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9:14 p.m. - November 27, 2001 I'm trying to pound out a story for Writer's Showcase, partly (mostly) because it's an English requirement and partly for myself. I'm torn between writing something decidedly bad, so they won't choose it, and actually trying to make it into the show. I don't know. I suppose I don't lie the idea of unknown actors acting out my writing. It's not that I'm afraid they'll 'butcher' it (lots of kids in my class are saying that), but that it won't come off right, and if you know me at all, you know that everything has to come off right if I'm to think about it at all. I was talking to Erik about this earlier... the inherent difference between our writing... this is going to contradict everything I just said, but I pound out things without thinking, post them here, send them to colleges, in letters, whatever..and I don't think about them. I just finish, send, post, whatever, boom. It's there and I won't read it until the urge to perfect has passed. Because I know if I do, I'll never be able to live up to my own expectations. He, on the other hand, analyzes and proofreads and goes over it and over it. He does exactly what I would do if I let myself, although he eventually puts it up. I wouldn't. There needs to be a happy medium somewhere. We realize this; we laugh over this. It doesn't help. I do have this to say, though, and don't take this the wrong way, but my way of doing it proves to produce more quantity, at least. I don't know about quality. :) This entry, for instance, is shit. But if you put it all together, if you merge this whole diary into some kind of taste, some kind of feeling or representation or scent or touch, it will be a near-perfect portrayal of me. And that's what I love about it. No matter how much I bitch about such and such individual entry and how it really isn't me.. altogether.. it is. And that's all I ever really wanted... for people to know who I am. For me to know who I am. This site (Diaryland) is fucked up, as numerous people would say... Camille says it best, so ask her. Here's mine. It's a freak show where the freaks go, willingly. A showcase, a platform for spilling, an online Oprah. A 'Look at me'. Cry for attention. Maybe. Sometimes. Sometimes people just want a place to write. But rarely. I've discovered I don't care. I like the site. I may not like its ideals, but fuck that, because drama and showiness is human nature, and so here we are. Through it, I've developed a comprehensive guide to myself, and ohers recognize it as well.. and although that isn't the most important part, it's pretty damn important.. 23 people will read what I write, and that is 23 more than I used to have, 23 people who know me better. It's an extension. Feelings and words, and if people can feel me, and if I can feel people, then this freak show is worth it. ::Theme music has been playing as Hannah waxes poetic about what she has learned from diaryland.. :sniff:.. but is abruptly cut off as she ruins the entire effect by saying..:: Don't stop reading at the end of this entry. This enry isn't representative of me. Go read some others and get a full picture. This is what happens when I reread. Time to press the 'done' button! Bye!
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