9:58 pm - Wednesday, Jun. 25, 2003
Song:
My head is pounding and my mom tells me it�s the carpet fumes. I think it has something to do with lying around all day, and perhaps even eating a whole loaf of French bread. I�m lethargic and don�t know why. I usually bask in summer�s gift, and yet this year I feel stressed and put upon.
I need to pack because Sunday I leave for the Fir Acres workshop in writing and thinking. For some god-awful reason they read my writing and wanted me to join them. I need explanation here. My writing is uninspired and bland. A blend of teen and angst, which is exactly the same thing. Since I turned 17 I�ve been just the tinniest bit relieved because I�m drawing away from the curse of being 16 and writing like it. Now I�m 17 and writing like I�m 12 and almost wondering why I bother typing in full those big words like why and you.
I�m afraid to go to this workshop and find everyone there is brilliant. I�m afraid to go and find people there that I know. I�m afraid to go and not make any friends. I�m afraid to go and not have any Internet connection. Yes, this is a real fear.
Most of all, I am afraid that I will write just like everyone else. That this style I like to think screams Megan (and yes, that is probably a bad thing), actually screams teenage girl who thinks they might just be able to write.
And if that�s the case, I can skip paying the $1400, sit here and use the diaries of brilliant writer to berate myself.
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