Today is Valentines Day. To celebrate, I finished most of my work on the Arthur Miller Project, (which I did from the Tap Room at the Union) and went to see IN AMERICA at the State Theater. And holy moses, people. What a great movie. I highly recommend it. It was about Irish Immigrants, modern day immigrants in NYC. And it ruled.

I am starting to resent being in school. I have so little left, yet it seems like so much. I want to get out of Ann Arbor!!

One day, I'll miss this place.

There's this Wilco Lyric:

Jesus, don't cry. You can rely on me honey.

How I wish I could sing that.

I went to a reading tonight. It kind of disturbed me because it was a girl not much older than me, justifying her relationship with her best friend's married father. Ugh. The writing was good though. I was like "ooh, i can be a writer too!" like I always do when I see writers read, and then I was like "her dad is the head of the MFA dept at UM. He's published 12 books and probably knows everyone in the lit business." So I guess some people break into the business easier than others. Those people annoy me.

Hah, sorry about my last entry. Since when did I get so pathetic?

Oh when oh when oh when am i going to do all this homework??

Isn't there just one guy out there that cares about me enough to want to be a part of my life?

Okay, so I'm sitting in the big range and again, my thoughts are attacked with terrible memories and such, and right before I was about to cry, this song by Van Morrison started playing:

In the gentle evening breeze
By the whispering shady trees
I will find my santuary in the Lord.

And no matter where I roam
I will find my way back home
I will always return to the Lord.

And I think that's just it. He is where we find rest from the memories we don't want to have. And the threat of those memories "This could happen to you again..." is answered in the next stanza. "No matter where I roam I will find my way back home." If we desire God to hold onto us, and trust that He is, we will always find our way back home, no matter how far we wander off. With that in mind, I can be free from my past and the threat of it repeating itself in my future. Not bad, eh?

Madeleine L'Engle says that time disappears for an artist at work. Last night i sat down at the computer at 9pm and didn't budge until 2am. I didn't notice.

I really love getting the first draft out. It's such a freeing feeling shed off inhibitions and jump into the world of my characters, letting details drip off my fingers and into Microsoft Word. I get to experience the events with my narrator--surprised when she's surprised, sad when she's sad, and laugh when she laughs.

After the first draft I have to creep back on the outside. I have to be objective and tough, often heartless and mean, for revision. From here, writing is hard work.