This is my blog. It is about stuff that I like. Interesting stuff... Like anime and Ella Fitzgerald and show tunes and literature and chocolate cake and women. One day soon I'm gonna be a kick-ass novelist and patron of the arts.
So I’m two semesters away from graduating with a degree in journalism (maybe three semesters depending on how my internship turns out). In the last three days I’ve begun seriously considering finishing up my English program and having a double major in English and journalism.
Then it’d be off to grad school for my MA, and eventually my Ph.D. An eternity in academia, really.
I was so close to the finish line, but there’s a strong possibility I’m about to become an English major again.
I’m pretty sure thesawcesomeone told me this would happen.
I’ve been up since 7:30 a.m. I was exhausted at 9 p.m., but then there was food.
I fell down a Youtube hole, and I’ve been watching videos of “Come On Eileen” for about a half hour. I cannot sleep because there is embarrassing dancing to be done and books to be read.
Sleep is for the weak.
I wonder if it’s too late to change my major from journalism to… however one goes about becoming a Time Lord or companion of the Doctor.
I’ve come to the realization that my dream job is actually “the Doctor” or a companion of said individual. Not an actor playing such a role, mind, the genuine article.
A man has a right to dream, dammit.
My father was in New York for the 2005 Union Square signing for ANANSI BOYS. He came down to watch the signing. My agent went and said hello to him. They watched the crowds together.
"You must be very proud of him," said my agent.
"I am," he said.
"But you must have always known it would be like this," said Merrilee.
"He wanted to be a writer," said my dad. "I thought I’d be supporting him until he died, or got a real job…"
…advice? Well, if you never write, then she’s automatically right. You won’t ever be a writer. If you DO write, then at least you have a chance…
My first book is sitting in the attic, unpublished. And I’m glad it wasn’t published, because when I came to read it to my daughter, twenty years after I wrote it, I discovered that it wasn’t very good. But I don’t believe a second of the time I spent writing it was wasted.
You’ve got a lot of bad words and awkward plots inside you. Better to get them all down on paper, so the good ones can come out.