Some Bologna, Then Bed
What happens to things you were about to say?
anyway. the first novel i read was Jurrasic Park. at one point, while i was reading it in my bedroom on my stomach, my mom yelled up to me from downstairs. i didn't even notice. then she yelled again, and i jumped to alertness with my heart pounding in my chest. it was the first and last time i ever got so into a book. the t-rex was busting through the electric fence on that stormy night when they were in the off-roaders. it's my best empathy with the term 'thriller.' a few years later, after reading some ten Arthur books, namely, at that point, Mary Stewart's, i tried my hand at writing, for the first time, in an old, retired, sixth grade notebook. you know the kind; i had my name written block-lettered on the front and i had torn out the few Algebra pages that were needed for notes. i only had placed down a few paragraphs when my heart started pounding. i knew i had found my niche. but for some reason that knowledge was enough for me. i never really tried again. i thought i'd give the rest of the world a whirl.
what i'd give to get that feeling back.
If i ever do get it back, i'll know my life is set. i'll be able to handle any criticism and any rejection. i may have to work all kinds of odd jobs and live in all sorts of new places, but i'll be sure and centered and focused.
but why did i let it go. why was i satisfied with that fantastic feeling at that time. why didn't i go on?
please, let it return. i really think it will...
anyway. the first novel i read was Jurrasic Park. at one point, while i was reading it in my bedroom on my stomach, my mom yelled up to me from downstairs. i didn't even notice. then she yelled again, and i jumped to alertness with my heart pounding in my chest. it was the first and last time i ever got so into a book. the t-rex was busting through the electric fence on that stormy night when they were in the off-roaders. it's my best empathy with the term 'thriller.' a few years later, after reading some ten Arthur books, namely, at that point, Mary Stewart's, i tried my hand at writing, for the first time, in an old, retired, sixth grade notebook. you know the kind; i had my name written block-lettered on the front and i had torn out the few Algebra pages that were needed for notes. i only had placed down a few paragraphs when my heart started pounding. i knew i had found my niche. but for some reason that knowledge was enough for me. i never really tried again. i thought i'd give the rest of the world a whirl.
what i'd give to get that feeling back.
If i ever do get it back, i'll know my life is set. i'll be able to handle any criticism and any rejection. i may have to work all kinds of odd jobs and live in all sorts of new places, but i'll be sure and centered and focused.
but why did i let it go. why was i satisfied with that fantastic feeling at that time. why didn't i go on?
please, let it return. i really think it will...
on a whim, chad was marco @ 1:11 AM
3 $BlogItemCommentCount$:
At 3:43 PM,
ClickNathan said…
hah.
you say:
"i may have to work all kinds of odd jobs and live in all sorts of new places"
as though it were a hard thing, or a horrid way to live life.
I see that as an ideal life. The real deal poor and dirty Bukowski way of living that is only infinitely more rewarding than being rich, whether you worked hard to be rich or not.
At 4:04 PM,
Anonymous said…
if writing gives you that feeling, you ought to do it. there are too many writers who write well, but who have next to nothing interesting to say. you have a lot of interesting ideas - i get the feeling your mind never stops whirring, in fact - and i don't think you'll run out any time soon.
you ought to do whatever gives you that secure, centered feeling, whether it ends up being writing or something else. everyone ought to. i mean, to get that feeling back i chose to pursue a career that's awfully silly by objective standards (i play with horsies!), but it it's like, you've got to say screw what everyone else thinks. people who ignore that nagging little voice inside end up depressed and unfulfilled, even if they are "successful" at something by societal standards.
so i guess this comment really amounts to saying "follow your dreams" (i picture a hallmark card with a little teddy bear riding on a rainbow, with that phrase in a speech bubble over its head) - but some overused phrases are repeated so often because there's truth to them.
At 3:34 PM,
chad was marco said…
thanks for the recommendations julie. i'm eager to add all of those to the ranks of my bought and will read list. you described house of leaves very well. i liked it mostly for its uniqueness and i could forgive the show-offyness. actually, more i think of it, i really liked it on all fronts. actually, more i think of it, i really really liked it. the plot of the navidson's was so great. it's just like how i like my books and movies. they go somewhere new and you have no idea what might happen. like clive barker, for example. there's some god he's created and it's real powerful, but then something like King Texas comes in from a different dimension and easily overpowers it.
if you start with the premise that anything's possible then your story might end up interesting in my book.
and liz, a teddy bear riding a rainbow, haha, thanks, really made my day. and good for you for doing what you want. i love horses. i've always dreamed of having some some day. i want to ride one through the woods everyday and then i tie him, lots of slack mind you, to a tree and i'd start a fire and chew on a long reed, wiping sweat from my brow as i looked up at the hot sun boring down through the dark green canopy above and if that came true that would be one of my happiest futures. actually, it doesn't necessarily have to be that hot out.
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