I'm falling apart.
In reality, I'm busy. And not just like busy. But like this:
BUSY.
So lemme just apologize right now for a few things:
1) I haven't posted that much lately (not necessarily my fault -- we've had no Internet because our home was being worked on. This isn't technically my fault, but I could have spent a little time preparing for future blog posts which I did not do in the slightest).
2) My grammar is atrocious. I went back to some previous posts and I can't even stay in the correct tense. I have failed you. Don't grow up to be like me, children, writing willy-nilly, verifying adjectives and conjunctions, and raging havoc upon the blogger world. I'm a twisted soul.
3) My trying to be funny. I'm really weird and my jokes don't make sense. Just smile and nod. Or light your computer on fire.
Either option works well.
So. What was I posting about? Get it together, Sloan.
I'm busy. I have a new brother. Enriched English. I started basketball last week. We practice about 6 days a week for about 2 hours a night, which isn't that bad but when it's over I'm exhausted. I'm dead after practice. And it's emotionally draining.
I love basketball. But I can barely use a pencil without impaling myself. I have no hand-eye coordination. I don't even have hand-hand coordination. I can hardly tie my shoes.
I want to do well in basketball. It's the only sport I've ever liked. Ever. In 16 years, it is the only sport I have really wanted to be good at. I don't mind losing, because somebody had to be the loser (and it's usually me) but in basketball I want to DOMINATE.
There's a small problem.
You know that one kid in school during read-aloud who just read so slow? That one kid that nobody wants to read because it is literally painful to sit through.
I'm like that kid in basketball. Except worse.
Like how-are-you-still-in-school-you-learned-how-to-read-a-decade-ago-you-were-a-mistake.
It's not like the coach is mean or my team members or anything like that. I have two awesome coaches. Off the chang coaches. (I probably shouldn't use that term because I have no idea what it means . . . wait, just Urban Dictionaried it. I'm good). The girls on my team are hilarious. The problem is I ruin everything. I can't make a shot to save muh lyfe.
So I try not to shoot, but then I don't do anything so I'm not valuable even in the game. So I get taken out. I sit on the bench. I get nervous of messing up. I air ball. I decide never again to shoot a basketball. I get frustrated and start to foul. I feel like an idiot. I go to my car and cry like an even bigger idiot.
It's a reoccurring process. I'm trying to break it because I want to have fun. I want to be good. I want to try really hard.
It'll hopefully get better as the season progresses. I just gotta get over myself and realize that it's supposed to be about having fun and not about winning. But, the sad thing is -- it is about winning in the real world. Very much so. Either way -- I need to relax and enjoy it. I'm not going to be a basketball star later in life.
Another thing I've been up to is:
EDITING.
I've been editing like no other. All I do is edit, edit, edit. In Chemistry (just kidding, Mom, if you're reading this. If you're not reading this, I'm not kidding), during lunch, while I sleep, and into the late hours of the night I edit. I want to get my book over, done, bang, by the end of November. It is dead to me.
Not really, but you can only read something you wrote so many times before you want to rip it into shreds. It's a hard feeling to explain, really. I love my book. I wrote it because I loved the story. And many people tell me they love it. And I don't think it's bad - in fact, I'm very, very proud of how hard I and others have worked to make it what it is today. I couldn't ask for more supportive helpers and my love for writing.
But I've read it a billion times. I mean, I've read Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins at least 100 times. For fun. But Riley Girl is mine. Riley Girl won't ever be good enough for me. I'll always find errors or try to fix it. I have this idea of it in my head that will always be changing and growing as I develop into a better writer.
But, I love my book. And I just want it to be for sale. I want to see others read my passion and tell me if they hate it. Tell me what I can do to be better. I want to know if I can make it in the crazy world of fiction and novels and typing-till-your-fingers-fall-off.
Plus, now I edit everything.
Even menus.
I have no idea how to end this post.
So here are some pictures of a ball war I had with my cousins. The little monkeys whipped those plastic spheres at my apple-like skin.
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