Smashed briefly fell to fifth this afternoon. I did not take it very well. If you can picture Barbara Fordham going toe to toe with Nurse Ratched, that's probably as close as you'll get to it. But now I'm back and I am fighting like a bitch to stay. One of the Inkpop Idiots recently pointed out to me that my book has no dedication. I happen to think that dedications are pretentious, but then I started wondering what I would put if I had one. These are a few of my ideas. (And before I forget, let it be known that I am applying to Smith College strictly For the Hell of It. Sylvia Plath went there. Reason enough for me to at least try.) So here I go. Testing the waters.
To Mom, who helped me live it. To Lenora, who helped me not. To Nan, who believed I could.
For my teachers - Toni Morrison, Sylvia Plath, Maya Angelou, Alice Walker, and Margaret Mitchell, who helped me get it right.
To Lenora, who put up with every Idiot-induced nervous breakdown.
To the Idiots. Go fuck yourselves.
I think in the end, if in fact we ever GET there, I am remaining dedication-less. The people who I have to thank know how grateful I am. You know who you are. Every tear, curse, and snapped nerve have hopefully not been for nothing. Toni Morrison says that if you wanna fly you gotta give up the shit that weighs you down. I think I can honestly say that inkpop has been weighing me down for a long, long time. How nice it will be to finally be free of it all. I am going to enjoy life again. No matter how bad the HC review comes back, it won't matter. I tried, didn't I? God damn it, at least I did that.