Both of my teachers are awesome. I’m glad I stuck with theatre throughout my undergrad, simply because I love the kind of person I became because of that entire department. I’m also glad I decided to keep on keepin’ on with school, and am excited to get into literature and writing. I’ve gone through so many different moods today: Excited, exhausted, annoyed, happy, inadequate, arrogant, content, overwhelmed, and overall like I’m doing the Right Thing ™ with my life.
I am dealing with, and possibly going through the five stages of grief, the fact that I have to write a literary fiction short story, free of fantastic adventures or gratuitous violence. I’m dealing with it pretty well, considering I already have an idea for a story centering on a simple day in the life of a teenage trans-man (boy?). Because if I write about something that seems ordinary to me, it will have an unhappy theme, because I think true ordinary is either tragic or boring.
I am dealing with the fact that someone who was a student in a class I student taught, is now a classmate, though I haven’t said a word to her or her to me. I would say I was her teacher, but I wouldn’t call anything I did in that class teaching—it was 4th quarter of a Varsity Debate class, and my task was to make them look busy/ keep them from setting the room on fire for a few weeks while waiting until I could go back to teaching Drama 1 during that period. Still, you might already know that I tend to freak out when two parts of my life that were previously tightly compartmentalized crash together in even the most minor way.
I keep thinking of Fight Club, and Tyler Durden’s proclamation that we are not Beautiful Unique Snowflakes (or something close to that). Because, let’s face it, I have a tendency to think of myself as some sort of special literary genius innovator or something who, in my fantasies of grandeur, needs no critiquing and will have publisher begging to publish me if only I simply finish a book (which, no doubt, will be a work of art, anthem of a generation, blah blah blah). I’m not actually a narcissistic psycho. I just tend to take criticism of my stories personally. They are like my babies after all. But I’m getting over that, or making myself get over it. Otherwise, I’ll never know the ways in which I suck, or how to stop sucking.
Overall, it was a good day. Oh, and I have two chapters and four articles to read for Thursday. Gotta love it. (And I do.)