Forward. The poem below (last entry) was written November 16nth, 2005. in response to the email, no, im not saying who its about. But I know youll never guess :)
Yes. thats right. Three weeks into this program Ive finally broken down and accepted it. You win logic. Common sense, heres a damn gold star.
I'm a writer.
I guess this was inevitable. The constant writing of poetry. The open disgust of a close minded major.
Yes stephanie, you win. ;P
I'm a goddamned writer.
why the hostility you ask?
Since day one. every teacher. Every adult. Everyone who educated me in the simplest building blocks of life, has said I should write. Everyone I meet suggests I should write a book, or a collection of poetry, or something. Fuck, even my openshutter directory listing puts me up as "a writer'. The thing is.
I enjoy it. Immensely. I love the open endedness of the english language. I love the potential. I love how anything written can not be proven or disproven by a science project or case studies or double blind naturalistic BS.
But I also love helping people. So im thinking. Why not do both. to what degree of each I do not know but.
I'm also a stubborn bitch when it comes to finally admitting things I should have ages ago. Ive always thought "well im really good at writing, but maybe if I did it for a living it would lose its enjoyment".
probably not. but it sounds good.
So here I am, home early from class,making a declaration.
Something I write (well something else?) will be published. and by golly, some people might like it.
fin ~
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