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2010 Future Novelists of Tomorrow

November 11, 2009

Those who are following this story and haven’t been subjected to the e-squealing on Facebook may be interested to know that a certain daily beardstress has been accepted to the writing certificate program she applied to last month and decided not to start a psychology degree because of. You can end a sentence with a preposition if you’re aware that you’re doing it and don’t mind how it looks. And sometimes it just makes way more sense, like e.g. for example in the sentences “She’s the girl I went out with” or “There goes one of the guys I went down on.” You don’t want to always be messing with datives and whatnot. “Hey, that’s the dude out with whom I was making at the club last night!” Ungainly. F minus. Not realistic dialogue.

Anyway, I’m pretty g.d. excited. And no shortage of shocked ‘n’ relieved, either, when I consider the content of my application. In what I can now officially call a former life, I spent a lot of time writing up a lot of applications for a lot of other serious and competitive things: scholarships, assistantships, spots in academic programs, etc. Had any of these compositions failed to give an impression of total straightfacedness, they would have been kicked to the curb quicker than a deadbeat boyfriend irregardless of their literary or academic merit. So when it came to my SFU submission, although I was confident about the quality of the writing, I was concerned that the use of the phrases “grew a pair,” “hilariously low-paying,” “ridiculous Master’s theses,” and “freestyle throwdown” in my cover letter might have been unadvisable. I had further, similar concerns about the content of my writing sample, which, although well over 50% autobiographical, somehow managed to include references to pedophilia, kidnapping, rape, cocks, gayness, sexual harassment, alcohol abuse by a minor, parental estrangement, numerous psychiatric disorders, a guy shooting himself in the head, and wife beating.

I am a weird human being. That’s just a fact. All my life I’ve been a wackjob-shaped peg, and part of the relief I’m enjoying today is that after a hell of a long search I seem to have found a wackjob-shaped hole to slip into. Again with a preposition, huh?

It’s going to be so rewarding and fulfilling to see a wide-ranging selection of my filthy, vulgar rap lyrics in print next year. To all my homies and peeps in C-Town, Sea-Town, the Skatch, and elsewhere: serious fucking huge thanks for all the believing in my abilities and not telling me I was being an impractical crazyman and wasn’t good enough at writing and should have just finished my degree and stuff. I’ve been saying that type of shit to myself for almost three years, but it was never echoed by anyone else, with one exception, which there’s no need to get into because that individual’s drunken opinions are already busy sucking my humongous balls.

I’m scared shitless, but not in a bad way. Stein in ’09, ma’fuckas! West siiiiide!

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