I was not a cool kid in Junior High. Curly (frizzy) hair that never should have been cut at my ears, yet was. Glasses. Hadn't had braces yet. Abysmal sense of style, made worse by the fact that it was the early '90s. I was in the Cadet Corps, which is kind of like JROTC, yet somehow (amazingly) geekier.
Oh, but Kurt was in Cadets also.
Brown hair, blindingly bright blue eyes. He was such a sweetheart, and he'd done martial arts for something like ten years at that point, so he was cut. A cut 8th grader! I know, it boggles the mind. Or at least, it boggled my poor, impressionable mind. Plus he could do the splits up against a wall, something that made my last three brain cells stutter to a stop.
Have you guessed I had a crush on him? Like I may go into nuclear melt-down if he smiles at me type bad.
Then my best friend, Beth, talked me into asking him out. The bitch. We cornered him, and I stuttered and stammered my way through the embarrassing situation while my skin went so red it felt like it was about to peel off my face. Kurt turned me down. Very nicely, since he was a Very Nice Guy, but the end result was the same.
Right now? Eighth grade me is jibbering in the back corner of my brain, violently reminding me of that horrid day. (Why my brain has picked that memory, I have no idea. I've done much more embarrassing things in the more than 15 years since.) But I've told 8th grade me to shove it (and to go get a new haircut, srsly. 8th grade me looks like a mushroom.) If I'm going to be a professional writer, I've got to put myself out there.
All of which is a really long way to say - I've begun my agent hunt. Wish me luck.
Oh, but Kurt was in Cadets also.
Brown hair, blindingly bright blue eyes. He was such a sweetheart, and he'd done martial arts for something like ten years at that point, so he was cut. A cut 8th grader! I know, it boggles the mind. Or at least, it boggled my poor, impressionable mind. Plus he could do the splits up against a wall, something that made my last three brain cells stutter to a stop.
Have you guessed I had a crush on him? Like I may go into nuclear melt-down if he smiles at me type bad.
Then my best friend, Beth, talked me into asking him out. The bitch. We cornered him, and I stuttered and stammered my way through the embarrassing situation while my skin went so red it felt like it was about to peel off my face. Kurt turned me down. Very nicely, since he was a Very Nice Guy, but the end result was the same.
Right now? Eighth grade me is jibbering in the back corner of my brain, violently reminding me of that horrid day. (Why my brain has picked that memory, I have no idea. I've done much more embarrassing things in the more than 15 years since.) But I've told 8th grade me to shove it (and to go get a new haircut, srsly. 8th grade me looks like a mushroom.) If I'm going to be a professional writer, I've got to put myself out there.
All of which is a really long way to say - I've begun my agent hunt. Wish me luck.
1 Comments:
Not just luck . . . but lots of luck! You know those Verizon commericals? You've got your network behind you! Go for it! LOL!
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