Monday, 8 June 2009

I am doing travel writing!

I think I want to be a travel writer. I am listening to the programme on Excess Baggage about the Travellers' Tales course, and it sounds really good. He says it's about mixing a journalistic style with a novelistic style, which is what I like to do. He does say that a big mistake is to write for yourself, which I understand to an extent, but I think I write best when I am tapping into something, as though putting a needle in a vein and watching the bloody seep through the clear plastic tube. IT's a bit gross, and I wouldn't have thought o f it if I hadn't seen that film.

They are reading out their work. I remember when I read out my writing about the saucepans. I might try and find it. Everyone sat back and respected me. I was embarrassed and spoke badly. I wasn't asking for acceptance, I was laying my head on the desk, and the thoughts jumped out, and ran around the room. They probably ran out of my ears. And I felt so excited. It wasn't a cliche, not like a lot of stuff in general, which doesn't really say anything, and badly. I think at least write well, or have a good idea, but to be devoid of both, just why bother? If you're not There, just make a good meal or do some ironing.

I'm going to apply for the internship. I think I would really really like it actually. Someone just finished reading their work and everyone clapped! Clapped is a horrible word, applauded is better. I am practically salivating at the idea of getting a DB sleeper from Brussels to Berlin. That company is HOT. Starting at only £75 for a single trip, but you know there is an epiphany included. I want.

Sorry I am not wholly on this page clearly, Firefox is getting some serious multi-tab action, keeps freezing. I want to go on a trip RIGHT NOW. Imagine all that time to read books, not having to work, to meet people, see amazing things, eat lots of beige and play on bunk beds! Imagine! A lot more excited about the work now. Not sure how-why, what happened. I do remember this morning, lying in bed, thinking, this is rock bottom. Not the worst you could imagine, not awful, a pretty manageable rock-bottom in my little cosseted existence. But still the bottom scrapings of the pan. And tomorrow the pan scrapings will inevitably be the same, so why waste time waiting for the hate to go, just get on with ignoring it a bit more efficiently.

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