Look at me, being all published

http://browngirlmagazine.com/2011/04/we_live_in_aged_times/

That's a poem.

I have other articles on this website, if you're so inclined. I don't recommend them, though, they're really rough.

It Would Be Great

If you thought my lack of updates was because I have a wild and roaring social life. That'd be swell. So, keep on thinking that.

Quarter-Life Crisis

The shitty thing about being an English major is I am constantly confronted by poets and writers and characters that have achieved more in their short, hedonistic lives than I
probably ever could in twice as many years. You know that dumb phrase "more in his little finger..."? It's like that. It feels horrible.

I realize it's a little outrageous to try to compare myself to such great people as Byron or Keats, but I'm mad right now. I mean, just look (to the left) at that suave, tuberculosis-suffering devil. He totally knows he's got it going on.

It feels so silly to sit in school learning about them rather than being out in the world, writing on napkins in dingy bars or traveling through South America while keeping a photo/doodle/poetry journal. I am literally staring out the window AT the glorious LA sun rather than running around in it and getting grass stains on my diary pages. That is the peak of privleged-suburban helplessness, I swear. It's like facing the fact that you will never amount to much of anything.

We talk constantly in class about the "script for happiness" that disillusioned writers spend so much time talking about. And we bring in examples from our own lives about how it's like we are all trying to attain the unattainable model of happiness and success. But I don't think for a second that any of us really lets it sink and settle in the dark places of our

hearts. I mean, I totally want to write or do something ground-breaking, life-changing, movie-making (see to the left (Ben Whishaw, you sexy sexy man)),* or limit-traversing instead of sitting inside discussing those that have already done so. At the same time, though, I can feel my own extremely disenchanting lack of talent or drive. I want it, yeah, but I can't even tell you convincingly if I have the ability to ever achieve it, let alone before I'm 21.

When I was about 12-14, I found this horrible Vampire Fiction book (pictured here)

about this girl who follows a dangerous-looking, shady man back to his mansion in the mountain. And the next thing she knows, HE'S A VAMPIRE (marginally better than Twilight, fer shoor). She then becomes his blood bank and house servant. Eventually she kills him because she's a vampire slayer. Anyway, the point of bringing up this badly written book is because the author, Amelia Atwater-Rhodes (also pictured somewhere below (doesn't she look just like Willow from BtvS?)),* apparently wrote her first novel at the age of 14. You know what I was doing when I was 14? I was reading Meg Cabot, mooning over fictional boys, and rocking Docs, Hot Topic witticism shirts, and glasses. I had no publishing aspirations. I was TYPICAL. Well, I was typical for my misfit-type. But I wanted to be wonderful. So, I sat down at my desk, with my legal pad and pencil. And I strained and strained and strained for a story idea. None came instantly to me so I decided I had no writing talent, and I went to go watch Inyuasha. How pathetic is that? What a sheer sign of my lack of drive, talent, and movie-worthy ability. Even at a young age I knew I was doomed for nothing but fashion awkwardness. Awesome

Well, I think about now I'm getting to stuck in my self-pity, so I will leave it here. My main point is that I need to write more. Now that I have a better grip on what I can say and how I say it (and I've also lost the Hot Topic shit), I think I'm more able to try to achieve something. It's all about the pursuit, right? I doubt I'll create anything publishable (we all know this blog is a wash), but I should probably try before I lose this animas. *sigh* I guess I should go try to actually write now. Woe is I, that I can sit around all day and TRY to write. Obvs I am Keats incarnate. And we have cures for TB now, so I'm not worried.

* I apologize for my use of double parentheses (it's usually because I just have so much to say (and I don't know how to grammatically do so))

Quick Explanation

I realize I never really got around to explaining my blog's title/ url. This is mostly because when I picked it I thought it sounded crazy-poetic with its reminiscent nod at 90s female singer/song-writer music. I am very ashamed of this. Very very ashamed.