You GUUUUUUUUYS. I can't sleep. Guess why? It shouldn't be terribly complicated, I started digging through my archives and discovered I do this EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.
My writing class starts tomorrow.
This is a problem for two reasons, and probably a whole lot of other reasons I haven't thought of yet, but the first is that I haven't been to a class of any kind since mid-way through fall semester last year.
You know. When the shit got knocked out of me and stuff.
I am no longer used to A) being a student or B) having deadlines or C) HAVING DEADLINES. And by "deadlines," I mean "anything at all I have to do for any reason other than because I feel compelled."
Second problem? Writing classes: they can haz scarinezz. You ever taken one? They read your shit out loud, and then they tear it to fucking shreds. OUT LOUD. It's all very...well, it's awesome, actually, and super helpful, but I've been stuck in writing classes with really stupid people before, and they're kind of a buzz kill. Because they suck and writing, except they think that they're awesome at writing, so they hate my writing (which...come on, seriously?) and then they refuse to employ any of my suggestions or answer my questions.
At the end of the day, it's a tiny room full of people, sitting in a circle, showing each other their private parts and critiquing everyone elses bush trim.
OH. Thought of another one. This is a children's literature writing class.
Ya'll have read my shit before. Obviously. You're here after all, and most of you probably aren't even being held at gun point (Hi Joseph! This one's for you buddy!).
So it may be obvious to even the most dense of you, that I? DO NOT CATER TO THE RATED G CROWD.
I can't write for fucking kids, am I out of my mind? Seriously, the last assignment I had to write from a child's perspective was traumatic even for me. I have a lot of work to do on my child's voice, but the thing is that I don't ENJOY writing that shit, so finding a new creative voice seems...like a lot of fucking work.
I blame this on the fact that I started reading Salem's Lot when I was eight years old. There's no going from Stephen King back to fucking My Little Golden Books.
I write stupid stuff and mildly scary stuff and funny stuff and suuuuper disturbing stuff, and all of it is...adult rated, shall we say. Even the few things I've written (like this) about happy times in my childhood (there were actually a few), my voice is distinctly not a child's voice. Nor is it an adult speaking to a child. It's like...a really stoned guy explaining the intricate details of Bugles to the cop who just pulled him over.
OH. Thought of another one. My class is at the Midway campus, which happens to be called "Midway Campus" because of it's close proximity to the state fairgrounds, and did I mention that tomorrow? IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE MN STATE FAIR?
I've already had a traumatic first day of writing class experience. This one may be just as bad, except it's possible I might find cheese curds on the ground, and that would actually be awesome.