Confidence

My professor is my father's partner in his law firm. It doesn't give me any preferential treatment--quite the opposite, in fact. Dad becomes privy to a lot of the things I don't quite want him to know.

Anyway, the semester's ended, and I still don't have the grades for that subject. But what I got is even better.

That professor told him that my favorite professor, the journalist everyone in the field (in my country, at least) respects, and my whole college reveres (to the point that a lot of the students cried in his retirement send-off), told him I was good.

WOW.

In Over My Head

I just realized, I can't write when I'm NOT-ENOUGH emotional. I can write when I'm deliriously happy, or extremely despondent, or cow-eyed at the thought of love and princes and fairytales redone, but when my mood is mediocre, so is my writing.

Which fairly sucks, since I've got three writing things to worry about.

There's a contest for a short story, the submission date in 6 days. I still don't know which one to submit. I do know, though, if I pass this up, I'll be passing it up for the second time.

I signed up for NaNoWriMo. I don't know why. But there it is, 50,000 words in 30 days, where I can barely string a sentence together on most.

And the novel contest in my university, which, while due next year, needs at least 200 pages.

HELL.