October 25th, 1997
Writing and loving
I think that maybe I'm so anxious to put something worthwhile down each time I write, that I might end up getting banalities instead. The whole process of writing is a strange one for me, as is any kind of work, or sometimes even play. The thing is that it takes pressure. In school I was always the absolute worst at planning, never studied for tests except the night before, or possibly the same morning, and I never wrote a single line of any essay until I only had 8 or so hours to go before it had to be in. And they were always A's as well. I once tried to write one well ahead of time, planned it out beautifully, typed it in carefully, and proofread it twice. By all normal laws of nature (and essay writing) it should have been a masterpiece, right? It was my first B essay ever. I just can't write unless there's some kind of pressure, or deadline. A sword hanging over my head, ready to fall.
So how do I do this, you might rightfully wonder. Well, I guess I just kind of pretend that I have an appreciative audience, such as now, when I'm "talking to you" directly, and if I leave this stuff up for long enough, I might get one someday. The audience needs to be satisfied, right? So I have to put something up there to make it happy, although in reality I'm just doing it for myself.