very carefully, bring every living human into line, and to make a focused unity out of the chaos of sentient life. While such a goal may have been impossible in the past, in 2010 Epurer has come into the possession of a time machine, and from that point on everything changes. Epurer has always been a master of working smart, not hard-- of economizing his effort so that not one twitch is wasted-- and he immediately seizes onto the potential of time-travel. No longer are his plans limited by the blind tyranny of linear time. He can now travel to an almost infinite amount of specific points within time, setting up the most minute details of his plan with tremendous care-- in a sense, adding subtle programming commands to the development of human society at all of the necessary stress points. His new capabilities allow him to be anywhere, at any time. And, while the effort might hopelessly boggle a lesser mind, he can be at any place, at any time, MORE THAN ONCE, working in concert with his other temporal manifestations. In a nutshell, he is no longer the lone gunman: he can fire from the book depository and the grassy knoll at EXACTLY the same time. This is the best news of all. He no longer needs to depend on unreliable henchmen and mercenaries for his work-- he can recruit his own past selves into the struggle, and even tap into other versions of himself, from alternate timelines.
When Epurer's plan succeeds, the beautiful diversity of human individuality will be gone. Everything will have its place and there will be no room for God to play dice. This world will still seem meaningless to an observer of average intelligence but will actually be a manifestation of Epurer's will-- nothing more than the most complex clockworks ever constructed. It is fortunate that Epurer has never needed applause from the wings (his work brings its own satisfaction), as no one will ever know what has happened.
In fact, to have any idea that ANYTHING was going on, one would probably have to be highly tuned to the random fluctuations of probability and complexity in the universe. One would probably have to spend one's entire life swimming in a sea of uncertainty, getting to know just how liberating chaos could be, and exploring all of its idiotic, entropic potential with the passion of an ardent lover. One would probably have to be the dapper antihero Madcap, actually. And Madcap feels the world changing, the way the rest of us can feel the seasons shift. Something is slowly ebbing from human life and, while the disjointed mind of Madcap may be unable to cognitively understand it, he is nonetheless able to fear it, and to resent it. For the first time since his rebirth into madness, he knows that his usual techniques of flashy grandstanding and non-sequitur dialogue will be insufficient-- that he's going to need to proceed with some sort of plan if the greatest catastrophe never noticed is to be averted. And he's no good with "plans." He'll need some sort of ally-- someone who knows how to use time productively, and carry on a logical train of thought. He hits a goldmine when he runs into his old friend-- or, the closest he's ever had to a friend-- Jack Monroe.
This is a story about madness: about the unclear contradictions between sense and nonsense, about the ultimately symbiotic relationship between patterned information and chaos, about the thin line between altruism and solipsism, and about what it means to have a defective mind in an ultimately defective world. As Madcap might say, "if modern life doesn't drive you insane, you MUST be crazy." More importantly, though, it's about freedom. For the present-day Giscard Epurer, it's about freedom from predestination, and from the irreversible tug of a predetermined future. For Madcap, it's about the freedom to be ridiculous, to continue to live moment-to-moment, without ever feeling the need to make sense. And for Jack Monroe, it's about the freedom to be human, and to make human mistakes, in a world that seems to demand otherwise. Ultimately, it is the disparity-- not the similarity-- between these three motives that allows the trio to avert the most insidious act of misdirection ever committed.
After all, how do you prevent a crime that has already been committed? How do you fight a villain who's already seen how things turn out, and who already knows that he's won? You'd have to be crazy to try. Have you ever managed to unpop a balloon?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Colonial Times
I am typing this in my new apartment. Had everything gone according to plan today, I would have been typing this in my old house. I had planned to drive back to my old house by now to do more packing and get some writing done. I am only half moved out. I am missing my bookcase, my desk, my chair, my air conditioner, and tons of random shit.
I slept in my new apartment last night, but I did not get a good sleep. I am not sure if I got any sleep. So I am in my new apartment, in case I need to take a nap, since my mattress is here. This is the second time I slept here. I slept better the first time, but not that much better. I have trouble sleeping in places that aren't my room, or places that aren't my old room. I still haven't decided which side of the mattress I prefer to sleep on.
I hate being tired, so I am drinking a can of coke. I hope I do not wake up to regret this. I will probably drive back to my old place soon since I am getting caffeinated.
I just got back from walking to a convenience store. It is very close by. This is nice. A nearby 24 hour corner store is essential to having a decent apartment. They have decent pre-made sandwiches and their own brand of ice cream that is on par with Ben and Jerry's. It belongs to a chain of gas station/convenience stores. It is referred to by Cumby's by locals. There is one across from my work. There is one a couple of blocks from my old place. I have been eating their sandwiches a lot, ever since I switched over to a "staying up all night" schedule.
