So I got rejected by the Anderson Center for a one month residency. I had submitted ten of my most intimate poems. I had submitted them knowing that the odds of them being provocative enough to give me a chance to be accepted would be slim. But I did it anyway, just because. I wanted a chance to work on my writing. I was actually considering quitting my job for it. It sort of bums me out and I sort of expected it. It's one of those things where you expect bad news and brace yourself for it but you hope that God will shock you with good news. Apparently, not!
Life plan no. 1 - Try to be a lawyer. For some strange reason this often works out. If this had been some institute in Geneva, I would have been accepted.
Life plan no. 2 - Try to be a writer. For some inexplicable reason, this rarely works out. What the fuck is that? Why don't do they want me to be a writer? My life plan was to become a writer, but somehow, law seemed to work out and no one veer rejects a career as a lawyer to become a writer. It's unheard of.
I am not a good lawyer. I don't enjoy the law as much as I enjoy writing. The only reason I became a lawyer was so I could read all the juicy case law and marvel at the temerity of actual events. I want to give up legal work and become a writer. Why can't I do that? If Diablo Cody can win a fucking Academy, why can't I choose to become a writer and make a decent living doing it? Originality or not. It was worth a shot. I deserved a spot on that residency, 220 fucking applications or not. They should have been curious enough to give me a chance to join that panel.
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