I believe I've mentioned in a previous post, but I'll mention again that I need inspiration to write. I'm not the kind of writer who just writes randomly for hours. I like to wait until I have something I want to write about.
That flaw or whatever it may be considered has been worrying me for this upcoming quarter. I'm taking three workshop classes, so I'm going to need a lot of inspiration.
Fortunately, I already found some. It was simple, actually. I don't want to post all about my short story here, but I want to share my love of waiting for inspiration.
Waiting makes me feel unburdened by my writing, and the words flow out. I think my characters sound more real, and I think my story is going to be funny. And I'm not great at funny.
Hopefully, I keep getting inspired. Especially for my poetry workshops. Poetry writing is my greatest flaw in being a writer. I just don't have poetry in my poetry. Not to make myself sound amazing but I feel I often have poetry in my fiction, but not in actual poems.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Life's Library
I always try to make a point to read a lot during my breaks. At first, during this winter break I was failing a little. I was just watching How I Met Your Mother, and Angel and also cleaning my apartment to the point of being anal retentive.
But then I remembered that I wanted to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I couldn't go see it without reading the book first. So I pulled the book off my shelf that I bought in the summer at my church's carnival's used book store and began reading.
As usual, I couldn't stop reading. I finished it faster than I intended. I finished it while I was visiting my family, and I hadn't thought to bring an extra book. Which was stupid (but had I brought the extra book, I probably wouldn't have finished).
I wanted to keep reading, even though there is endless television to watch. So I borrowed The Help. I haven't seen the movie yet, and I've heard a lot of mixed reviews. My sisters seemed to like it, even though Sarah hadn't watched the movie either. I enjoyed it, but it wasn't comparable to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
I finished The Help in a matter of days, and tried to go back to television (there's always so much left to watch). But I ended up reading (in one sitting) the first of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic book series. After that I realized I really need to pace myself. Maybe one comic and then one real book? But what about HIMYM and Angel? Those need to be watched! And then I looked at my book shelf, and I realized on my tiny shelves I've crammed more books than the shelves can hold. I have also only read a little over half of them. Some of these unread books are from last Christmas, and some from this Christmas. Many are borrowed from friends, who have probably wondered by now what happened to their books. It almost makes me sad when I realize how little I have read. But I also know that I read all the time. This quarter alone I read approximately one book a week (plus poetry and short stories) for my classes. I'm also freaking out wondering how my next quarter classes haven't posted books, wondering if that means I have no books to read next quarter. That's unimaginable to me. No books for class! WHAT?!
Then I remembered this, “ 'Have you really read all those books in your room?'
Alaska laughing- 'Oh God no. I’ve maybe read a third of ‘em. But I’m going to read them all. I call it my Life’s Library. Every summer since I was little, I’ve gone to garage sales and bought all the books that looked interesting. So I always have something to read.' " - John Green, Looking for Alaska
It makes sense that my favorite novel sums up my problem, my life actually, completely. There's never enough time, but there will also never be enough books. So, I'm just going to keep reading, and keep watching television and not think about the time or how much is left. I'm just going to keep going.
But then I remembered that I wanted to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I couldn't go see it without reading the book first. So I pulled the book off my shelf that I bought in the summer at my church's carnival's used book store and began reading.
As usual, I couldn't stop reading. I finished it faster than I intended. I finished it while I was visiting my family, and I hadn't thought to bring an extra book. Which was stupid (but had I brought the extra book, I probably wouldn't have finished).
I wanted to keep reading, even though there is endless television to watch. So I borrowed The Help. I haven't seen the movie yet, and I've heard a lot of mixed reviews. My sisters seemed to like it, even though Sarah hadn't watched the movie either. I enjoyed it, but it wasn't comparable to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
I finished The Help in a matter of days, and tried to go back to television (there's always so much left to watch). But I ended up reading (in one sitting) the first of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic book series. After that I realized I really need to pace myself. Maybe one comic and then one real book? But what about HIMYM and Angel? Those need to be watched! And then I looked at my book shelf, and I realized on my tiny shelves I've crammed more books than the shelves can hold. I have also only read a little over half of them. Some of these unread books are from last Christmas, and some from this Christmas. Many are borrowed from friends, who have probably wondered by now what happened to their books. It almost makes me sad when I realize how little I have read. But I also know that I read all the time. This quarter alone I read approximately one book a week (plus poetry and short stories) for my classes. I'm also freaking out wondering how my next quarter classes haven't posted books, wondering if that means I have no books to read next quarter. That's unimaginable to me. No books for class! WHAT?!