My new apartment is nice. It is very run-down. It is relatively clean. It's cleanliness contrasts with its run-down-ness. Except the kitchen is pretty disgusting. I am ok with this. My last kitchen was pretty disgusting. And I don't know how to cook. I just know how to heat things up.
My room is clean. It has a hard wood floor. My old room had some sort of unfinished looking floor. I am pretty sure it was a magnet that was disguised to resemble a floor, a magnet that attracted dust and dirt and wasn't happy about letting its adopted children get taken away by things like vacuum cleaners and brooms.
My apartment is located in a building that is located in a complex. There are four apartments per building (or maybe eight apartments, but for of them are not connected to mine via a hallway/stairs. I don't know. I haven't paid attention to things like this yet). I saw one of my customers at my gas station working on his car outside my building this morning. He is a very friendly guy. I talked to him a while ago about being stressed about having to find a new place to live. He mentioned his own apartment. It is a coincidence that he lives in my building. I cannot remember his name now. I am terrible with names.
I finished editing my book, Disappointing Sophomoric Effort, last night. I thought I was finished editing the contents a while ago, but then I sat on it for a while, so I felt that it needed another ending since so much time has passed and I'm about to submit it for publication. I stole the title from a novel that I wrote in a month which was truly my second novel. I feel that I can only use the title for the next book that gets published. If the new Disappointing Sophomoric Effort gets published after another book, I will need to change the title. If it gets published after another book, that other book will be called Disappointing Sophomoric Effort. Well, unless the publisher really hates the name. If the publisher of my next book really hates the name, then the name will be lost in the wind and I would also encourage authors to use the title for their second book. But until the publisher hates the name, please do not do this.
I also have a short story collection that I have been sitting on for a long time: "My Heart Said No, But the Camera Crew Said Yes!" I don't know where to send it. Short story collections are a hard sell. Short story collections with writing that is not that accessible because it requires an active reader rather than a passive reader are a hard sell. Short story collections that cannot be categorized as literary fiction are a hard sell. Short story collections that cannot be categorized as genre fiction are a hard sell. Short story collections that are the size of a novella (maybe 30,000 words) are a hard sell.
I do not want to add any more stories to it.
I know of a bunch of publishers that might be into it if they weren't only considering novels. They are only considering novels because short story collections do not sell well.
I was just sitting at my new kitchen table.
Now I am sitting on my bed. It is because my laptop battery was about to run out and I was too lazy to carry my AD adapter out of my room. I dislike my laptop battery. It lasts for like half an hour.
I finished the first draft of my Nick Cave story two days ago. This was my goal for the four nights in a row that I have/had off. I have accomplished my goal. I do not know if I like the story. It might be good. The plot is slight and it is total violent mayhem. I do not think I am a fan of total violent mayhem.
I am going to write part two of the post that I did last week and drive to my old house. I do not think I will post part 2.
I slept in my new apartment last night, but I did not get a good sleep. I am not sure if I got any sleep. So I am in my new apartment, in case I need to take a nap, since my mattress is here. This is the second time I slept here. I slept better the first time, but not that much better. I have trouble sleeping in places that aren't my room, or places that aren't my old room. I still haven't decided which side of the mattress I prefer to sleep on.
I hate being tired, so I am drinking a can of coke. I hope I do not wake up to regret this. I will probably drive back to my old place soon since I am getting caffeinated.
I just got back from walking to a convenience store. It is very close by. This is nice. A nearby 24 hour corner store is essential to having a decent apartment. They have decent pre-made sandwiches and their own brand of ice cream that is on par with Ben and Jerry's. It belongs to a chain of gas station/convenience stores. It is referred to by Cumby's by locals. There is one across from my work. There is one a couple of blocks from my old place. I have been eating their sandwiches a lot, ever since I switched over to a "staying up all night" schedule.
My new apartment is nice. It is very run-down. It is relatively clean. It's cleanliness contrasts with its run-down-ness. Except the kitchen is pretty disgusting. I am ok with this. My last kitchen was pretty disgusting. And I don't know how to cook. I just know how to heat things up.
My room is clean. It has a hard wood floor. My old room had some sort of unfinished looking floor. I am pretty sure it was a magnet that was disguised to resemble a floor, a magnet that attracted dust and dirt and wasn't happy about letting its adopted children get taken away by things like vacuum cleaners and brooms.
My apartment is located in a building that is located in a complex. There are four apartments per building (or maybe eight apartments, but for of them are not connected to mine via a hallway/stairs. I don't know. I haven't paid attention to things like this yet). I saw one of my customers at my gas station working on his car outside my building this morning. He is a very friendly guy. I talked to him a while ago about being stressed about having to find a new place to live. He mentioned his own apartment. It is a coincidence that he lives in my building. I cannot remember his name now. I am terrible with names.
