So I just finished the first draft of my novel. I do not feel nearly as fulfilled as I was promised I would, but I am glad that I've done it. I like saying things like "my novel" and "look at me." I was talking to my mother tonight in order to rub this in her face, and we were discussing what I wanted to do with my future. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and I'm starting to get wrinkles already.
Things I would like to do:
--Write one more mediocre YA novel and then write a memoir combining all of the best bits of Girl Interrupted, Wasted, Prozac Nation, The Basketball Diaries and Sellevision. Luckily, I have most disorders and ailments on lockdown and a career in advertising. If only I came across a vicious dog, I could work in a little Autobiography of a Face as well
--Somehow make a career out of writing pseudo-legal documents, and/or wiki entries (see Dustin Diamond)
--Do yoga and not be embarrassed about it
--Write a book like David Sedaris where I wrote a dozen witty anecdotes that gently poke fun at myself, and makes my family look foolish
--Go somewhere, South America or Southeast Asia and loaf. Like Larry Darrell
--Write a sex and dating column for someone. Anyone
--Get a dachshund named Weenie
--Have a mock court or debate team with my friends where we argue important points about issues such as the economies of facial stubble and ringpiece transplant surgery
--Learn how to digital DJ. Take the nu-disco movement by storm
