So, I have finished half the stuff on my list of homework-y things. It would seem that I only have writing fiction things left. And since I insist on blogging, I’ll make this into a The Writing Life blog today, since I have to blog about that. Oh hey, this is the 90th post! In another 10 days, I’ll hit the 100th post! Yay! Well… I’m sure at least 28 or so of them are related to writing fiction.
I used to think that it was brilliant. And then I read it more, and realized that well… I don’t really care for what she has to say. She’s a bit… pessimistic. She does the metaphoric writing which, in all honesty, I don’t really have the patience for. I’m listening to “Midnight Fantasy,” which is gorgeously harmonized. Too bad the only two words that I understand in that sound are “Midnight Fantasy.”
Okay, so I’m going to blog as I read. I am currently on page 13 (I’m sure I just went back and reread part of it since it’s been so long since I last read it… because I’m sure that I was past page 13 when I last blogged). I just read the part about the woman cutting off a strip of her thigh, and I realize that it’s supposed to be that you’re sacrificing a part of yourself for the book, but really I can’t do anything besides gag at the mental image of this. I hate pain. And I hate disgusting things. Also, was it a large chunk of her leg?
Page 16. Why would you ever retype your story? Because you potentially could have some epic new idea as you go over your old ideas again? I tried this for my college essays. It didn’t work. Really, if you want inspiration, go take a shower. Or something. Go take a nice, long, warm shower as you pitifully wrack your brain for ideas. It tends to work. Or you just end up singing some random song to which the lyrics you have no idea about and (once again pitifully) warble out something that sounds similar. I really like misheard lyrics. They make me giggle.
Page 17. I agree, the written word is weak. I try to explain a funny scene of a variety show online, and it doesn’t work. I just end up sounding insane. Really, I like videos. They capture an essence. Pictures are okay… but really if pictures tell a thousand words, then videos are too much for words. It’s too intense, and really, I’m laughing too hard for any words to come out.
Page 27. Yeah, I also tend to remember things as idyllic. I don’t usually remember the bad parts… just like if you ask me if I would do IB again I would – actually, no I still remember that. And I don’t ever want to go through it again. It’s like ripping your body apart little by little with a tiny blunt knife. But in all honesty, if I were to go back right now and tell eighth grade me what to do, I would tell her to suffer. SUFFER, LITTLE-ME, SUFFER. Because eventually, hopefully, it will all be worth it. So in the end… I guess I don’t just remember the good parts. Also, cigarettes are absolutely disgusting. I cannot admire this person anymore, if they are truly that stupid as to do that to themselves. You can be as brilliant as you want, I will still despise you greatly. And condescend upon you. Or simply just not think of you, because you’re just a waste of air and not worth my time. Disgusting.
Page 35. Playing a game of chess with someone you don’t know over the course of a couple days is totally epic. I hope to encounter something awesome like that in college. And maybe I will… if I ever leave my dorm. Haha, yeah… A quote that my friend said while he was over for the holidays comes to mind. “English majors are for teaching the next generation of English majors.” I hope that’s not insulting. But it’s oddly true… Like the chicken and the egg. Who was the first English major and how? Wait… that’s not an unanswerable question…
Page 37. The man is a fool. Wives do not have to entertain and garden. What kind of bullshit is that. She may garden or entertain if she feels like it. Shut up you sexist bastard.
Page 45. I may hope that I am never that distracted. But knowing me, I always am. I put things down and I do not know where I put them. In one night, I lost my drink three times and my food once. That is just pure silliness. But I think being very absorbed into your work is a good thing. It keeps you focus and it keeps your mind flowing. If I were to move a clothespin every few seconds, I would inevitably get bored of my story and walk away…
Page 49. How can a married couple both be writers? Don’t married couples generally like being able to see each other? Maybe the bloom of their marriage already wore off. Also, Dillard really abuses herself. Do not get caffeine poising and die.