I finished editing my book, Disappointing Sophomoric Effort, last night. I thought I was finished editing the contents a while ago, but then I sat on it for a while, so I felt that it needed another ending since so much time has passed and I'm about to submit it for publication. I stole the title from a novel that I wrote in a month which was truly my second novel. I feel that I can only use the title for the next book that gets published. If the new Disappointing Sophomoric Effort gets published after another book, I will need to change the title. If it gets published after another book, that other book will be called Disappointing Sophomoric Effort. Well, unless the publisher really hates the name. If the publisher of my next book really hates the name, then the name will be lost in the wind and I would also encourage authors to use the title for their second book. But until the publisher hates the name, please do not do this.
I also have a short story collection that I have been sitting on for a long time: "My Heart Said No, But the Camera Crew Said Yes!" I don't know where to send it. Short story collections are a hard sell. Short story collections with writing that is not that accessible because it requires an active reader rather than a passive reader are a hard sell. Short story collections that cannot be categorized as literary fiction are a hard sell. Short story collections that cannot be categorized as genre fiction are a hard sell. Short story collections that are the size of a novella (maybe 30,000 words) are a hard sell.
I do not want to add any more stories to it.
I know of a bunch of publishers that might be into it if they weren't only considering novels. They are only considering novels because short story collections do not sell well.
I was just sitting at my new kitchen table.
Now I am sitting on my bed. It is because my laptop battery was about to run out and I was too lazy to carry my AD adapter out of my room. I dislike my laptop battery. It lasts for like half an hour.
I finished the first draft of my Nick Cave story two days ago. This was my goal for the four nights in a row that I have/had off. I have accomplished my goal. I do not know if I like the story. It might be good. The plot is slight and it is total violent mayhem. I do not think I am a fan of total violent mayhem.
I am going to write part two of the post that I did last week and drive to my old house. I do not think I will post part 2.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Pimps Don't Commit Suicide
I am sorry to tell you this, but I am suffering from TMJ-induced head pain, so I will be unable to bring you part 2 of my highly-anticipated blog entry, The Evolution of My Influences. Maybe I will write it tomorrow.
Instead I will complain about how this is the first time I've had TMJ-induced head pain since I came back from Utah and I have been very happy about this until now. I thought that maybe I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Lately, I have even been lowering the dosage of pills that I take at night because I find that they stop working after I take them for a while.
I guess I went to sleep a little angry this morning. That was probably a bad idea.
I live in a different day then everybody else. Since I sleep in the afternoons, my mornings are yesterday and my evenings are tomorrow.
I am done complaining.
I watched Southland Tales this morning. It was better than I thought it was going to be. It was disappointing because I liked the director's other movie, Donnie Darko, a lot. Everybody said Southland Tales made no sense. It made sense to me. It was a little confusing. But not so confusing that I had trouble following it. I don't understand why everybody thinks it's so incomprehensible.
But the script is a mess, I agree. And the majority of the first twenty minutes is a Justin Timberlake voice-over that explains the film's background.
This means the script is not well written.
I started reading the graphic novels that proceed the movie. There are three books. I have read the first two. I think that the movie is considered books parts four to six in the story. So the graphic novels are not really prequels. They are the beginning of the story. They were probably written and released before the movie. The movie is like the first Star Wars, I guess.
So far, the graphic novels have not revealed much information about the overall plot of the movie, except for things that the movie has already told me. Instead, the graphic novels get into things like interpersonal relationships between characters.
This was a little awkward in the movie. Why is The Rock hanging out with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tony Soprano? I thought. The graphic novels told me why The Rock was hanging out with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tony Soprano.
The movie started in the middle, which is fine, but it did not explain why the characters were located in the same rooms. This felt jarring. It felt like lazy writing. It felt as if I had missed the first half of the movie which, considering the graphic novels, I guess I did.
I don't think people should have to read graphic novels in order to be satisfied by a movie.
I have the next four nights off in a row. This is nice. I did not ask for it. It just turned out that way when I switched a few nights with a co-worker.
I will spend the next four days working on my Nick Cave story, which I have only put one day of work into. I will also move to my new apartment. I am supposed to do this on the weekend, although I don't know what day.
The electricity in my house may get shut off before I leave. One of my old housemate who moved out at the beginning of the month says that she is canceling it. My insane, asshole-y said that he would call and take over the account. I do not think he did this.
Getting the electricity shut off would be an inconvenience. It would not be bad during the day, because I could hang out elsewhere in the morning and sleep in the afternoon (and it is getting warmer, so I probably don't need heat).
