Only the Nice Stuff

So, thought I would give you a little clarification about yesterday's post.

Because it was a little formal for me.

And coherent.

And not swear-y.

I'm in a newswriting and reporting class, and we write articles every week, and one of the people who let me interview them wanted to read that one. So I put it on here.

I thought it was pretty good, but I'm glad none of you guys said anything about it.

Because I think that all of the articles I've turned in were pretty good.

But them sometimes I get them back and I want to curl up under a little blanket and stay there for the rest of forever.

And the one that I liked the least was the one that got the best grade. What the hell.

They're not bad grades... I've never gotten lower than a B+, but I mean come on, you're talking to a girl who's disappointed by a 3.98 GPA.

I know that writing is all about editing, and feedback is great, and the only way to learn to be a better writer is to critique and correct yourself constantly.

And if a professor corrects things but still writes "nice job" at the top of your paper, it means you didn't fail.

And as long as your writing doesn't sound like a four year-old wrote it and then sent it through a wood chopper, you're doing just fine.

But I am now officially depressed over a B+, because yes, that is how pathetic I am.

Somebody bring me a blanket and some hot chocolate. Please.

Thinking about it, no wonder so many authors become alcoholics or are chronically depressed or stick their heads in the oven. In writing, you either think that you're brilliant or a fucking idiot. There is no in between.

And it's possible to think both about the same piece of writing. Best case scenario, you write something thinking it's abominable and it receives surprisingly good feedback, at which point you re-read it and realize it's quite good.

More common case?

You write something you think is awesome, and it comes back to you with so much red pen that the paper is basically bleeding out any semblance of life it once held, and you have to try and edit this limp piece of nothing into something you're proud of again which, let me tell you, will never happen. It's impossible. 

You hate it now, and you will hate it forever, and you are doomed to hate hate hate because you now think that this is an idiotic piece of writing done by an idiotic writer and that idiotic writer is you. Congratulations.

So to get to the point of this incredibly self-deprecating post, thank you all for just reading my writing and not saying anything about it, because sometimes I just need to stay in my happy little bubble of thinking that I'm talented and if you fucking burst it I will kill you.

...did I mention I'm a little depressed?

Anyone who wants to pat me on the head and tell me I'm a pretty little princess is welcome. I'll be under my blanket.