I don't normally look at my own blog page. I just simply log onto Blogger and type my daily jargons and click "post & publish." However, for something made me type my own address and press enter. Upon visiting my own site, I found two things: the back ground photo, which is supposed to be a photo of a scenery littered with leaves of beautiful autumn color, was missing(for how long?!), and secondly, I received a comment on my previous entry from a wonderful man from Canada. He was probably too generous with his praise, but I was immensely flattered that he actually said that I could make a living by writing (presumptuously, because I write well!). I actually clicked on his URL to see to whom these gentle words belonged. I would have still felt thoroughly grateful had it been some loon who spends his/her spare time scanning through people's blogs(notice that I do not get complimented often); however, this man was a writer and a teacher! This well-educated person, whose talents were acknowledge by the general populace, wrote that I write well! For proof, click on the comments link below the entry dated October 4th. I know, I know, it's pretty hard to believe that lil ole me has actually got a reader, but who knows if this is a continuous thing or just a one time "drop by and say hello" kind of a deal? Let me be thrilled for all it may be.
After the fluttering of the various heart valves had ceased, I re-read what I had written, to see if it was actually compliment-able material. I was in awe, because my last entry was written in a bit of passion, if you will. It certainly was not a sample of my best work -- it is just a blog entry. Not those blogs of people who cover wars and tackle political issues and have a large readership -- this is just a frequent journal, cliche as it may be, a collection of my ramblings. Jargon. I may write in fragments! (Long story on writing of fragments, which I may or may not get into, depending on whether I remember of not after a bit of rambling...) I was actually ashamed of the work I had produced, because it was not some scribbles I kept privately in a locked diary. I had published it for the world to see, whether they did or not. I have a responsibility -- if I want to put stuff up on the WWW (which stands for "world wide" web, not cob web that only I can see!) I must set some sort of standards. It must be grammatically correct, for one thing. It must also be interesting. From now on, I will write with a renewed sense of being a good writer -- I cannot guarantee that I will be a great writer. But adequate enough so that I won't be shamed by my own writing. (True, I do belong in the era of Spartans... *swoosh~ crack!* (whip lashing) must ... get... back... to ... work...!)
The funny thing is, that I loved writing. I really did. Up until the 10th grade, I believe. I was the creative one -- I had a fountain of creativity sprouting anew constantly! In the 9th grade, I wrote a collection of short stories about my classmates in the future, involving teachers and such. One was an ex-con who falls in love with a student-teacher (teacher in training...) and one goes on to win the novel prize. Another becomes a maid (a male maid... imagine!). After creative writing sessions, which were frequent in my 9th grade class, some volunteered to read their work. I remember how everyone wanted me to read mine, and when I felt a bit shy to share my works, others offered to read them out loud for me, because they insisted that they were so good. Well, all that crumbled starting in the 10th grade. As I grew older, being creative was just not enough. One must also write in paragraphs, have topic sentences, have concrete details and commentaries. One must also have a good thesis, have good punctuation and grammar, and the whole nine yards. It turns out, as your academic career advances, creativity is no longer required. When you are doing a report on A Death in the Family or Chaucer or Beowulf, one must have the skills to be a focused writer. Like a lawyer. Have good supporting evidence, phrased in a proper manner. That continued for a very long time, with AP English classes, and the SAT II writing sections and etc.. When I finally took up Journalism, I had almost no confidence. The stranger thing is, in Journalism, or at least print journalism, you must write the important stuff first, and the petty details towards the end. But either way, I failed the introductory journalism course, but somehow weasled my way into the college paper. But with my poor writing skills, I wrote very very few articles. However, I did have my own section, which was the astrological forecasts. I completely made them up, but everyone loved them, and told me I was "always right on the money." I had a slew of e-mail inquiring whether I was psychic, or how I managed to predict things with such accuracy. That "column"(I like to call it "column" because it makes me feel more worthy) disappeared when I left the staff. I went on to fail many English 101 courses. Last semester, I had an instructor who was a bit more lenient with grading, and I particularly focused on my grammar (I had a habit of writing "frags" and not having matching numbered things, like I would frequently have a subject that was plural, but write so much adjectives and clauses surrounding it that I would forget and write a singular verb. I would basically end up saying "the dogs is cute." and the like.) Well, I kicked ass, and got my A, and feel a bit more confident about also pursuing an English major. I do believe I will take at least one English course, and if I do not get accepted into the nursing program by next semester, probably several, including Shakespearean English. (I adore Shakespeare, but have a hard time understanding him...) It will definitely be a challenge. But I think English major is something anyone can, and everyone should do. It's an universal language. To live in the U.S., or perhaps the U.K. or Canada, or a whole mess of other countries, you must speak good English. Having mastery of the language will probably help you more than you'd ever realize. Well, I realize it. Well, enough rambling on and on. I actually intended to blog about Bob, the new bachelor. Well, briefly.
Bob is smooching with everyone! I'd be sort of sickened by all that. And all the chicks there, except possibly Meredith (she's always dressed conservatively, whether it be in jeans or PJs.) and seem very skanky. I kind of grew on Bob... I didn't like him at first, and I still don't like his laugh or his overly sensitive side(well, too sensitive for my taste anyway). I really really did not want to let myself become like this. I did not want to be those reality show whores, who keep a constant running record of the Bachelorette and American Idol or Joe Millionaire. But I think after spending 2 years as a single gal (not just single, but n o t e v e n m i n g l i n g -- no dates!) I have officially exchanged my own real romance for a reality TV romance. Where's my bachelor!!! Hello, my knight in shining armor. If you're reading this, please contact me. I don't really need some guy dressed in steel or on a horse. In fact, if your only method of transportation is on a horse, you don't really need to contact me. I love animals and horses included (horses are animals!) I need someone who exists in a civilization. You may not be hunky like Russel Crowe, or dreamy like Ben Affleck, or bling-bling like Puffy Sean P.Diddy Combs, but if you are my soul mate, you know I will always love you. Actually, I am a bit of a commitment phobe, and has never said the "L" word to anyone so far -- but ignore that for now, as I clearly am a bit desparate. I like long walks on the beach, watching the suset.... blah blah blah...
