04.30.2002 - 11:00 a.m.

Was writing last night. It wasn�t working. I keep getting stuck at the part where my characters are supposed to feel things.

Have decided that this is because I don�t have a large enough ego to write truly great things. All great artists, of any medium, have large egos. This is not in response to being rich, famous, and critically acclaimed. I think the ego has to come first�because I think writing, and any other art, involves a certain sweeping assumption that you can describe what you�ve never seen. A great painter looks at a still life and not only sees what�s there, but sees the lines and colors that ought to be there, instead. A great novelist not only sees what the characters are doing, but also what they are thinking. This is despite the fact that no human, ever, has seen what another is really thinking.

I keep getting stuck on that. What does my character think? I don�t know. I wouldn�t presume to say. He�d be offended if I got it wrong, and the readers would know. I used to paint. I�m pretty good at it, as far as making an accurate depiction of my subject, but art? No, it�s not art, or at least not Art. Because art speaks, and I can�t believe that I have anything in particular to say.

*shudders* well, that�s enough of that�

Got an email today�a friend of mine has a great deal on a trip for four to Florida. The catch? She has to accept or decline today, and won�t accept until she has three guaranteed takers. She has one so far. And I most definitely want to go.

But so does my ex.

I�m not sure it would be fair to subject two others to the weirdness that historically happens when I�m around my ex. I�m not sure I want to subject myself to said weirdness.

I don�t want him to be the ex anymore. It�s been a year and a half�I want to be either friends or strangers. Preferrably strangers, honestly. It would be easier. But I can�t be a stranger, since we still have so many mutual friends. So should I be trying harder to be normal with him? I have a feeling that he�ll always be the ex. The Ex. Like it�s his name.

I hate that this still matters. Why couldn�t I have spent college sleeping around like everyone else?

Some days can be summed up in one word:

Uuhhhnngnhhhhhhggghnnnnnn...

Yeah, I know that's not a word.

-stonebridge

previous | next