I have had stories on my mind. While I’m writing a fanfic (I’ve got two minor characters from the film, plus one major OC and two smaller ones—so far, anyway) I’ve also got a brace of completed-ish stories that I have neither posted on the webs nor sent out anywhere to try and get money for them. And I’m kicking myself, because that means there are no stories of mine pending approval anywhere. But I need to go back and revise them a little. The end of one story kind of annoys me—I think it’s drawn out too long—and the other one—which is about four times longer—has some abrupt things in it, and music plays a major role and I need to go back and look at the titles I’ve mentioned and where they fit in the story. Even if I don’t end up being the kind of writer where people look at that stuff, I still want to do it just because it is playing a role, and it is part of the story, kinda. Plus the general revision needs that any first draft must have.
So a while back I pulled a bunch of books out of my room to get rid of (nothing good, of course—or if it’s good, it’s still not my thing) and I had them sitting on a table in the hallway for everyone to go through and check for things they wanted to keep, just since I’d taken a few of those books out of the basement (I’d mostly done so in fits of madness, of course). But then my mom got tired of them sitting there, so she said either I was taking them to McKay’s or she was throwing them out. Okay. Man, I really wore myself out getting them into the car, though, and then again getting them out and into the store. And they only took three books. Well, I got three bucks out of it, which I spent right away on a Spanish translation of Stephen King’s Colorado Kid, which I am pretty certain I have not read. Haven’t done Spanish in a while, but my grasp of it doesn’t seem to have decayed very much. Tell you, after this semester I am going to be reading in foreign languages. Definitely. I got Stephen King books in two languages now, plus my Wheelock’s reader (somewhere) as well as a few texts from the semester I want to pursue further just because. Like Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historiae Regum Britanniae. It’s got dragons in it *tail wags*
But I don’t know what to do, really. I’m just pretending to be smart and mostly doing things at random. What classes should I take? Shouldn’t I take that four-hundred level creative writing course? Maybe I should take a class in poetry. I was told by an Irish person—from Ireland!—that more prose authors should learn poetry (as well as that more poetry authors ought to learn prose). And didn’t I want to translate some of the more fun Catullus poems? Not to mention I’ve got more dashes and parentheses in this post than anything written in English really ought to have.
I’m also taking Greek which is a crazy idea for some reason. Whatevs. I mean, it’ll take me longer to graduate but shit I cannot take four upper-level classes in one semester again I will fucking die. Just too many damn papers. I’ve already half-assed one, and I just shat out whatever kind of feces seemed relevant to my brain over the course of eight hours on another. I fucking hate that. And I might even have written a decent paper—not a good one, but okay—if I’d just had time to focus on it. I have no idea what my professor is going to say about it. I’m seriously embarrassed. That thing was a complete monstrosity. I should have shot the fucking thing and dissolved it in acid.