What Book?

First, I would like to start off with a hello and how have you guys been? Quick update, I have not been active on my blog due to one evil culprit– college. I am a double major, meaning that I need to jam-pack double the amount of course work (and money, but lets not talk about that) than everyone else. Meaning, that I don’t have a social life; when I do have one, it tends to interfere with my schooling and vice versa. I’ve decided the best way to go about being a double major is to have tunnel vision (No parties for this gal!). Of course this fact bums me out slightly, but hey, if I get the job I want in the future this will all be worth it– at least that is what I keep telling myself.

Besides my non-social social life, and taking classes all summer, I am working on a novel on the side. “What novel, Tati?” You may ask, and rightfully so. I have never once spoken about writing a book before. There is a good reason for this; my book sucks (sucked) monkey balls. And here’s why:

Flashback to young Tati…

Eight grade, the catalyst into adulthood and self discovery. I had a very distinct style going on, a mix of Gothic-chic/hand-me downs with an over done play on eyeliner. Sitting in the second row all the way to the right-hand corner of the room, I was comfortable enough to place my elbow on the window sill and sleep if I so pleased.

My professor at the time was most likely new or he skipped the course on how to command a class a few times. The poor guy just could not handle the class, and every day you could see his frustration building up about it. Perhaps, he was contemplating just why he decided to become a teacher in the first place. I must admit, it is probably most discouraging when children won’t listen and respond with only throwing pieces of paper at the front or talking louder amongst each other. I almost felt bad for the guy (almost).

But he was not my concern. This is coming from the girl who use to skip history class to go straight to the library and read the latest books that came out; I was not a bad student, I was just a non-rule follower. My primary concern was writing a book and publishing a book; I read in the newspaper the day before that a girl at the age of 17 published her first novel and it was a huge accomplishment; I wanted to beat her. I wouldn’t call it determination, it was more on the lines of competitiveness– I refuse to be one-upped by someone, especially someone I’ve never met.

So there I was, writing away in my class while my professor taught non-existent lessons on wordplay and conjunctions. First I started with one notebook, handwritten, of course. And then I came in with a second one, and finally a binder that had all three notebooks combined. I was on a roll, and at this rate I was going to be published at 14 years old. Ha, take that random stranger!

Where is this book now, you may ask? Well, I deleted it. The only thing that possibly exists from the book is the original hand-written copy that is placed somewhere deep in the closet of my parents’ home. Why? Because I learned a very valuable lesson as the years went on. 1) Everything you write as a child sounds brilliant until you read it years later, 2) If the book is hand written it is going to be a pain to edit faded handwriting, and 3) your first book is not your last.

Even though my family and friends are disappointed in my actions when it comes to my first book, I decided it was best for humanity not to lay eyes on another horribly written young adult series. Sure I might have gotten popularity from it (not really because it sucked that bad), but is a book I wrote when I  was thirteen and full of vampire fantasies (Twilight was a big thing back then) really what I want to be known for? Hmm, no not really.

So yes, I threw out  a book that I have worked on for many, many years. But no, I won’t stop there. Wouldn’t it suck to think that you only have one good book idea in your system ever? I want to write something I would be proud to claim when I’m 80. Most likely not as brilliant as Shakespeare, but if I just get to John Milton status I will be content.

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