All right. Yes. I've been terribly remiss in my blog-writing schedule. I mean, look at it. Look at all the days between the "Quick Update" and now. So many. So, if any of you were looking for some wonderful, wise wisdom from the wacky world of Jamie (yay for arbitrary alliteration), I apologize. But I assure you, I had several good reasons for being absent. First and foremost being that I was busy. Incredibly busy. College is a busy place, did you know that? Wow.

Anyway. I'm back. And I'm happy to report that I have experienced a burst of inspiration in my novel, and I am currently speeding through a rather important scene in a way I think is satisfactory. I know. I'm awesome. Well, in some ways. In others, not. I have not in any way been taking my own advice about writing every day. That is to say, I have been writing, but it's been essays and reading/film responses and take-home tests and not anything creative or worthwhile. Ever since the start of the week, however, I have been writing a lot, and I hope to keep it that way until the next storm of homework comes.

Sorry to have been so long and to have my post be so pathetic and short when it finally came, but thank you for following me and being such awesome people. Also, hello new followers! *waves to the computer screen and only feels slightly silly*

So, my little bloglings, this weekend I'm participating in "Write Your @ss Off" weekend sponsored by the lovely Moonrat (or Editorial Ass).  Participants devote as much time as they can on any day this weekend to their weekend and report their progress back to her! I'm very excited. Today is my day, as I did all the important dorm maintenance stuff yesterday and now I'm free as a bird.

Let's hope I do well!

(Hey, did you notice my blog is pretty now? Look at the trees!)

Revision, I believe, is the hardest part of writing. Well, besides getting started and learning the basics. But there's something irrational, I believe, in having to become objective in regards to something so personal and close to your heart. You put your heart and soul into words, trying to make them fit together into one blossoming, beautiful, evocative being, and then you have to gradually go through and pick at it. Point out its flaws as if you hadn't created them yourself. Strip it of elements you thought made sense at one point. Of course, what comes out after this grueling process is a better being, one stronger and shinier than the one you started out with. But it's such hard work.

Loving something you've written is like loving yourself. You know you have flaws. You may try to improve on them, but they'll never be gone completely. Then others may come around and point out new flaws you never knew existed.

Maybe it's just because I'm in the writhing, hopeless throes of revision without a ready critique partner, but it seems like editing is a rather hopeless task. Nothing can ever be perfect. And no matter what I do to the book, someone won't like it. Lots of someones won't like it. Namely, literary agents and editors.

Life. Please go away while I try to improve my novel and start my literary career. Please?

No?

I have come here...well, firstly, actually, to gush to you all my immense gratitude and blushy-ness about just how awesome it is that DL Hammons gave me the Silver Lining award on his blog. Whoa. WHOA. My blog has an award. I have an award! Thank you, DL! I am so happy you are one of my few followers and that you appreciate the blog.

You're all going to cheer and shout from the rooftops. I may have some doubts about the writing, but I have done it. Not only did I finish that stupid problem scene, but I powered through the very important scene following! I may not think it's the best writing in the universe, but I did it, and so I'm forcing myself to be proud (even as my inner editor is yelling at me to find newer and better ways to structure my sentences).

Lesson? Write. Even if you don't want to. Even if you think it sucks afterwards. Because you know what? It's better than the opposite (not writing, in case you didn't get that). At least you have a product if you write. At least you're working towards your goal. Even if you have to delete every last word of what you wrote (which, unless the writing is gibberish, I don't suggest), you still did something. You moved forward instead of standing still. You plunged into the frigid water instead of frowning and shivering along the shore. Even if you only dipped in your toes, it's okay.

Writing is really hard. Even as I create a new character and wonder if I'm painting a certain part of him accurately and have no one to ask, I have to soldier on. Things can be changed and rewritten. Things can't appear on the page through brain osmosis. Though that would be super cool. But we aren't quite there yet, technologically. So we have to scribble and type our way to success. You and me. Together. Let's go. Motivation. You're awesome and talented. No one could write your ideas like you could. We're gonna sell our novels by the thousand (or even the dozen, that'd be okay too) and worm our way into the biz.

But first, before any of that, we have to write.

Yes. We've made it. It's Day 4 at New England College, and I am still living, if a little worn down from many mishaps. In the past few days, I have misread my class schedule (leading me to accidentally skip a class), driven back home for an appointment with my therapist (right in between two classes, and you know I was panicking about being late the entire time), been locked out of my room (when really I just don't know how to work the lock yet), met at least 20 new people who all expect me to remember their names (do you know how many girls are named Kate in this world?!), and have left my car window open for 16 hours of rain (and it takes 15 minutes to walk to the parking lot from my dorm. In the mud. Uphill).

So. Yes. I've made it. But I'm hoping for some sense of equilibrium soon.

On the writing front...there is not much to say. I have this idea for a story. And I'm not sure where I want to begin it. So my brain's solution to this is to just...not write. It occurs to me on a minute-ly basis. "I could start writing that book." But nope. I tell myself the idea is too similar to my other book. It's been done. I'm not good enough to pull something like that off.

When, really...who cares? Just write the damn thing.

You know, what am I talking to you guys for? I mean, you're nice. Very nice. Look at all of you! Shining examples of humanity.

Okay, I'm procrastinating. But I'm complimenting you in the process, so it's okay, right?

I'm gonna try to write now. I'll report my progress later.

...Here I go. Gonna write my next book.

We'll see.

So I'm going to cease the writing discussion that has ruled this blog for many centuries (or, you know, months) and talk about my real life. If you do not care about my real life, you can stop reading now. But I promise I'll insert as many witty comments as possible.

Today I moved in to my new dorm at my new college. And it was while unpacking (and not before) that I realized I knew no one on campus. Uhh. Wow.

I say "wow" for two reasons. First: I didn't realize I would be completely alone until unpacking. Which is sad in itself. I guess I was just trying to block out thoughts of the scary future. Second: HOLY CRAP I HAVE NO FRIENDS.

I, Jamie, will have to make it on my own, and coerce these random people into finding me agreeable enough to hang out with all on my own. Yeah. I know. Daunting and sad. Mostly because I'd rather curl up in my room and write than venture out into the real world and talk to people. And because my humor shrivels to nothing in the actual company of other people because they frighten me so much. People are FRIGHTENING. Have you noticed this? I have. They all have their own judgments and opinions floating around in their heads, just waiting to pounce on your every tiny flaw and misstep. And most of them don't even like historical fiction. Or at least not the college aged ones that I'm going to have to approach.

Scary, freaky stuff.

I will persevere, though. It will be okay. I can make friends in classes. But all these people, though they have been kind so far, are very intimidating with their inside jokes and their...talking. I wish I could just imprint my personality on peoples' minds so I could know up front whether or not they'd like to be my friend and we could skip the whole me-being-nervous-because-you-might-not-like-me thing.

Shh. Jamie. Stop panicking. You can do this. Just charm them with all your...charm. And...charm.

Crap.