Writing a Book, or something of the sort

I've decided to use my portfolio (30 pages) toward a book. I think I could also use pieces of some of my published essays toward it as well. I desire to write a book about my mental health journey mixed with a mostly rocky-at-best search for spirituality.

I'm writing here, because I'm stuck again. What's so tricky is that I've worked very hard to polish those thirty pages. So now, starting all over with a blank page to compare only to some of my best work is discouraging. I've discovered I remember life in the form of conversations and dialogue. I often have been complimented on my ability to construct real life dialogue in my essays, and I am now beginning to believe that is just the way I remember things. I think about what other people say, and what I say to them, a lot. I'm constantly worried about saying something dumb, which I do so often, yet it's not nearly as traumatic as it sounds. I'm also interested in others ideas about life, so I recall serious, in depth conversations pretty well. I am thankful for that. However, it is frustrating because now I am only writing down random conversations, and I have to figure out how to develop the scenes and put them in some sort of logical order. Creative non-fiction is so challenging, but I love it. It is difficult to stay true to life, yet compose an interesting story with a beginning, middle, and end. I'm not complaining, because I really do enjoy it. It's just frustrating some days, and tonight is one of those days.

Like a Prayer

Madonna's "Like a Prayer" came on randomly on my ipod today, and I smiled blatantly while walking to class. I have so many fun memories to that song--dancing as a kid, dancing with Joe, surrounded by writers at AWP in Chicago, and just plain singing along with friends in the car. I like happy songs.

I'm at the library, supposed to be working on my Religion class midterm, but I don't have the necessary reading material to begin. So now, I'm just wasting time on the internet. Our midterm is going to be a debate over the movie "Religulous" by Bill Maher. I own the movie, so I'm a little upset that I had to pay $4 to rent it up here because I left it at home. In order to prepare for the debate we have to answer four questions--all a page each. He said to allow ourselves four hours to work on it. If I don't work on it tonight, I probably won't get to until this weekend, which will put a damper on being home. I'm looking forward to going home, though. Also, I'm attending Drew's birthday party on Friday. It is a seventies theme party, so I am looking forward to wearing my tie-dye and hippie-ish headband.

I thought I was in a writing mood, but now that I am typing, I am not. So here is my short blog. I'm out.

Dreamin' of the Future

I've been talking to a lot of people about graduate school. If I can get funding, I will stay here at Central--and chances are, I'll get funding. This would allow me two years to remain in an academic environment, write under professors, and mature a bit before moving out of state. I want to use the material from my portfolio toward a book. A book takes more than two years to write, so I plan to work hard on the book as a part of my graduate thesis here, and then get into an MFA program (which by then, I could hopefully get into either a really competitive school or get funding at another) where I could polish up the book and prepare to send out to editors.

I already paid the $75 application fee at U-AZ, so I will still apply there, and if I get funding, I would consider going. However, the chances of me getting both accepted and funding at the young age of 23 (I'll be 23 by then) is rare. Plus, even if I rush into an MFA program, everyone talks about the tough slap in the face after those two years. One professor said, "Every writer has to pay his or her time. It just depends on whether you want to wait tables and write on the side or stay in school and write." I think I'd rather stay in school, as romantic as waiting tables in New York, struggling to pay the rent sounds.

Today two boys in my poetry class told me I looked nice. The one is a bit flamboyant and said, "OH you look nice today," and the other one is a big guy with long hair, a beard, and tattoos all up his arm, and he said, "I was thinking the same thing." This was especially a compliment because I was not wearing any make-up. Plus, I had my glasses on. I feel most "me" when I have my glasses and no make-up on. I felt like they were saying the real me is beautiful. It mean a lot. I was dressed decent and had one of my hippie headbands in with my hair scrunched, but it was a very low-maintenced day. I've been so tired all the time, it's hard to get motivated to look nice, when all I do is contemplate when my next nap is. I'm at work, and my shift is almost up, so I'm out :)

A Beautiful Fall Day