On Being Too Artistic . . .

I didn't take that whole being too artistic comment very well yesterday I came to realise last night as I scarfed back a burger and wine. I went to Harry Thurston's reading at the lighthouse but I just couldn't get into it, couldn't focus . . . because I was a little miffed I think. I told Joe that they basically trashed me, told me I wasn't a writer and I should go home. I was being funny, sarcastic . . . but honestly that's kind of how it felt, even though there were good comments and everyone thinks I've got tremendous writing skill and an excellent story to develop. It's hard for that stuff to get in when the very heart of the project is under attack and I'm being encouraged to completely revamp and go more commercial ... now I wonder what sort of comments I would've got in Sue's class ... So, I was a little miffed and really needed a break from the workshop, not to mention some real food. We went to a restaurant where Claude works, excuse me, Jar (when in Rome . . . ) Of course Jar works days and this was evening but the waitress said he was supposed to come back later so we stayed and I got a burger with fries. I was dissecting my burger, ripping it up slowly, studying every morsel when Joe gives me this look like "What the hell?" and nods at my plate. I was quick to say I was "artistically eating." Joe thought it looked more like playing with my food but . . . That's when I started to figure out that I was a bit more upset than I had previously thought. And the more I drank, the more it came out, so that by the time Jar arrived I announced that I was here for a workshop but they were mean to me, hated me in fact, and trying to drive me out. In this melodramatic way I eventually worked through it I think. I feel better today. I'm not changing my story. I'm not writing it chronologically. And I don't care. If it doesn't get published, if nobody ever reads it and understands what's going on, so be it! I'm doing it my way and it's a very well thought out and planned way. Every word has a reason for being there, every piece has a reason to be in the order the way it is . . . if I don't want to describe what characters look like, I'm not going to. And I'm prepared to deal with the obscurity that this will most likely bring to me. It's okay. Too artistic! Imagine that. As if such a thing could even exist.

I had a good time last night. I needed some pepping up and I felt much better at 3 a.m. as I stumbled into the dorm armed with a cd of the episode of Joe's radio show that I was on and a signed copy of one of his art projects, a book with a wonderful concept and some funny poems that make me laugh out loud.

I'm supposed to try and get together later this afternoon with Jar, maybe Joe too and a girl I met last night named Liz. So far I haven't been able to connect with anyone to shore up times, places, anything . . . though I know where they live and could go stalking I suppose . . . (kidding, a running joke from last night for those who were not there).

Mood: determined
Drinking: way too much on this trip
Listening To: damn computer noises
Hair: flattened to my scalp