But the nights will be a problem. It would be less of an inconvenience if I was working during them. Now I will do things like go to all-night dinners or beg my friends to let me sit on their couch all night or sit in my car and use the overhead light to read or see if any of the local university libraries are open overnight or hang out in the campus center at UMASS if it is open or invest in a candle.
Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be so bad.
Instead I will complain about how this is the first time I've had TMJ-induced head pain since I came back from Utah and I have been very happy about this until now. I thought that maybe I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. Lately, I have even been lowering the dosage of pills that I take at night because I find that they stop working after I take them for a while.
I guess I went to sleep a little angry this morning. That was probably a bad idea.
I live in a different day then everybody else. Since I sleep in the afternoons, my mornings are yesterday and my evenings are tomorrow.
I am done complaining.
I watched Southland Tales this morning. It was better than I thought it was going to be. It was disappointing because I liked the director's other movie, Donnie Darko, a lot. Everybody said Southland Tales made no sense. It made sense to me. It was a little confusing. But not so confusing that I had trouble following it. I don't understand why everybody thinks it's so incomprehensible.
But the script is a mess, I agree. And the majority of the first twenty minutes is a Justin Timberlake voice-over that explains the film's background.
This means the script is not well written.
I started reading the graphic novels that proceed the movie. There are three books. I have read the first two. I think that the movie is considered books parts four to six in the story. So the graphic novels are not really prequels. They are the beginning of the story. They were probably written and released before the movie. The movie is like the first Star Wars, I guess.
So far, the graphic novels have not revealed much information about the overall plot of the movie, except for things that the movie has already told me. Instead, the graphic novels get into things like interpersonal relationships between characters.
This was a little awkward in the movie. Why is The Rock hanging out with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tony Soprano? I thought. The graphic novels told me why The Rock was hanging out with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Tony Soprano.
The movie started in the middle, which is fine, but it did not explain why the characters were located in the same rooms. This felt jarring. It felt like lazy writing. It felt as if I had missed the first half of the movie which, considering the graphic novels, I guess I did.
I don't think people should have to read graphic novels in order to be satisfied by a movie.
I have the next four nights off in a row. This is nice. I did not ask for it. It just turned out that way when I switched a few nights with a co-worker.
I will spend the next four days working on my Nick Cave story, which I have only put one day of work into. I will also move to my new apartment. I am supposed to do this on the weekend, although I don't know what day.
The electricity in my house may get shut off before I leave. One of my old housemate who moved out at the beginning of the month says that she is canceling it. My insane, asshole-y said that he would call and take over the account. I do not think he did this.
Getting the electricity shut off would be an inconvenience. It would not be bad during the day, because I could hang out elsewhere in the morning and sleep in the afternoon (and it is getting warmer, so I probably don't need heat).
But the nights will be a problem. It would be less of an inconvenience if I was working during them. Now I will do things like go to all-night dinners or beg my friends to let me sit on their couch all night or sit in my car and use the overhead light to read or see if any of the local university libraries are open overnight or hang out in the campus center at UMASS if it is open or invest in a candle.
Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be so bad.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
obesity
Is there a sports team called The Rhinoceroses?
A few hours ago, an obese man came into my work wearing a Rhinoceroses jersey. I thought this was a little funny. It is like when someone gets made fun of for something in high school and they appropriate the insults that they receive on a daily basis. I like this.
The jersey might have just said Rhinoceros or Rhinos. I don't know. I don't remember. My memory is terrible.
He was leaning over a little and I tried to read the text on the back. I was able to make out the first word or two. I forget what they were.
I was playing a CD compilation of industrial bands covering songs from the eighties.
Industrial covers usually send much better than industrial originals because whoever wrote the song that the cover is based on was probably a much better writer than the members of the industrial band. And industrializing any songs makes it sound badass.
Xorcist's cover of Party Like It's 1999 was playing.
The man in the rhinoceros jersey asked me if it was a Korn remix.
I said, No, it is a Prince cover.
He said, I know that.
I said, it is Xorcist. Exorcist with an X at the beginning.
He said, Oh, it sounds like Jonathan Davis.
I thought to myself, No, it does not sound like Jonathan Davis. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner who has been taught to sing.
The man in the rhinoceros jersey left.
I forgot what he bought. The only thing that I remember is a chocolate bar. He seemed to feel guilty about buying it. The other stuff that he bought is not relevant. The chocolate bar is not relevant.
None of this is relevant.
Nothing is relevant.
A few hours ago, an obese man came into my work wearing a Rhinoceroses jersey. I thought this was a little funny. It is like when someone gets made fun of for something in high school and they appropriate the insults that they receive on a daily basis. I like this.