Then I remembered this, “ 'Have you really read all those books in your room?'
Alaska laughing- 'Oh God no. I’ve maybe read a third of ‘em. But I’m going to read them all. I call it my Life’s Library. Every summer since I was little, I’ve gone to garage sales and bought all the books that looked interesting. So I always have something to read.' " - John Green, Looking for Alaska
It makes sense that my favorite novel sums up my problem, my life actually, completely. There's never enough time, but there will also never be enough books. So, I'm just going to keep reading, and keep watching television and not think about the time or how much is left. I'm just going to keep going.
Monday, December 26, 2011
And one night, HE COMES. The most horrible man in the world...Santa Claus.
My Christmas break was short and sweet. It sort of saddens me that I was only home for four days for Christmas, but I need the money. I also left on a happy note, not my usual "Okay, I'm ready to get as far away from these people as I reasonably can." I love my family, and they love me; but too much time together and there will be an explosion of emotion.
My only problem with not being home for very long was my lack of time with my friends. I miss them, and I realized that now whenever we see each other it's always to catch-up never to really spend time together. Somehow to me, those two things are different. And I miss just spending time with my friends.
The best part of my Christmas vacation was having Adam come home with me. I've never had a boyfriend spend Christmas morning with me, let alone not be afraid of me and my family after having to listen to arguments over cookies and gluten-free ham. We saw Adam's family on Christmas Day too, on my way back to school for work. Even if his mother hates me (like I suspect) his family was still nice to be with, and his little brother likes me and liked my Christmas present to him.
Overall, I loved Christmas this year. It came and went too quick, but I have a feeling that just means I'm actually an adult now. On to 2012!
My only problem with not being home for very long was my lack of time with my friends. I miss them, and I realized that now whenever we see each other it's always to catch-up never to really spend time together. Somehow to me, those two things are different. And I miss just spending time with my friends.
The best part of my Christmas vacation was having Adam come home with me. I've never had a boyfriend spend Christmas morning with me, let alone not be afraid of me and my family after having to listen to arguments over cookies and gluten-free ham. We saw Adam's family on Christmas Day too, on my way back to school for work. Even if his mother hates me (like I suspect) his family was still nice to be with, and his little brother likes me and liked my Christmas present to him.
Overall, I loved Christmas this year. It came and went too quick, but I have a feeling that just means I'm actually an adult now. On to 2012!
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Music Appreciation Post- The National
I would just like to take a moment to talk about the genius that is the band, The National.
Their music is beautiful, lyrics poetic, and Matt Berninger's vocals are full of passion and honesty. His voice, their lyrics, and the music are honest in that they bear all emotion upfront but not with fanfare, completely simple.
Most of the time, all my "sad day" music (as I like to call it) goes out the window when I'm in a relationship, but despite my happiness their music still calls to me. I can't turn it off, and I can't help but play it.
"You know you have a permanent piece, of my medium-sized American heart."
Their music is beautiful, lyrics poetic, and Matt Berninger's vocals are full of passion and honesty. His voice, their lyrics, and the music are honest in that they bear all emotion upfront but not with fanfare, completely simple.
Most of the time, all my "sad day" music (as I like to call it) goes out the window when I'm in a relationship, but despite my happiness their music still calls to me. I can't turn it off, and I can't help but play it.
"You know you have a permanent piece, of my medium-sized American heart."
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Certainly, uncertain.
