Fuckin'

There's this creative writing course offered at Queen's, y'see, and I think I'm going to apply. I need to rummage through my old short stories to find a good one to apply with, as well as write some cover letter describing why I want to take the course. This is due today. Wish me luck.

I've been in a weird mood as of late. I find myself wanting to write something with meaning and substance instead of the same old 'blandiocrity' that I continuously spew out. The trouble, however, is found in the fact that I have nothing to say. Or, rather, I have much to say, but I can't figure out how to say it so I don't come off as some armchair philosopher who's smoked himself retarded. Or maybe it's some deadly combination of the two, which just increases my doubt in my writing ability.

One of the main reasons why I want to take the creative writing class is so I'm forced to write. But what will happen if I'm forced to write when I have nothing to talk about? It might not blow over well, that's for sure; but at least I'll be writing /something/, which is a lot more than what I can say now. I hope the prof finds my short story as amusing as my old Writer's Craft teacher did...though I have a sneaking suspicion that she was just crazy and loved anything. I mean, in the middle of one class she splurted out, "my family has a history of mental illness" and giggled to herself before she continued her marking. I'll be sure to keep my hopes low.