The jersey might have just said Rhinoceros or Rhinos. I don't know. I don't remember. My memory is terrible.
He was leaning over a little and I tried to read the text on the back. I was able to make out the first word or two. I forget what they were.
I was playing a CD compilation of industrial bands covering songs from the eighties.
Industrial covers usually send much better than industrial originals because whoever wrote the song that the cover is based on was probably a much better writer than the members of the industrial band. And industrializing any songs makes it sound badass.
Xorcist's cover of Party Like It's 1999 was playing.
The man in the rhinoceros jersey asked me if it was a Korn remix.
I said, No, it is a Prince cover.
He said, I know that.
I said, it is Xorcist. Exorcist with an X at the beginning.
He said, Oh, it sounds like Jonathan Davis.
I thought to myself, No, it does not sound like Jonathan Davis. It sounds like a vacuum cleaner who has been taught to sing.
The man in the rhinoceros jersey left.
I forgot what he bought. The only thing that I remember is a chocolate bar. He seemed to feel guilty about buying it. The other stuff that he bought is not relevant. The chocolate bar is not relevant.
None of this is relevant.
Nothing is relevant.
The Evolution of My Influences (part 1)
I want to go to grad school for writing.
I applied to twelve schools around the end of 2006. Twelve schools rejected me around the beginning of 2007.
I planned to try again that year, but I got too caught up in different things and wasn't prepared. There was still enough time, but it would have been a very stressful one or two months. I made the decision to wait another year right after an oral surgeon told me to eliminate all of the stresses from my life.
One of the schools that I want to go to is Naropa. It does not seem to offer teaching positions & funding. I think it's my #1 choice that does not provide these things. It may be also be my #1 of schools that are not located in places that I have lived before.
I'm not sure if I would choose it over a decent school that payed my way that I wasn't too thrilled about. If money was not an option, then the answer would be obvious.
I found out that Naropa asks for a second essay. I am going to write blog entries for each of the essay questions. Perhaps I will later translate them into academic-speak. Maybe not. Naropa is a different sort of school. Maybe they would be ok with essays that are written in the style of a blog.
Question 1: "What particular authors or works have been especially significant to you as a writer?"
Mark Leyner.
Mark Leyner is my earliest influence. I discovered him during college.
Mark Leyner's writing is condensed. Mark Leyner uses a technique where there is a new idea or a joke or something ridiculous in every sentence. Mark Leyner seems to write hundreds of new ideas and jokes and ridiculous things on every page.
Mark Leyner uses this technique because he wants a reader to be able to pick a sentence at random in any of his books and be amused be it. He is successful at this, unless the reader in question is a humorless fuck.
I like Mark Leyner because not one word is wasted, even though every word is irrelevant. I never feel like I can be doing something better with my time. Sometimes when I read a book, I feel that it is too padded. It could be padded with details that are used to build the plot and characters but are dull. It can also be padded because the author tried to make what should of been a short story or a novella into a novel because NYC publishers don't buy single short stories or novellas.
I am going to quote myself in my mock essay, "How to Write a Short Story!":
"Describe every incidental detail. Use no-frills language to describe each character's appearance. Give your reader the thousands of words needed for them to conjure up the images of the characters in their head. If this fails to occur, they will be unable to follow the plot, which should proceed at an excessively slow pace. Use realistic dialogue, the sort of stuff that you would overhear in a plumbing supplies store.
Remember--artificiality is bad!
Your story should feel like an extraordinarily long bus ride from a place that you loathe to a destination that makes you want to use your return ticket before your feet touch the ground."
I am not writing about Mark Leyner here.
Mark Leyner has a problem. When he is trying to make every single sentence in his books amusing, there is no room for plot development. He has a book or two like The Tetherballs of Bougainville that are linear, but they do not have a plot arc.
Mark Leyner can get away with not using a plot. He is that good. Lesser writers who try to make every sentence amusing cannot get away with not using a plot. There work will be unreadable. If they use a plot, it will help them maintain their readers' interest. The plot will drive the readers to keep turning the page.
But plot development will be difficult if the writer is trying to make every sentence amusing. Unless they are extraordinarily talented, they will fail at creating anything except a general plot. This plot will be secondary to the word play, the jokes, the zany things that happen on each page.
After college, I discovered Steve Aylett. His writing is similar to Mark Leyner's. Every sentence is amusing. He is funnier than Mark Leyner. Unlike Mark Leyner who works in some mutant strain of literary fiction, Steve Aylett's work lies in the realm of genre: crime, science fiction, fantasy.
Mark Leyner's work is usually set in our reality. Ridiculous things happen that you will probably never experience in your everyday life, but there is still the minuscule chance that they will occur.
