10-May-2007

I would just like to point out that I spent an hour last night working on a blog entry, which evil Xanga proceeded to eat.  Just snapped it up in its greedy jaws and chomped away as soon as I clicked "Submit."  Some of you might be skeptical as to who was at fault.  "But Melissa," you might argue, "Don't you remember when you unknowingly dropped multiple paper clips into your poor little Inkjet printer your sophomore year of college and it got a permanent case of indigestion and died?"  Splitting hairs, people.  This was not my fault. 

Two interesting tidbits... first off, I got an email from my elementary school's Director of Development today, wanting to know if she could interview me for their alumni newsletter because I was "in" PD.  Um, no.  No, I was not.  She continued by saying she'd like to see what I was working on now, and thought how encouraging it might be to the children, blah, blah, blah.  Yes.  I'm sure these children want to hear about an unemployed writer who spends her days pulling out her hair and digging her nails into the skin of her forearm in between bites of sickly sweet cake.  Yes.  She has cake for lunch.  Also, she sometimes drools on her pillow at night and therefore thanks the Wee Baby Jesus that she is single so no one was around to see that.

Second, I had lunch with a Vandy alum who is writing an actual book, with a publisher, about television writing, and he wants to interview me.  I don't know why on earth people would want to hear what I have to say.  Perhaps to mock me?  Perhaps to see if I have an accent?  I've done nothing remarkable, I'm difficult to get along with, and I don't ride elevators alone or use public restrooms without a friend standing guard at the door.  To me, it's always been simple.  If you want to be a writer, write.  Keep writing.  Write every day.  You may or may not ever make money from it, but writing can't be helped.  I don't claim to have talent, but I do know if I skip a day of writing, I get all cranky and want to kick the wall or throw something at someone's head, preferably someone whose head is disproporitionately large for their body, so I have a better chance of hitting them.  But on days when I do write... well, on those days, when my head is clear, all I need is a guard for the bathroom door.