New Beginnings
Jeigh sat at the computer, the digital clock silently changing it's little white numbers from 11:21 to 11:22. It was so late and she wasn't even tired yet. What's this, a blog? She noted the scribbles on the sheet of her list of things to do, a yellow Post-It with a rough sketch of a sad looking bunny she'd tried to copy from Josh Joplin's new webpage. Today she'd recieved an email from Fast Web that told her they had not chosen her for the job of student blogging. They would have paid her to write a couple times a week during her college adventures, but alas, they picked two other people. I'll show them, she thought. I'll make my own blog, and it shall conquer the Earth! Well, less than the whole Earth, actually. Not even the whole internet, but the fiction world, yes. Absolute power.
Jeigh had a little trouble aquiring this blog as the computer was slow and constantly made her re-type everything, losing her previous entries into digi-space. And then the matter of a word for the website. When it wouldn't give her "artwriter" she decided to make up the word, creart, a combination of creative and art. And the layout. She wanted something dark. Black space always looked so much less cluttered and easier to fill. Now all she had to do was think of something to write as her first blog entry so that she could preview the page.
Jeigh was a writer, more specifically, a creative writer, art writer, fiction writer, the Dutchess of the Pen, the Widdler of Words, Medium to Muses. Yes, sadly, she could not take all the credit for the words that spilled onto the keyboard (and occasionally caused shorts in the system) for someone lived inside her head and told her stories. Sometimes it screamed. Other times she screamed because she couldn't hear it anymore, but she eventually realized that if she'd stop screaming, she could hear that voice again. Patience and relaxation coaxed the muse out. She wrote short stories, even long ones. She'd written two novels and some very bad poetry. She even wrote a song today. She hoped that this raison d'etre of hers would shape the rest of her life. It'd dictated everything so far.
Things were changing for Jeigh, though. She had to move away to college, and no, not an art college -- an athletic college. And unfortunately, Jeigh not only did not do sports, she didn't like them. And she didn't like people that liked sports either -- at least to an extreme sense. Would she be able to find other artists like herself in a campus full of preps? Sports, and raves, and beer, how dull. What about theatre? What about music? And prose, of course. She prepared herself for the journey -- a sole artist in a world of drones.
Jeigh had a little trouble aquiring this blog as the computer was slow and constantly made her re-type everything, losing her previous entries into digi-space. And then the matter of a word for the website. When it wouldn't give her "artwriter" she decided to make up the word, creart, a combination of creative and art. And the layout. She wanted something dark. Black space always looked so much less cluttered and easier to fill. Now all she had to do was think of something to write as her first blog entry so that she could preview the page.
Jeigh was a writer, more specifically, a creative writer, art writer, fiction writer, the Dutchess of the Pen, the Widdler of Words, Medium to Muses. Yes, sadly, she could not take all the credit for the words that spilled onto the keyboard (and occasionally caused shorts in the system) for someone lived inside her head and told her stories. Sometimes it screamed. Other times she screamed because she couldn't hear it anymore, but she eventually realized that if she'd stop screaming, she could hear that voice again. Patience and relaxation coaxed the muse out. She wrote short stories, even long ones. She'd written two novels and some very bad poetry. She even wrote a song today. She hoped that this raison d'etre of hers would shape the rest of her life. It'd dictated everything so far.
Things were changing for Jeigh, though. She had to move away to college, and no, not an art college -- an athletic college. And unfortunately, Jeigh not only did not do sports, she didn't like them. And she didn't like people that liked sports either -- at least to an extreme sense. Would she be able to find other artists like herself in a campus full of preps? Sports, and raves, and beer, how dull. What about theatre? What about music? And prose, of course. She prepared herself for the journey -- a sole artist in a world of drones.
posted by J Leigh at 11:37 PM
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