Steve Aylett works in a fantasy setting. ANYTHING can happen. The laws of his realities are dependent on the settings of each individual book.
Steve Aylett also works with plot. He is extraordinarily talented. He is the only writer who I can think of that excels at plot while making every single sentence amusing. His plots are still secondary to everything else, but they are not as overshadowed as the plot, in well, my novel, It Came from Below the Belt.
He made me think it was possible to write a novel with a plot and 100% amusing sentences.
I tried. I succeeded, I think. It was not as good as Steve Aylett's work. The plot ended up being a device that I used to interest myself in going on with the story, as well as maintain the interest of the readers. I used a futuristic setting to explain all the irreal stuff that was happening.
It was really hard work to make every sentence perfect. It was often torturous. It would sometimes take me an hour to write a sentence. I would edit as I wrote. I would rewrite sentences over and over again as I worked. I would make myself laugh a lot. I would yell in frustration a lot. Writing this way was rarely fun. It usually felt like work. It felt really nice during the rare moments that I enjoyed. I loved the end result of my laborious efforts. I enjoyed reading it. I always felt very satisfied, as if I had just completed a marathon.
This was my writing process for a while. I wrote many many many short stories after this and a novella.
The target audience for my writing was an army of my clones.
I wrote the sort of stuff that I wanted to read, hoping there were others like me. Or a clone army, with lots of lots of money. They could buy my books instead of weapons to kill other clone armies.
I do not use this writing process anymore. This is a recent change. I will write about this tomorrow and my more recent influences, along with a few additional minor ones.
I applied to twelve schools around the end of 2006. Twelve schools rejected me around the beginning of 2007.
I planned to try again that year, but I got too caught up in different things and wasn't prepared. There was still enough time, but it would have been a very stressful one or two months. I made the decision to wait another year right after an oral surgeon told me to eliminate all of the stresses from my life.
One of the schools that I want to go to is Naropa. It does not seem to offer teaching positions & funding. I think it's my #1 choice that does not provide these things. It may be also be my #1 of schools that are not located in places that I have lived before.
I'm not sure if I would choose it over a decent school that payed my way that I wasn't too thrilled about. If money was not an option, then the answer would be obvious.
I found out that Naropa asks for a second essay. I am going to write blog entries for each of the essay questions. Perhaps I will later translate them into academic-speak. Maybe not. Naropa is a different sort of school. Maybe they would be ok with essays that are written in the style of a blog.
Question 1: "What particular authors or works have been especially significant to you as a writer?"
Mark Leyner.
Mark Leyner is my earliest influence. I discovered him during college.
Mark Leyner's writing is condensed. Mark Leyner uses a technique where there is a new idea or a joke or something ridiculous in every sentence. Mark Leyner seems to write hundreds of new ideas and jokes and ridiculous things on every page.
Mark Leyner uses this technique because he wants a reader to be able to pick a sentence at random in any of his books and be amused be it. He is successful at this, unless the reader in question is a humorless fuck.
I like Mark Leyner because not one word is wasted, even though every word is irrelevant. I never feel like I can be doing something better with my time. Sometimes when I read a book, I feel that it is too padded. It could be padded with details that are used to build the plot and characters but are dull. It can also be padded because the author tried to make what should of been a short story or a novella into a novel because NYC publishers don't buy single short stories or novellas.
I am going to quote myself in my mock essay, "How to Write a Short Story!":
"Describe every incidental detail. Use no-frills language to describe each character's appearance. Give your reader the thousands of words needed for them to conjure up the images of the characters in their head. If this fails to occur, they will be unable to follow the plot, which should proceed at an excessively slow pace. Use realistic dialogue, the sort of stuff that you would overhear in a plumbing supplies store.
Remember--artificiality is bad!
Your story should feel like an extraordinarily long bus ride from a place that you loathe to a destination that makes you want to use your return ticket before your feet touch the ground."
I am not writing about Mark Leyner here.
Mark Leyner has a problem. When he is trying to make every single sentence in his books amusing, there is no room for plot development. He has a book or two like The Tetherballs of Bougainville that are linear, but they do not have a plot arc.
Mark Leyner can get away with not using a plot. He is that good. Lesser writers who try to make every sentence amusing cannot get away with not using a plot. There work will be unreadable. If they use a plot, it will help them maintain their readers' interest. The plot will drive the readers to keep turning the page.
But plot development will be difficult if the writer is trying to make every sentence amusing. Unless they are extraordinarily talented, they will fail at creating anything except a general plot. This plot will be secondary to the word play, the jokes, the zany things that happen on each page.
After college, I discovered Steve Aylett. His writing is similar to Mark Leyner's. Every sentence is amusing. He is funnier than Mark Leyner. Unlike Mark Leyner who works in some mutant strain of literary fiction, Steve Aylett's work lies in the realm of genre: crime, science fiction, fantasy.
