i can't believe i wrote that (part II)

recently a few friends told me they reread all emails and fb posts to me (you know, since they know i'm a WRITER).  HA!  have they never noticed i email, tweet and fb all in lower case letters?  even the letters that are supposed to be caps?  i punctuate the way i speak, not the way it's supposed to be written?  goodness, that's HILARIOUS!  (is that spelled wrong?) yeah, why spell check this post, right?

even so, i've learned LOADS of great writing stuff (that apparently i refuse to prove in this post) over the past two years since i've been "writing" (you know, as a SERIOUS WRITER).  and even if my writing for this post may be lacking, i can prove it by sharing lines from my first drafts from "way back when".  (well, i guess it's not actually proven unless i share the startlingly brilliant lines from current manuscripts, but ah well.  #notgonnahappentoday)

holy cats, in looking through the 1.5 year ooooold "manuscript" (can it even be called that?) eee gad.  i can't even get past the first page.  really?  with a page and a half long query and a first page like this (see below) can you believe i received five form rejections?  (CAN YOU BELIEVE I QUERIED IT?) all before i met erica or any of you, obvs.

• Prologue
  I watched her and wondered how long it would have taken her to learn the truth, or if she ever would have. 

I HAD A PROLOGUE. 
FROM THE ANTAGONIST'S POV.

• Chapter 1 Awakening

I EVEN ENTITLED THE FIRST CHAPTER AWAKENING....

SO OF COURSE THE PROTOG HAD TO WAKE UP IN THE FIRST LINE.

AND THEN SHOWER.  TO THINK ABOUT THE DREAM SHE'D HAD (TO INTRO HER LOVE INTEREST)

• I awoke as I did every morning for the past 15 ½ years and wished I could linger under the warm sheets for hours longer than I was able.  Instead, I flung my legs quickly over the side of the twin bed into the cool air, like, as with a band-aid, getting it over with quickly would make it better.  If only my dad would let us turn the heater up once the autumn air cooled our house over night.  I stumbled, chilled, to my bathroom to a warm shower where I could wake up and really think about the day ahead.  It was in the shower that, not the planned events of the upcoming day, but the memory of the dream from the night before washed over me. 

SO THEN SHE EXITS THE SHOWER TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR, AND, UM, DESCRIBE HER LOOKS TO THE READER, IN DETAIL.  MINUTE DETAIL.

• I swiped at the sweaty mirror with the bathroom towel and worked at my heavy, straight brown hair.  This morning, mousse as opposed to gel was to be the miracle product.  Each morning I imagined my hair looking bouncy and full of life, thinner, wavy, blonder.
  Instead, staring back at me were my plain features, my nose, too bulbous in the middle of my narrow face, my high cheekbones cutting down to my too-sharp, dimpled chin.  My dark brown eyes were framed by my too sparse eyebrows that I had colored in with an chocolate colored eyebrow pencil since I was in sixth grade, the grade my mother coaxed me into wearing make-up. 

YUP, STILL GOING IN THE NEXT PARA....

• Recently I traded in foundation for tinted moisturizer except for the places where acne spoiled my still tanned complexion, and kept my eye makeup light.  I added a little pale pink blush to my already rosy cheeks and a little brown shadow to my lids.  Brown eyeliner and a swipe of mascara completed my faux natural look.  Once dressed in my most comfortable pair of jeans and favorite brown knit sweater, I opened the door to allow the cool air from the hall to dry the dampened bathroom.  I went to eat breakfast before trying to dry my hair in the humidity.

SO THEN TO KEEP YOU FROM WANTING TO TURN THE PAGE, SHE GOES TO EAT BREAKFAST AND READ A KATHERINE PATTERSON BOOK.  AND THEN SHE GETS A RIDE TO SCHOOL. AND GOES TO HER LOCKER. AND, UH, YEAH. 

RIVETTING.

• I washed the last few bites of cereal down the sink, swallowed my final swig of orange juice