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For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to write a book. At age three, in cursive on construction paper, I wrote tables of contents for imaginary novel chapters. From fifth to eighth grade, I created dozens of terrible young adult fiction book outlines that inspired too-long scribbled “Chapter Ones” in loose leaf notebooks. During high school, I attempted to write poetry collections about my non-existent love life and glamorized ideals of solitude. In college, I would study in the University library and take my breaks strolling through my favorite aisles–particularly the 20th century non-fiction texts, running my fingers over the books’ textured spines and gazing with love over the letters that spelled out titles and author names horizontally, like vertebrae.
As a grown-up writer, I think differently about the idea of publishing a book. I would still love to write one (perhaps with Jen, who is a far better scribe than I), but I now unfortunately know all the other stuff that goes along with the endeavor: book proposals and agents and publishers and politics and big-selling Christmas seasons and the word “niche” and writing from the inside and redundancy and timeliness and nervous breakdowns and writer’s block and what-about-my-other-projects and maybe-I-just-can’t-fucking-do-this and wouldn’t-it-just-be-easier–and-faster-to-have-our-twitterfeed-optioned-as-a-lame-William-Shatner-sitcom. I mean, hell, real writers are miserable for a reason.
Whenever somebody I know publishes a book, particularly a second or third (God help me if I ever befriend Mr. Chopra), my chest heaves a little. I’m jealous. I’m really, really jealous. I’m obviously proud and happy for them, I probably love their book and can’t wait to get my copy signed–but I’m also cringing inside, mad at myself for not realizing such an important dream, even though I arguably write thousands of words every week. Bloggers publish words on a virtual page that isn’t really a page; it doesn’t smell of ink and paper, you can’t dogear it, you can’t lend it to a friend and ask for it back. There’s just something about a book.
When I see something like this:
Continue reading A Literary Situation
Ladies and gents (and mostly, gays), may we present…
See more of The Situasian, aka Peter Le, on his NSFW website here.
Thanks, Lisa and Tina!
Brit “It” Fashionista Alexa Chung will host the final episode of her MTV talk show, “On the Air With Alexa Chung,” tomorrow.
And we suppose we’re sad about that, for her, because we love this saucy little broad.
Filed under: Alexa Chung, Brit Girls, Cancel, Cancellasians, Cultural Lows, Fashionistas, Jersey Shore Is A Cultural Low, Lo Bosworth, MTV, MTV Is For The Birds (And Weak-Spirited Girls), On the Air With Alexa Chung, On The Air With Alexa Chung Canceled, On The Air With Alexa Chung Cancelled, The Hills, The Hills Is A Cultural Low, The Situation