Turd encounter #1
Apollo 10 audio transcript.
Oh God why is this so funny.
I will never not love this moment.
I got permission from my fantasy lit professor to write my honors research paper on his work. At the time, I wasn’t even sure what I was going to write about, but I was really excited, so I sent him a tumblr message saying so.
And I know it’s silly, because all he said was good luck, but it was the only bright spot in an otherwise horrific day.
Now I have this intense desire to submit this paper that’s not even written to literary journals, so I can send him links if it gets published. Be all like, “see what your fandom can do!”
On the plus side I’m 90% sure I’m writing about the metaphorical “descent into hell” slash “hero’s journey” that pops up in a lot of his “hidden worlds” fiction. As in, why the hero must descend into this metaphorical world that either A) seems horrific but actually ends up being the hero’s “true home” or B) seems idyllic but ends up being deadly and awful. I.e. hell. Exact thesis still under construction, but at least I have the main idea down.
Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.
“Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard.
Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.
—Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 10
This was one of the most vivid and touching moments for me while reading this book. It’s simple and heartwarming, just the way I love it.
Only to be shattered moments later by the knowledge of Sirius’ involvement in his parents death, not to be remedied for many chapters.
and I don’t see what all the fuss is about. *shrug*
My guess is, you’ve never felt like Holden Caulfield. Which is fair. That book tends to resonate most with angsty teenagers who feel like they are surrounded by fakers without realizing they are, themselves, fakers. Which is why it pretty much changed my entire life in high school. Basically, for most people, it’s like a documentary on their high school selves.
Also, context: the book came out in 1951. Start of McCarthyism, that whole deal. Super repressed era in sooo many ways. So, culturally, it was incredibly significant.
I just realized how stupidly fueled I am by praise.
I wrote a slam poem literally 2 days ago, and I’m already jumping out of my chair to share it with people.
I know that I will eventually film myself reading it and post it on Youtube, but there’s that part of me that wants to post the text version NOW so that people can read it.
This is pathetic.
No, it’s not. Promise. I’m 20 years old and I still feel the same way every time someone likes what I’ve done, and I still have that sinking gut every time someone doesn’t like it.
Writing is about pouring your thoughts and ideas and heart and soul onto a page. Because it reflects so much of what we are, it’s thrilling when you can share it with someone else and they approve, they love it, they think it’s great stuff. It’s the greatest form of acceptance, and it’s intoxicating.
So no, not pathetic at all–totally normal. Just try to keep it in perspective and you’ll be ok. :)