my story is being workshopped in class today. you know, that hinky-tense, lack of plot, nothing at stake piece of shit i wrote last week. yeah, that one. they’re gonna rip me to shreds, and i totally, totally deserve it. however, that has not stopped me from having anxiety dreams the past three nights and it has not stopped my stomach from hurting.
blech.
i keep reminding myself that sweet, sweet rob told us that it’s ok to write shitty stories. but i know i’m gonna continue to beat myself up over this one. i could have done so much better. but i didn’t because i am the queen of slack.
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I remember a story I wrote in my senior year that I was certain sucked ass. But then the teacher read it aloud to the class as an example of “great storytelling”, so maybe we’re not the best critics of our own work, huh?
Hey, if you wrote the perfect story, the rip-it class would be boring.
Give the slobs something to live for.