Pretty little black eyed suzy
March 14, 2009 § Leave a comment
I’m listening to Guy Mitchell (hand claps!) and am trying to make concious grown up decitions instead of going mad with all energy I have. You see, I’m ill, so I’m not allowed to use it. My ears and my throat hurts like a minor hell. For some reasons that’s it though.
I normally end up seeing everything in a yellow tint and singin’ lullabies to myself when I’m ill, from all the high fever. I lie down in my bed, sweaty and panicky, with pains and ackes. I’m lost for the world.
This time? No, just some pain and a nudging load of energy that is conspiring to make me go outside and make me seriously ill instead of being a good girl and staying indoors.
I handed in 122 A4 pages of text yesterday. One of the scariest days of my life, bar sitting in the ER in Australia waiting for tests… Or being in that motorboat in full storm in Fiji. Oh well, kind of scary anyway.
So much text! Have I written all of that? The moment I handed it in I felt like sending out a message going “oh, and by the way, don’t worry, it sucks, I know”. I wonder how I’d ever survive publishing a text. I know we talk a lot about reading deep enough to find the heart of the text, and find the “good” of that text (the terms good/bad aren’t really appliable when it comes to texts in that way). That there is always a way in, a key. There is no bad texts.
But of all those texts, most of them still aren’t good enough to even pass the mail-room at a publishing firm. 99.7% will never get published. I’d like to pass that needle eye, but my camel is a bit complicated. Everything would be easier if I wrote ordinary prose, but I complicate it all with writing surrealistic, fragmentated and contemporary half-erotica (they claim, but it seems like one sex-scene made it erotica if the main character didn’t feel bad afterwards). It’s a complicated camel. It’s a round needle eye, and my camel is a hypercube. I have to write pretty damn good to get it through there.
Oh well. The text is in and I’ve finally lost my writers block.
Now, all I need is finding my cellphone that I also lost, but in less of a metaphorical sense.