"Everyone we meet is a mirror of something we don't see within ourselves."
Ain't that the motherfucking truth.
I made the mistake of telling a friend I'd help her edit her story. Her novel.
Two pages in, I realized why I hardly agree to do this: I hate it.
I hate editing, that is. I don't even enjoy editing my own shit, much less someone else's.
The grammatical errors are eating away at me, and I can't help but roll my eyes with a lot of the story line.
This is the same story in which I made a mini appearance... which, surprise! I had to be edited out of because the fucking character was so banal to the plot.
I had high hopes for this second edit... but... sweet baby Jesus... I'm on page 80 of 450 and I have taken five tea breaks (the fact that I'm staying caffeine free until May 19th is really fucking me up).
It's not that it's boring... it's just... predictable... but I definitely see others enjoying it, particularly high schoolers... regular, non-honors students. There's no double entendre, no symbolism, no... it's very... cut and dry. It's not patronizing. It's not condescending. It's... there. And the sense of pace is slowwwwwww... then fast... then super fast. Erratic, but not artistic erratic.
Back in my creative writing days, I enjoyed reading certain people's stuff... like Kelley and Darcy's stuff... but other classmates made me want to slam my bedroom door against my forehead.
I love this friend of mine, so I'm plowing through this... a little disappointed, since I thought she'd be better, considering she reads much more than I do... but I guess the whole quality versus quantity is evident in this case (she uh... loved the 50 Shades of BULLSHIT series as well as the Twilight garbage... so... I pretty much asked for this... I SHOULD have expected this prose. God, I hate myself for being so harsh and cunt-tastic).
Another thing is that she tries to get a little vulgar, but stops herself short right before it gets believable (yeah, there's a "believable" level of vulgarity. If my character is going to go around saying "shit" and "asshole" all over my story, why the fuck am I gonna have him say "dang" as opposed to "damn!" or "heck" as opposed to "hell"? I'm going to have that motherfucker saying "shit," "fuck," "bitch," "cunt," "dick," "balls," "pussy," and all other sorts of vulgarities dudes say when having a night out with the homies. Understandable? Let's be consistent here, for fuck's sake)... which is beginning to drive me bananas. If you're gunning for potty-mouthed dude, homie, go all out. When guys trash-talk, BOY do they trash-talk. I trash-talk... and I'm a girl... I TRY to filter stuff... sometimes. Guys? They tend to have a thinner filter... if any.
SO. Yeah.
And the last issue is that I feel my OWN voice going to shit the deeper I get into this story. I feel it unraveling all the shit I've learned over the years. You know when you're out, and somehow wind up chatting with the meathead of the group, and you feel your IQ draining from your brain as if someone just poked holes in your garden hose of intelligence? You start fearing that pretty soon you'll enter a catatonic, perhaps comatose state if you sit any longer next to that black-hole of intelligence... you'll start slipping off your chair... grunting monosyllabic words... drooling all over yourself... fall limp on the floor, no longer capable of recalling the intrinsic need to BREATHE.
Not pretty.
May God have mercy on my poor, failing brain.
Ain't that the motherfucking truth.
I made the mistake of telling a friend I'd help her edit her story. Her novel.
Two pages in, I realized why I hardly agree to do this: I hate it.
I hate editing, that is. I don't even enjoy editing my own shit, much less someone else's.
The grammatical errors are eating away at me, and I can't help but roll my eyes with a lot of the story line.
This is the same story in which I made a mini appearance... which, surprise! I had to be edited out of because the fucking character was so banal to the plot.
I had high hopes for this second edit... but... sweet baby Jesus... I'm on page 80 of 450 and I have taken five tea breaks (the fact that I'm staying caffeine free until May 19th is really fucking me up).
It's not that it's boring... it's just... predictable... but I definitely see others enjoying it, particularly high schoolers... regular, non-honors students. There's no double entendre, no symbolism, no... it's very... cut and dry. It's not patronizing. It's not condescending. It's... there. And the sense of pace is slowwwwwww... then fast... then super fast. Erratic, but not artistic erratic.
Back in my creative writing days, I enjoyed reading certain people's stuff... like Kelley and Darcy's stuff... but other classmates made me want to slam my bedroom door against my forehead.
I love this friend of mine, so I'm plowing through this... a little disappointed, since I thought she'd be better, considering she reads much more than I do... but I guess the whole quality versus quantity is evident in this case (she uh... loved the 50 Shades of BULLSHIT series as well as the Twilight garbage... so... I pretty much asked for this... I SHOULD have expected this prose. God, I hate myself for being so harsh and cunt-tastic).
Another thing is that she tries to get a little vulgar, but stops herself short right before it gets believable (yeah, there's a "believable" level of vulgarity. If my character is going to go around saying "shit" and "asshole" all over my story, why the fuck am I gonna have him say "dang" as opposed to "damn!" or "heck" as opposed to "hell"? I'm going to have that motherfucker saying "shit," "fuck," "bitch," "cunt," "dick," "balls," "pussy," and all other sorts of vulgarities dudes say when having a night out with the homies. Understandable? Let's be consistent here, for fuck's sake)... which is beginning to drive me bananas. If you're gunning for potty-mouthed dude, homie, go all out. When guys trash-talk, BOY do they trash-talk. I trash-talk... and I'm a girl... I TRY to filter stuff... sometimes. Guys? They tend to have a thinner filter... if any.
SO. Yeah.
And the last issue is that I feel my OWN voice going to shit the deeper I get into this story. I feel it unraveling all the shit I've learned over the years. You know when you're out, and somehow wind up chatting with the meathead of the group, and you feel your IQ draining from your brain as if someone just poked holes in your garden hose of intelligence? You start fearing that pretty soon you'll enter a catatonic, perhaps comatose state if you sit any longer next to that black-hole of intelligence... you'll start slipping off your chair... grunting monosyllabic words... drooling all over yourself... fall limp on the floor, no longer capable of recalling the intrinsic need to BREATHE.
Not pretty.
May God have mercy on my poor, failing brain.
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