So one of the things I am most unhappy with these days is my writing.

Strange, you say? Well, I have, in the past few months, come to a conclusion that I am mostly trying not to think about. And that is.....my stories are competent but not exciting.

I was reading (pay attention here, Welorians, you should read his entry and Meghan's comment to it) Jeff Vandermeer's rant about this very issue and suddenly the vague fears I've had crystallized into a certainty that rose up into the top level of my consciousness.

So I sat here next to girl2, watching Micky Mouse Clubhouse, after sending my first 3 chapters to an agent who was intrigued by my Tokyo Robin Hood query, thinking to myself "I'm mediocre, I'm middle class white bread. I've nothing pushy or dangerous or visionary to say. I'm afraid not to write happy endings."

And I wanted to quit.

But you know, I want to quit writing like every other day so it's no biggie.

I am currently collaborating with a writer who consistently writes about messy, angry, uncomfortable themes. Maybe I can learn a little from him about delving past my "but the good girl has to win" inclinations.

But even if that has no affect on me, I hereby vow to try to write more dangerously. I vow to push my own limits, even if it doesn't ever measure up to Jeff Vandermeer's definition of dangerous fiction, at least I'll know I tried.