around 9:30 p.m. i had a mini-nervous breakdown. and here nervous breakdown is defined by the overwhelming desire to cry self-piteous tears while shoving 32 snack-size snickers into your mouth. in short, my story sucks. it does more than suck, it also blows. it’s crappy pap you wouldn’t even want to read. it’s very much telling and not so much showing. it’s bad with a capital B.

so now, i start over. not from scratch, just from the beginning.

i’m starting to feel a little guilt about the whole thing too. i’m thinking that perhaps it’s unfair to foist something so rough onto my advanced fiction writing class. but part of me is wondering if that’s just not my way of chickening out and handing in something that’s much more polished and, therefore, much easier on me.