Good. Scary Good.

So...we got our writing notebooks in Janet Fitch's fiction class last night. I gave a brief overview of these notebooks last week, but basically our job in her class is to smell, taste, touch, see, and hear basically everything, describe it without cliche, and then describe it through other senses (as in, "What does that grilled pumpkin chillin in the warmer at Whole Foods sound like?), and THEN go from there to memories about whatever it is we are describing, and THEN maybe fiction. The process takes hours. But it makes me feel like a real writer.

Anyway. We type all of this stuff, print it, and put it in a notebooks for Janet's perusal. After class last night, she handed them back, with comments. When I got back to my place, M and I hunched over our notebooks at the kitchen table and read through, gaping at the pages.

Then, I saw it. Them. Two words: "scary good." OMG. OMG!!!!!!!!!

Those two words were better than any sex I've ever had (or witnessed in a movie--even the Titanic car scene with the slightly-awkward sweaty hand).* They were better than the chocolate souffle my mom made when I was eight. They were better than my dad's steak. Better than the sunset I saw last week, better than walking through the gates at Disneyland, better than turning on the radio and hearing the song that had been stuck in my head.

Because not only do I finally feel like a real writer, but I feel like a real writer thinks I might be a real writer too. I've not only chosen my vocation, I've been validated that I've made the right choice.

Scary good. Damn straight. And I'm totally not trying to brag here. I'm just really, really, REALLY excited about this. And the comment doesn't mean I'm the best writer ever or anything, it just makes me want to keep writing. Which, as my fellow writers know, can be a daily struggle in itself. Now whenever I want to throw my MacBook against our sliding-glass door, or cry, or send my whole book to the Recycle Bin, or do all three in sequence, I will remember two words: "scary good."

On a related note...who's coming with me to Squaw Valley this summer?

*Note: This comment should not insinuate that I haven't had good sex. So before ya'll comment, "oh, well, you must not know good sex, blah blah," let me clarify. What I'm saying is, the great sex I have had still does not compare to Janet's comments. It doesn't negate the sex, ok?

On repeat today:
"One Moment in Time" by Whitney Houston (yes, you are free to make fun of me.)
"Take Me Home Tonight" by Eddie Money (to counteract current 80s power-ballad addiction.)