Gosh.
I sure am not where I expected to be in life.
Let's start there and work our way forward, shall we?
So I'm at that age where I'm not thirty but I'm close enough to thirty to freak my shit out, so I've spent a lot of time reevaluating my life decisions. Apparently I'm not capable of making good ones. See, throughout high school and a good portion of college, I wanted to be a writer...a GREAT WRITER(tm). I had the idea notebooks and the ego, I just needed the publisher and the audience. Which, y'know, when you're in high school, you'll assume that acquiring these things presents you no problem at all.
Hey! thinks the asshole part of your brain, You've got like, twenty reviews on that fanfic! Holy shit, we could be the next Bradbury or King or Austen!
You really think there's a market for alternate universe Sailor Moon fanfiction? the idiot-attention-starved part of you breathlessly replies.
Well, shit! the asshole says, Just make up your own characters! That's all you need to do! Plug 'em in and sell-sell-sell!!!
Okay! Let's go to college and have grown-ups critique my work! YAYAYYYYYYY!!!
Needless to say, that didn't quite go so well. I'm sure I'll go into detail sometime. It's a great story. Involves blueberry bagels.
(And yes, I am aware that the plug-your-original-characters-into-your-fanfic worked in spades for that Fifty Shades bullshit. I'm very happy for the author's success in that matter...hopefully she'll use her millions to invest in an editor).
Anyways. To sum up, I am not a writer. Also, I am going stir-crazy with the realizations that:
1- despite what Teenage Carrie thought, the world did not wait for me
2- I am the only one surprised by this
3- I need to do something more constructive with my time besides working my Monkey Job and playing Mass Effect.
So, like many others of my generation, personal discontent = weblog.
