This morning I woke up.
I made coffee.
My mom and dad drank some coffee.
Trudging to my bedroom I sat at my desk in front of my computer.
Almost, automatically really.
I sat down. And wrote 2,000+ words. Then I read through the short story, and added over 700 more.
I'm surprised this happened.
It seems to have lifted some tension from existence for me.
I guess you could say it was slightly cathartic.
I'm going to do this every morning. I want to sit down and write at least 2,000 words.
It would be really cool if I built up enough momentum I get to the point where I write more than that.
I didn't really edit the story much. I probably should have sent it to Jack. He made me sad today. I tried explaining Alt Lit to him and he didn't really get it. He said it sounded like a hipster lit clic for the stupid. Well, sometimes he's stupid. Even though he's one of the smartest people I know. It got me down a bit after I spent all morning writing. I was excited to show him it. Now I'm afraid he'll think it's stupid. So, he'll never see it. Oh well. I don't like letting people I know read my stuff. It's weird. It's almost like getting walked in on while jacking off.
Anyway, I don't know. Life is fucked but I'm going to keep writing.
Keeping this blog will help.
It's 10:18 PM Sunday, May 18th 2014.
And tomorrow I'm going to wake up and write.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Everyone is asleep. I've been awake since 2:00 AM. I went to bed at 8:00 PM.
I don't know why I'm starting a blog. I don't know if I even have anything to say in a blog. It's pretty frightening. I should always have something to say. I want to have something to say. Something meaningful. Something profound. I'm not a profound person. At least, I don't think I am.
I want to smoke a cigarette. I'm not a cool kid for smoking cigarettes. Who ever decided smoking cigarettes made you look cool is an idiot. I only have three or four cigarettes. I'd look so I could give a more accurate account of how many cigarettes I had.
It was 3. I went and got one. Thanks for making talk about cigarettes so I could go grab one and diminish my already low stores of nicotine and deadly toxins.
My brother's cat just jumped onto the sink. His foot slipped. He almost fell. His name is Paul. My brother named him that. I'd never give a cat such a stupid name. Let's take a second to feel sorry for him.
Enough of that.
I'm 23 years old.
I didn't graduate high school but I have my GED.
I'm not in contact with anyone from high school.
I don't have a job.
I don't have a car or a driver's license.
I don't have a photo ID.
I don't believe in God. Some faggot tried to tell me to read the bible the other day. I didn't want to. He said it would help me. I don't think it would. There are more important things to read.
I don't go out often.
I like books. I used to be in a funk over them. I used to read nothing but genre fiction. I liked horror and weird fiction. I'm tired of horror and weird fiction. They are fun. They aren't exciting anymore. I've found new things to read and plan to do so once I have money.
Death Proof is on IFC. My boyfriend is watching it too. He lives over 80 miles away. I haven't seen him in over 2 weeks. I've read 4 books since I've last talked to him. One of those books was depressing and bleak. It was 1984. It was good. I guess.
I suppose I want to be a writer.
This post sucks and isn't showing off any skill at writing. What a terrible first post.
Not like anyone is going to read this anyway.
I wrote a letter to my friend Alyce. I don't think Alyce is her real name. I can't remember her real name. I was good friends with her brother. He killed himself. I wrote her a letter about how I want to be a writer and it filled me with a ton of inspiration. I like inspiration. I don't believe in muses and I don't like sitting around and waiting for inspiration to hit me. That's never any fun. Inspiration comes from doing things I think. It was a good thing I wrote that letter. I put a little plastic mouse in it and a plastic bracelet. When she got the letter there wasn't anything but the letter inside it and there were holes in it. I wonder if someone took them out. Probably the ugly mail man. He's a creep.
Alyce lives in Mississippi. She says the letter resonated with her on a deep level. Whatever that means. I hope she writes back soon. She hasn't told me if she's sent it yet. It was the first letter I ever wrote to someone. I hope to write more letters to her. I hope I can inspire her to do something too. I want to inspire the people I know. A lot of them are in some kind of sad place. They are depressed and it's a total drag. I hate when people are depressed. I'm not depressed even though I have plenty to be depressed about. There are other things I'd rather do I guess. I get pissed off at those commercials for anti-depressants that act like being depressed is uncontrollable. I think some people just think it's easier to be that way. I hate it.
My boyfriend is probably one of the most interesting people in my life right now. He actually does things. It's amazing. He fucks around with all kind of technology and can draw really well and knows pretty much everything. He's really smart. It makes me feel stupid. He always makes fun of me because I don't have a good grasp on grammar. Sometimes he makes fun of me if I read a book he considers trash. Granted, I was reading something that the author has compared to the equivalent of a Big Mac and Fries. I didn't finish it because it was frustrating. I'm tired of frustrating novels. I'm tired of genre. It's just entertainment to me anymore. It's like trying to sit through a horror movie where a family moves into a new house and finds supposedly interesting artifacts from the past people who lived there and then get haunted by ghosts. I guess I'm tired of fiction that doesn't feel real.
I want realness.
I want emotion.
I want things to matter.
I want good books that portray life the way it is today.
I want to write books like that. Books that don't have ghosts or demons or serial killers.
In a way this blog is a way of me keeping my shit together and my eye on the fucking prize.
I think this is enough for now.
No one is going to read this anyway.