Mark Leyner's work is usually set in our reality. Ridiculous things happen that you will probably never experience in your everyday life, but there is still the minuscule chance that they will occur.
Steve Aylett works in a fantasy setting. ANYTHING can happen. The laws of his realities are dependent on the settings of each individual book.
Steve Aylett also works with plot. He is extraordinarily talented. He is the only writer who I can think of that excels at plot while making every single sentence amusing. His plots are still secondary to everything else, but they are not as overshadowed as the plot, in well, my novel, It Came from Below the Belt.
He made me think it was possible to write a novel with a plot and 100% amusing sentences.
I tried. I succeeded, I think. It was not as good as Steve Aylett's work. The plot ended up being a device that I used to interest myself in going on with the story, as well as maintain the interest of the readers. I used a futuristic setting to explain all the irreal stuff that was happening.
It was really hard work to make every sentence perfect. It was often torturous. It would sometimes take me an hour to write a sentence. I would edit as I wrote. I would rewrite sentences over and over again as I worked. I would make myself laugh a lot. I would yell in frustration a lot. Writing this way was rarely fun. It usually felt like work. It felt really nice during the rare moments that I enjoyed. I loved the end result of my laborious efforts. I enjoyed reading it. I always felt very satisfied, as if I had just completed a marathon.
This was my writing process for a while. I wrote many many many short stories after this and a novella.
The target audience for my writing was an army of my clones.
I wrote the sort of stuff that I wanted to read, hoping there were others like me. Or a clone army, with lots of lots of money. They could buy my books instead of weapons to kill other clone armies.
I do not use this writing process anymore. This is a recent change. I will write about this tomorrow and my more recent influences, along with a few additional minor ones.
Friday, April 11, 2008
blogging myself to sleep
i have been having trouble sleeping this week. due to the stress of finding a new place to live. i found a new place to live. there is no more stress about that. but a little stress about something else that is related to that. i drank a can of coke a while ago. it may make it hard to go to sleep. i might wake up in pain because of the caffeine. i drank a can of coke because i did not get much sleep last night. and i needed to be awake and friendly towards my new potential apartment-mates. they are now my future apartment-mates. i just took a melatonin. i might be addicted to the stuff. i am waiting for it to kick in. it is working. a little.
everybody who reads this blog probably knows about the new issue of Lamination Colony. but its editor, Blake Butler, promised a gift to anyone who blogs about it. or that may be a false memory that Blake Butler has implanted in my head. damn him.
every issue of Lamination Colony has at least one thing that leaves me flabbergasted. i cannot tell you what this is because it appears that the current issue has disappeared. the last issue is in its place. perhaps the last issue has eaten the current issue. i think the first thing in the contents left me flabbergasted. it was a bunch of poems. i usually don't like poems. except for when i do.
Blake Butler also did cool evil things to some submissions like mine. his scheme was to accept the first time submissions that had an X in the subject line of the email and were able to run through the gauntlet of Blake's bulk mail folder. his stipulation was that he could do whatever he wanted to the things that were sent to him. i liked this idea. so i sent him something. i really liked what he did with it. i still need to read more of what he did with the things from other people. i haven't made it that far yet. almost.
i will be living down the street from Mike Young. he will be moving to the town where i live now in June. i think he decided this when i told him i was moving down the street from him. we might do an e-book anthology together. since we like the same internet-y writers. but have diametrical tastes in fiction. we will ask authors that we like for one story that is reality-based and one story that is irreal. i don't think Mike knows this. i told him we would ask for one literary story and one genre story. but i really meant one real and one irreal.
i just closed my eyes involuntarily.
i will be living with a couple from China. they were described in the ad as "a quiet and clean couple." i looked into my room and a woman was sleeping in it. she just flew in from China with another guy. they are staying for a week. after that i take the room. the room smelled like two people who had just traveled across the world. i hope it doesn't continue to smell like that. i am now a little worried. i googled the apartment area thing. this was a mistake. i found a site called ratemyapartment.com or something. most people did not have nice things to say. they complained about bad odors. they did not mention bad odors that smelled like people who had just traveled across the world. i hope the odor was the people who had just traveled across the world and not the actual room. the rest of the apartment did not smell like people who had just traveled across the world. the rest of the apartment smelled fine. mike young reassured me a little about the other bad things that people said on the website. like paper thin walls. this will not be much of a change from my current living situation. paper thin walls and vents in the floor so i can hear everything that is going on downstairs. i don't have a vent now because i moved down the hall into a small shitty room to get away from my vent. there was a vent because there is only heat on the first floor and it is supposed to rise.
i guess if my new apartment sucks i can always find a new place after the summer when the lease expires. i guess i am a subletter.
i just peed.
i walked back into my room and their was an odd odor. it did not smell like who had just traveled across the world.
i applied to the juniper writing institute for a week during the summer. i hope i get in. i hope it helps me get into grad school. i hope it serves another purpose besides helping me to get into grad school. i sent them a story about a bipolar mall security guard. i wonder if they will like it. i wonder if it's ok to use the same story as my writing sample when i apply to UMASS-Amherst since UMASS-Amherst is where the juniper writing institute is located.
