swan's sililoquy

A bad case of writer's blog

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

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Things are coming together.
It’s 9.00 am on Monday.
I’m currently doing the ‘wanker writing thing’ and sitting in a coffee shop up in Surry Hills, only because the library across the way doesn’t open until ten…
Not that I can figure out why. It’s a library, not border security, I should be able to get in there at a normal time. I can even see people in there already, walking around. What they are doing for the next hour before opening is beyond me, hide and seek, playing with themselves? NFI.
Because I can see them now, and all they’re doing is strutting around like a bunch of pompous assholes. Them special, and me not. Yeah I’m waving at you you bastards.
And I here I sit, rejected and annoyed. Here I sit after it was I left standing at the door, her pointing at the sign, Library opening hours 10-5, her smiling that smug smile that makes me want to fling poo, or matches, maybe both.
Her smiling that smug smile like a bureaucratic dick with a stamp, “Oh… you want to come in? NO. DENIED. NEXT!”

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So aside from that small hiccup, and the fact Surry Hills needs a new library. Things are coming together.
I’m 60% to target on Draft 2.0 and I have eights days to ‘finish’ it, which while pushing it somewhat, is still doable. Most of it is written, I’m just cutting, cleaning and reorganising.
But most importantly, I finally got into a writing workshop that has had me holding my breath for the last three months, I’ve been on the waiting list you see and thankfully someone else dropped out last minute. Good luck for me, bad luck for them. So I got in, just when I needed to, and I have my first class tonight.

Things are coming together nicely.

However it also means that yesterday and today will be the first time anyone reads what I have spent two years writing. And until now, no one has read a word. Not one.
It’s been something I’ve done behind closed doors, in the privacy of my own home, and when no one was watching or looking.
It’s only now when I have to show it to people that I realise how strange it feels to have it thrust before them.
It’s like being walked in on while whacking off, you’re halfway, it’s ugly, embarrassing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
There’s the awkward silence. The pause. You watch their face, you watch their eyes, and then you go back to watching their face, and you wonder. What response will you get? Laughter, revulsion, disgust? Or will they deadpan and say “Oh, that looks like fun.”
Then still stuck there with it all hanging out, exposed, you wonder, do I keep going?

So 60% to target I got to keep going, I know it’s rough, I already got feedback from the gf last night, and feedback is wonderful, and great feedback is a lifesaver which it has been already.
So hopefully, as awkward as the whole experience is with fourteen people commenting on my technique, at least I know I’ll learn something.

Plus we’re all in the same boat; it just suddenly got a lot more crowded with elbows flying everywhere.
But we signed up for the class because we need feedback, we know there are problems with our stories, with the structure and flow. I certainly do, and the only way to fix them is to have someone unbiased have a look at it, someone who is far enough away to see the problems. The only way to fix them is to get over the embarrassment.
The only real concern I have is relative comparisons, I.e. I’m writing sci-fi (of sorts) and I could quite possibly be in a workshop with someone writing granny / mommy porn (i.e. Fifty Shades).
So there’s going to be something ‘lost in translation’, i.e. Neither of us is going to have much experience in each others genres, so identifying what’s new / the same / different / better than everything else that’s been written before might be hard. That’s what she said.
But other than that, it can only be a good experience. I get exposure to other writers, I get critiqued, and it’s lead by a published and successful author. So it’s time to learn, and time to get better.

So things are looking up.
I’m free, healthy again, making progress, and my own boss.

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Time for that hug, and hey, wouldn’t you know it but I’m still in a coffee shop.

“Hello there stranger…”

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