Phoooooooooooey. Novel writing month November and I just joined the bandwagon into writing my very first novel!XD Holy lollapalooza me fingers are itching chicken poxes to punch all the creative juices off the top of my head. It'll be great! It'll be grand! Even if I'll suck nipples by the end of the month I'll still rock for trying! Unless of course the bloody forking schoolbulls get in the way and ravenously eat up all my creative time supposedly spent on creatively punching creative works of a mad genius--at least to myself.XP To another person I might be the most ludicrously loathsome piece of flesh rotting and festering like a blob of melting pus on a computer table. Still, I am a genius! Even if I haven't written a word on my novel, I am a genius! Why? Because I say so!XP

Then there's that other dark side of me saying Nooooooooooooo, you can't do that! Why, you can't even produce a decent short story for publishing! And even if you do produce that you don't have the right PR-inclined agent to find the right publisher for you! (And why would I need an agent, hm? And a publisher even?? It's just a bloody short pucking story!) But of course this isn't a short story, silly! It's the real mccoy! (Ew. I hate that expression.) The novel of a lifetime! The novel that'll spark the monumental career of your life-long dream--just a recent dream actually--unfolding right in front of your very... retinae.

What if I will suck?? Phoooooooooey I say, for I will be great! Ravishing! Smashing! Colossal! (Yeah! That's the spirit! That's the optimism! Even if you know in the very depths of your empty resonating soul that you are worth a mere five-cent banana!) But I insist! I will publish a novel even before I celebrate my twenty-first birthday! Which is tomorrow! Shriek! (Pardon, I'm twenty and a little over one-third years old, really, I'm still biologically young and quite old in mind and rather physically tired and senile and retarded so this perhaps might just be the culmination of my life: to create my opus magnus before the strike of my death and decay and reunion with the soil of the earth, not to mention, my beloved fellows, the worms. We're family. (Say, that's a fashionable name for a rock band: The Worms. Ayee!))

But I want to wriiiiiiiiiiiiite, perhaps, at least fifty novels all through out my lifetime! It'll be my second childhood! My adult playground! And I shall play with arbitrary words and abstract toys made of mental constructs! I want to write about physics and philosophy and astronomy and world religions and random revelries (like the feast of Dionysus! Or Apollo! Or even the Mother Goddess Isis herself!) and all the novel stuff that seemingly distort the perception of the empirical world! It'll be an era of newfangled weltanschauungen of the world!

And then when my racking brain exhausts from moving mountains and producing but a mouse (hohoho, the Roman maxim for conquering all European nations and owning but a portion of Sicily.o_0 Get what I mean? No?) I will hear the wise adage of the great balding Homer Simpson saying, "Kids, you tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try."

Thanks for the link Dominique.

Word did you say?

« Alcoholicized | Le Frazzled »