testing, testing

fml.

i had a much wittier post than this one all primed and ready-to-go.

classic.

the dog destroyed my blog post. it's the techgeek's equivalent of a canine mastication -- tiny paws dancing the samba across a keyboard -- WAS THIS IMPORTANT? RAWF!! i could feign writeous indignance about the entire incident, but should i really twist my unmentionables into a knot over this?

prolly . . . knot. har-de-har.

sufficeth to say -- i'm in a writing rut. this blog is an attempt to reignite the spark. hmmm, was it even a spark? if it flashes in the darkness and no one is there to see it . . .

in my much wittier post, i waxed poetic(like) on the trials and tribulations of wannabe auteurs. we're a very self-interested group of elitist woebegones. we "suffer" for our art . . . and then we go through the shame of recognizing our lamentations are a far cry from "real" suffering. after all, if we have food on the table, our power cord plugged into a working outlet, a roof over our heads, and the right to write, what have we to gnash our teeth over?

BUREAUCRACY. that's right. i said it.

to whom do i refer? why, i'm referring to all the damn nay-sayers who pass their electronic judgment on our work only to pat us over the head with a "there, there" and tell us not to give up. i mean, really . . . should the beauty queen who cut the fat girl from the cheerleading squad be telling her not to give up her dream? isn't that just . . . bitchy? i'd almost rather hear the beauty queen tell me, "please. you're too fat to be a cheerleader." at least then i'd know i have to lose weight.

this blog is meant to be a place where would-be writers come to share their sob stories, their successes, and their many tales of enduring/prevailing over the "process".

whether or not anyone reads this remains to be seen, but i always promise to be honest and insert my particular brand of humor wherever i see fit -- which is basically everywhere.

if you don't like punchy sarcasm, and you don't like raw honesty, go elsewhere.

who am i to feign such self-importance? i'm a would-be writer of 26 with a day job i dream of leaving behind -- carnage on the ground, in true Palahniuk style. i have an agent i secured at the beginning of 2010 ("yay!"), and my manuscript has been submitted to several "kind" rejections (a hopefully insouciant "boo").

i await the knight with the strength to save me from my dire fate of irrelevance with his first . . . paycheck. i keed, i keed.

honestly though, it's really tough to find the motivation to write when your ego keeps taking such sound thrashings. nevermind your desire to tell me that i should not give up, and keep your "if at first you don't succeed" quotes at bay. i've heard them all, and bobby mcferrin is a mantra-inducing, over-sweet dessert i've engorged upon quite enough.

i just need to write.

if you ever want my opinion on your work, and i have the time to give it, a word of caution: i will be a great deal more honest than the woman who gave birth to you . . . but i will never tell you to give up.

i'll leave that to the bratpack and its shark-infested waters -- where other failed writers found jobs (as agents).

cheers,

renee