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Jenn (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wankaholic) wrote,@ 2009-04-12 16:05:00 |
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Fall, falling, fallen. Wake up before you hit the ground, or you're—
Again.
Lay down, shut eyes, whisper prayer (ohgodpleasenottonight), dream. Climbing the endless stair, a push from the top. Fall.
Watch as the ground rushes to meet you; shut your eyes and watch yourself fall, in horrible stop-motion.
Fall, freeze.
Fall, freeze.
Stare at your body even as you are outside it, snapshotted in time, twisted into unrecognizable positions. Critique yourself, as you fall, your "form" and "style." Remain dispassionate as you do. It is not you falling; it is a stranger.
Snap suddenly into your form before the end, every time. Watch the ground, suddenly too close for comfort. Feet away, or perhaps inches, know that you are going to hit, brace yourself only to jerk suddenly, acheingly awake. Check the clock (minutes or hours? How long was it this time?) and go back to sleep. You woke; you survived another night. Shut your eyes again and hope that oh, God, if you do begin to fall again, you wake before you hit the ground, because if you don't you're
—dead.
I have another, longer piece that I'm taking in for workshop on Tuesday (I'm doing an upper division writing workshop this semester at school). I showed it to people on LJ, and the basic consensus was that A). After having revisedrevisedrevised it's basically done now, and B). I should probably try to submit it to somewhere like Asimov's and see if they'll take it for publication (it's short-ish SF, about 4K words). Normally I would go "pfft," and leave it at that, but the person that told me is not the sort that usually agrees with what I write being "good" (usually has suggestions to make as to what could be fixed), so it's a nice ego boost? I guess.
I'm simultaneously looking forward to and dreading tomorrow. I have a presentation to do in comm, but we're doing quantum in physics, and I'm really enjoying it . . . and chem has been good lately, too. We'll see.
Really looking forward to Tuesday, ridiculously so. That's when the workshop is, and the presentation on The Tent (Atwood's book of short stories). I'm happy with what I've written, even if the pretentious asshat in my class is probably going to rip into me about "what [he calls] tea-time dialogue" and the bitchy girl whose story about a female-only society I ripped apart is probably going to try to "get revenge" by pointing out the flaws in mine. Eh.
Not to be OH GOD SO VAIN, but I'm a better writer than either of them. Bitchy girl tends to go off on these long asides that derail the plot and make absolutely no sense in context; pretentious asshat writes terrible dialogue and descriptions that don't make any sense, and on top of that, his characters all sound like forty-year-old men. So!
We shall see.
Again.
Lay down, shut eyes, whisper prayer (ohgodpleasenottonight), dream. Climbing the endless stair, a push from the top. Fall.
Watch as the ground rushes to meet you; shut your eyes and watch yourself fall, in horrible stop-motion.
Fall, freeze.
Fall, freeze.
Stare at your body even as you are outside it, snapshotted in time, twisted into unrecognizable positions. Critique yourself, as you fall, your "form" and "style." Remain dispassionate as you do. It is not you falling; it is a stranger.
Snap suddenly into your form before the end, every time. Watch the ground, suddenly too close for comfort. Feet away, or perhaps inches, know that you are going to hit, brace yourself only to jerk suddenly, acheingly awake. Check the clock (minutes or hours? How long was it this time?) and go back to sleep. You woke; you survived another night. Shut your eyes again and hope that oh, God, if you do begin to fall again, you wake before you hit the ground, because if you don't you're
—dead.
I have another, longer piece that I'm taking in for workshop on Tuesday (I'm doing an upper division writing workshop this semester at school). I showed it to people on LJ, and the basic consensus was that A). After having revisedrevisedrevised it's basically done now, and B). I should probably try to submit it to somewhere like Asimov's and see if they'll take it for publication (it's short-ish SF, about 4K words). Normally I would go "pfft," and leave it at that, but the person that told me is not the sort that usually agrees with what I write being "good" (usually has suggestions to make as to what could be fixed), so it's a nice ego boost? I guess.
I'm simultaneously looking forward to and dreading tomorrow. I have a presentation to do in comm, but we're doing quantum in physics, and I'm really enjoying it . . . and chem has been good lately, too. We'll see.
Really looking forward to Tuesday, ridiculously so. That's when the workshop is, and the presentation on The Tent (Atwood's book of short stories). I'm happy with what I've written, even if the pretentious asshat in my class is probably going to rip into me about "what [he calls] tea-time dialogue" and the bitchy girl whose story about a female-only society I ripped apart is probably going to try to "get revenge" by pointing out the flaws in mine. Eh.
Not to be OH GOD SO VAIN, but I'm a better writer than either of them. Bitchy girl tends to go off on these long asides that derail the plot and make absolutely no sense in context; pretentious asshat writes terrible dialogue and descriptions that don't make any sense, and on top of that, his characters all sound like forty-year-old men. So!
We shall see.
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