Page 51. I wonder if I sound this crazy in my writing, too. But I kind of envy her intense mental breakdown. I’m sure I could – I definitely just censored myself. I typed it out, and then realized that people in class were potentially going to read it. And then I deleted it. Because I’d rather not have people grade it…
Page 53. Obviously, this writing is powerful. Otherwise I would not be commenting every two pages. But at the bottom of that page, where she says “Why wasn’t I running a ferryboat, like sane people?” The answer, at least for when I do things that I rather hate, is either that I’m good at it and I like to be good at things, or I have to. There is no choice in the matter. It is something that I have to drag myself to do, and do well, just because I am that kind of person. Although I’m starting not to be. If I don’t like it, then why do it well? It’s not worth my time. Also, she might be the kind of person who wouldn’t like doing anything else either. I feel like I am that kind of person… happiness is not the main goal in my life. Well maybe it is. Comfort is the main goal in my life. I think I want a couple close friends with the same interests as I, and we’ll live comfortably. And I’ll mostly be alone. That sounds like a lot of fun actually, not going to lie.
Page 54. “As I spoke he nodded precisely in the way that one nods at the utterances of the deranged. ‘And then…’ I finished brightly, ‘you die!’” Amused. This sounds like S-. And the man nodding, well, that’s just the rest of the world.
Page 55. Apparently, I really like this part. “I was a critic writing for critics.” Well… critics are an elite breed. If you want to write elite things, then you have to give up the general populace, who will inevitability not get your writing. I will write for the general populace – sorry workshop people, my writing is going to be below you all. And then you will rip it to shreds, and I will shrugs. It’s not for you anyways.
Page 64. I wonder if she was high when this happened.
Page 70. “I liked the smell of paint.” So if I like money and power, investing banking is the way to go, yes? Somehow, I feel this is very trivial… needs more depth. You need more than just that to do something… but maybe it is that simple. Perhaps I shall delude myself into thinking that I can potentially be happy in my life…
Page 78. I don’t really like this part. “Push it. Examine all things intensely and relentlessly.” But don’t actually. If you take away the magic, the blurry filters, things are never as awesome as they seem. Just like photoshoots that are done in the autumn leaves… the leaves are dead. They are dead, decaying, and moldy. Don’t look too closely, because it destroys the utter brilliance of the yellow colors. Ignore the brown. Ignore the death that is seeping into the picture…
Page 88. This is a lucky page. The guy is lucky to survive… also why on earth would you do that for a log. Is Dillard trying to say that you should keep going to the point of exhaustion and possibly almost death for a book? Sorry, I don’t care about anything that much. Well… maybe I’ll care about something that much one day. Perhaps I even care about K pop – just kidding. I would never go out of my way to go to a concert. I hate people, I hate crowds. Even going grocery shopping made me claustrophobic.
Page 96. I can’t do that with my writing. Do anything and make it seem simple. I can’t do anything like that. Everything seems to take a lot of effort. Even walking. I suppose that is why she envies him, being able to create art so easily. All she can do is sound condescending…
Page 97. Aww, what a cute bird.
Page 103. Like the gravity boots, I must prepare for a story, my story that I will write a bit later. After reading the ones that were sent to me and writing commentaries. I feel like I should not write right after reading this, or I will inevitably sound whiny and pretentious. I suck in the aura of the book that I just read, and I spit it out through my fingers. Like blood. Seeping out into the page. That would be really cool, if I did not have low blood pressure and if it didn’t hurt. And if I didn’t faint seeing blood coming out of my hands.
Page 108. I knew he was going to die. I was just waiting for it.
Page 111. I’m not sure I like the ending. I guess she’s just saying to live for your art. I can’t do that anymore… I’m not that kind of person.
Hurray, I have finished! Okay, time to do more things… Wow. Lots of words, but not my longest post. But this had relevance.
haha nice job :) i especially liked, "was it a large chunk of her thigh?"
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