apoetreflects:

“Why do I write?  Because I find life unsatisfactory.”

—Tennessee Williams

I just wrote a story about sad suburban queer kids who experience suicidal urges.

It’s for my creative writing class tomorrow. Most of what’s in the story is based off my own experiences and my friends experiences.

I have to hand out a copy to my thirteen classmates and one to my professor. They will edit the story and we’ll go over it as a group next week.

My queer heart will be laid out on an like a patient on a table. They will all be surgeons staring down at me. I will not have any anesthesia besides coffee.

Fuck.

I followed Olive Oil’s advice and read through my classmate’s commentary. It was nicer than I thought it would be.

Maybe the story isn’t entirely shitty and that my prof was REALLY HARD on me in her response?

I hate how appearing calm and mellow in everyday life makes people automatically assume that my inner life is like that too.

I wrote a short fantasy story for my creative writing class not long after I started T. Trying to write a fantasy story is a bad idea if you don’t have the world planned out. The story was weak but I submitted it anyway.

The story got ripped apart in front of me. I was struggling with some heavy mental health stuff at the time (that I actually haven’t talked about on here) so my self esteem fluttered to the classroom floor in pieces. I know that I have talent and potential as a writer, and know I could do better but I handed that in anyway. Ugh. I dunno. I couldn’t write anything for about two months afterward.

I broke through my block this past week.

But I still have to submit a second draft of this shitty poorly-thought-out story. I don’t even want to look at it. It’s due Wednesday. What do I do?

Tips, suggestions, encouragement, etc. welcome.

(I haven’t even looked at the pile of commentary from my classmates on the copies I gave them to edit. I’m abandoning this story after I hand it in.)

irritus:

by plakkikanteletar

findanothergalaxy:

Is all words. I have been reading and writing non-stop. Reading to escape, writing to heal.

That’s the only therapy I need.