My writing apparently lacks anything of substance, any sort of plot, or anything that would make people jump up and see the world in a new, brilliant sort of way. But somehow this morning, between my right and left pockets and the daily struggle to find my keys, I realized something so fantastically enlightening that I had to rush to my computer to share that information with the world and my facebook friends. I, the ambitious young writer woman that I am, don’t really care.
On a daily basis I plop down (and I mean ‘plop’ in the most literal sense of the word as I’m not one for delicacies or intricacies or even punctuality) beside a student who is sure to be the next big hit. After excusing myself, I can always look over at my prompt comrade and see some sort of sparkle of ingeniousness and new ideas, a small dreamy smile and a face that I’m sure will adorn not the back, but the very cover of their next book. They’re just that good.
Though it’s the little twinkle that will one day grace at least two different Oprah shows I notice when I first look over to gauge my competition, it’s only once I’m thoroughly bored and after a full ten minutes that I start to examine more that just the sparkle. Often times these prodigies and professor’s favourites come complete with a hereditary squint, hairy knuckles, or hair compliments of grandma’s hairdresser and while they’re busy thinking up new ways to approach politics or in depth analyses of the human relation, I explore much more relevant issues. For instance, how did they get to be so hairy? Why wouldn’t they simply go get waxed? Apparently, however, this sort of thing is neither earth shattering nor is it deemed highly thought provoking.
Well fuck that shit.
I may lack sparkle. I may never write a story read in gr.11 English Lit, or even be the author of a novel read by the neighbourhood book club, but I am determined. Determined to continue writing letters to broken bones, plays about nerds because I think it’s funny even though no one else does and stories about crazy ladies who get strangled by their nine cats. I will be as apparently unthought-provoking as humanly possible, as irrelevant as the mouthwash on my table, and as inconsequential as the girl who sits in class and writes about her genius rivals. How this inspiration came to be in my pockets, however, I have no idea.
On a daily basis I plop down (and I mean ‘plop’ in the most literal sense of the word as I’m not one for delicacies or intricacies or even punctuality) beside a student who is sure to be the next big hit. After excusing myself, I can always look over at my prompt comrade and see some sort of sparkle of ingeniousness and new ideas, a small dreamy smile and a face that I’m sure will adorn not the back, but the very cover of their next book. They’re just that good.
Though it’s the little twinkle that will one day grace at least two different Oprah shows I notice when I first look over to gauge my competition, it’s only once I’m thoroughly bored and after a full ten minutes that I start to examine more that just the sparkle. Often times these prodigies and professor’s favourites come complete with a hereditary squint, hairy knuckles, or hair compliments of grandma’s hairdresser and while they’re busy thinking up new ways to approach politics or in depth analyses of the human relation, I explore much more relevant issues. For instance, how did they get to be so hairy? Why wouldn’t they simply go get waxed? Apparently, however, this sort of thing is neither earth shattering nor is it deemed highly thought provoking.
Well fuck that shit.
I may lack sparkle. I may never write a story read in gr.11 English Lit, or even be the author of a novel read by the neighbourhood book club, but I am determined. Determined to continue writing letters to broken bones, plays about nerds because I think it’s funny even though no one else does and stories about crazy ladies who get strangled by their nine cats. I will be as apparently unthought-provoking as humanly possible, as irrelevant as the mouthwash on my table, and as inconsequential as the girl who sits in class and writes about her genius rivals. How this inspiration came to be in my pockets, however, I have no idea.
No comments:
Post a Comment