maybe you should try and send something to a publisher, unless you're too afraid it doesn't have enough Mormon wet-dream vampires or crap metaphors and the promise of a pointless movie deal with the token characters played by a cokewhore with the emotional range of a cracker and a hairy foot in desperate need of a shower. you could write about dating a convict (which never happened) or bungee jumping (which you've never done) or the time you rolled around in the street baked off your ass on PCP (also never happened), you know, something that would appeal to teens.
what could go wrong? it can't be any worse than that girl who wrote about true love in the woods, starring that Mormon girl who ran away from her family to be with Johnny in the pick-up truck and leave the small-town life behind and-- or maybe it was Amish, but the chick was named Mary and the girl who wrote it is to writing what Glenn Beck is to intelligence. the point is, you could be worse. the ugliest thing you've ever written was Legend of Zelda fanfiction when you were ten and still thought writing in cursive was cool. but you've come a long way, right? sure, maybe comparing the moon to an antacid tablet isn't the cleverest thing you've ever said, nor is wallowing over Sylvia Plath and contemplating sticking your head in the oven just to be melodramatic (except you don't have an oven, you have a two-burner gas stove and your sister probably won't buy your explanation of trying out a Harvey Dent/Two-face cosplay and going for 'realism'), but it's obvious people want to hear what you have to say. otherwise, they wouldn't click that little button at the bottom of the page. then again, maybe their hand slipped when trying to click 'make this box go away'. and maybe this is the time to come out and admit that you've been clicking on your own story (which isn't even a story, who are you kidding) just because it's the only praise you've ever received.
oh, hey, about that non-melodramatic thing; try it. you are not deep or insightful if you drink six dollar wine bottled in 2009 out of an elephant mug and feel dangerous because you're technically not allowed to be doing so. you don't get to consider yourself in the higher percentage of intellectuals when the color of Gatorade is still exciting. you certainly aren't worthy of an Oscar for Best Actress in a Drama when you dance around to Queen Latifah with candy corn shoved onto your teeth like fangs. the least you could do is give a passing nod to Janet Jackson, who helped you through
what could go wrong? it can't be any worse than that girl who wrote about true love in the woods, starring that Mormon girl who ran away from her family to be with Johnny in the pick-up truck and leave the small-town life behind and-- or maybe it was Amish, but the chick was named Mary and the girl who wrote it is to writing what Glenn Beck is to intelligence. the point is, you could be worse. the ugliest thing you've ever written was Legend of Zelda fanfiction when you were ten and still thought writing in cursive was cool. but you've come a long way, right? sure, maybe comparing the moon to an antacid tablet isn't the cleverest thing you've ever said, nor is wallowing over Sylvia Plath and contemplating sticking your head in the oven just to be melodramatic (except you don't have an oven, you have a two-burner gas stove and your sister probably won't buy your explanation of trying out a Harvey Dent/Two-face cosplay and going for 'realism'), but it's obvious people want to hear what you have to say. otherwise, they wouldn't click that little button at the bottom of the page. then again, maybe their hand slipped when trying to click 'make this box go away'. and maybe this is the time to come out and admit that you've been clicking on your own story (which isn't even a story, who are you kidding) just because it's the only praise you've ever received.
oh, hey, about that non-melodramatic thing; try it. you are not deep or insightful if you drink six dollar wine bottled in 2009 out of an elephant mug and feel dangerous because you're technically not allowed to be doing so. you don't get to consider yourself in the higher percentage of intellectuals when the color of Gatorade is still exciting. you certainly aren't worthy of an Oscar for Best Actress in a Drama when you dance around to Queen Latifah with candy corn shoved onto your teeth like fangs. the least you could do is give a passing nod to Janet Jackson, who helped you through