A lot of people I know who are Creative Writing Majors, including my TA's, and professors always talk about how much they write. They wrote this the other night, and that this morning. Hearing them talk about how often they work always worries me as a writer. It worries me because I don't work like that. I don't just write all the time. I'm not working on anything really. Maybe my stories for class, and sometimes I journal (and I try to write in this blog). But I don't sit around just writing.
I wish I did because hearing them talk about it and realizing I don't do what they do makes me feel like maybe I'm not meant to be a writer. I always sort of knew that, even in declaring my major. I don't expect to behind a laptop in a coffee shop all day long making money. I still don't know what I'm going to do when I graduate. I want to be around literature, and around writers. I know that much.
Sometimes, I say that I have to wait for "inspiration" in order to start working on something. I guess that is true in some ways. Once I got inspiration for a short story in my fiction workshop this past quarter, and I think that story is the best thing I've written to date. I want that to happen again, and I also want to continue editing that story. But am I editing that story? No. I'm watching television, and organizing my apartment. Does that make me a writer? Probably not.
It's too late to change my major, and I don't want to. Maybe I'm not meant to be a writer. Maybe I'm just different than the other writers I know. Maybe watching television, organizing my closet, and scrolling through tumblr is my way of writing. Maybe, I still really don't know.
I wish I did because hearing them talk about it and realizing I don't do what they do makes me feel like maybe I'm not meant to be a writer. I always sort of knew that, even in declaring my major. I don't expect to behind a laptop in a coffee shop all day long making money. I still don't know what I'm going to do when I graduate. I want to be around literature, and around writers. I know that much.
Sometimes, I say that I have to wait for "inspiration" in order to start working on something. I guess that is true in some ways. Once I got inspiration for a short story in my fiction workshop this past quarter, and I think that story is the best thing I've written to date. I want that to happen again, and I also want to continue editing that story. But am I editing that story? No. I'm watching television, and organizing my apartment. Does that make me a writer? Probably not.
It's too late to change my major, and I don't want to. Maybe I'm not meant to be a writer. Maybe I'm just different than the other writers I know. Maybe watching television, organizing my closet, and scrolling through tumblr is my way of writing. Maybe, I still really don't know.
Monday, October 10, 2011
The Adventures of Huck Finn
As you read and learn you begin to make connections with everyday life and the stories that you take in. Even in lectures and class, making connections with lessons with daily activities is bound to happen. But maybe, in creative writing classes this happens more.
Today, in my survey course on fiction writing my professor went on a rant about how high school English classes over analyze stories for symbols. He claimed that no writer he knows sets out to write a symbol into their novel, and that as a writer this is something we should never do. His rant sent me back to a high school, and a story that my friend told me about her English teacher.
While reading The Adventures of Huck Finn, her teacher said, "They were on a wooden raft. You know what else is made of wood?" After no response, he said, "The cross!" It took everything in my friend not to reply, "The raft was made of wood because rafts are made of wood, not because of Jesus."
Ignoring the religious aspects of this argument, you can see my professor's claim on symbolism coming into light. This rant was something tangible and attainable to me because I experienced this exact over analyzing in my own high school. This memory only seemed more relevant to me when later in the class my professor began to explain how in structuring a novel or short story there can be a disconnect of what the main character knows, versus what the reader knows and he used Huck Finn as his example.
Today, in my survey course on fiction writing my professor went on a rant about how high school English classes over analyze stories for symbols. He claimed that no writer he knows sets out to write a symbol into their novel, and that as a writer this is something we should never do. His rant sent me back to a high school, and a story that my friend told me about her English teacher.
While reading The Adventures of Huck Finn, her teacher said, "They were on a wooden raft. You know what else is made of wood?" After no response, he said, "The cross!" It took everything in my friend not to reply, "The raft was made of wood because rafts are made of wood, not because of Jesus."
Ignoring the religious aspects of this argument, you can see my professor's claim on symbolism coming into light. This rant was something tangible and attainable to me because I experienced this exact over analyzing in my own high school. This memory only seemed more relevant to me when later in the class my professor began to explain how in structuring a novel or short story there can be a disconnect of what the main character knows, versus what the reader knows and he used Huck Finn as his example.
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