Mitch! Maraude sent me the writing sample that got him accepted into Naropa. i was surprised by all the crazy shit. now i think it's ok for me to send them my usual crazy shit instead of my literary fiction that i write specifically for grad school writing samples. perhaps i will use a piece of literary fiction that i wrote specifically for grad school writing samples and a bunch of crazy shit. they may think i'm versatile. and they ask for ten more pages than everybody else.
i met Mitch! for the first time at the World Horror Convention. i liked him. we corresponded a little online in the past. he wrote the bible on the Valiant comics universe. we are both huge fans of the comic Archer and Armstrong.
everybody who reads this blog probably knows about the new issue of Lamination Colony. but its editor, Blake Butler, promised a gift to anyone who blogs about it. or that may be a false memory that Blake Butler has implanted in my head. damn him.
every issue of Lamination Colony has at least one thing that leaves me flabbergasted. i cannot tell you what this is because it appears that the current issue has disappeared. the last issue is in its place. perhaps the last issue has eaten the current issue. i think the first thing in the contents left me flabbergasted. it was a bunch of poems. i usually don't like poems. except for when i do.
Blake Butler also did cool evil things to some submissions like mine. his scheme was to accept the first time submissions that had an X in the subject line of the email and were able to run through the gauntlet of Blake's bulk mail folder. his stipulation was that he could do whatever he wanted to the things that were sent to him. i liked this idea. so i sent him something. i really liked what he did with it. i still need to read more of what he did with the things from other people. i haven't made it that far yet. almost.
i will be living down the street from Mike Young. he will be moving to the town where i live now in June. i think he decided this when i told him i was moving down the street from him. we might do an e-book anthology together. since we like the same internet-y writers. but have diametrical tastes in fiction. we will ask authors that we like for one story that is reality-based and one story that is irreal. i don't think Mike knows this. i told him we would ask for one literary story and one genre story. but i really meant one real and one irreal.
i just closed my eyes involuntarily.
i will be living with a couple from China. they were described in the ad as "a quiet and clean couple." i looked into my room and a woman was sleeping in it. she just flew in from China with another guy. they are staying for a week. after that i take the room. the room smelled like two people who had just traveled across the world. i hope it doesn't continue to smell like that. i am now a little worried. i googled the apartment area thing. this was a mistake. i found a site called ratemyapartment.com or something. most people did not have nice things to say. they complained about bad odors. they did not mention bad odors that smelled like people who had just traveled across the world. i hope the odor was the people who had just traveled across the world and not the actual room. the rest of the apartment did not smell like people who had just traveled across the world. the rest of the apartment smelled fine. mike young reassured me a little about the other bad things that people said on the website. like paper thin walls. this will not be much of a change from my current living situation. paper thin walls and vents in the floor so i can hear everything that is going on downstairs. i don't have a vent now because i moved down the hall into a small shitty room to get away from my vent. there was a vent because there is only heat on the first floor and it is supposed to rise.
i guess if my new apartment sucks i can always find a new place after the summer when the lease expires. i guess i am a subletter.
i just peed.
i walked back into my room and their was an odd odor. it did not smell like who had just traveled across the world.
i applied to the juniper writing institute for a week during the summer. i hope i get in. i hope it helps me get into grad school. i hope it serves another purpose besides helping me to get into grad school. i sent them a story about a bipolar mall security guard. i wonder if they will like it. i wonder if it's ok to use the same story as my writing sample when i apply to UMASS-Amherst since UMASS-Amherst is where the juniper writing institute is located.
Mitch! Maraude sent me the writing sample that got him accepted into Naropa. i was surprised by all the crazy shit. now i think it's ok for me to send them my usual crazy shit instead of my literary fiction that i write specifically for grad school writing samples. perhaps i will use a piece of literary fiction that i wrote specifically for grad school writing samples and a bunch of crazy shit. they may think i'm versatile. and they ask for ten more pages than everybody else.
i met Mitch! for the first time at the World Horror Convention. i liked him. we corresponded a little online in the past. he wrote the bible on the Valiant comics universe. we are both huge fans of the comic Archer and Armstrong.
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