Signs

I had the best experience with my writing workshop the past five days. I learned a lot and made some amazing connections. It was fantastic, because it was such a variety of people ranging from 20-72. There were fifteen-year-old boys and a 92-yr-old man in the memoir class, but the 20-72 range is referring to my class and the people who hung out after class. I went out for "drinks" with them, but had to admit I was not 21. I had rice and beans instead. Last night we went to a nice restaurant; a 72-yr-old nun (who was in charge of the workshop) payed for all of our dinner. It was incredibly generous of her. I learned at dinner that she just published an anthology of Catholic short stories. I asked her if I could meet with her to talk about my anthology idea and she was very supportive of it. My teacher is a very well-established author http://philipfdeaver.com (if you want to check him out yourself). He won the Flannery O'Connor award for short fiction. He was very supportive of my work and gave me a free signed copy of his book. It made me feel so good. Everyone gave me a surplus of compliments, because I was the youngest one there. I needed something like that. Confidence is a good thing.

One of the women was a Social Worker on the South side of Chicago and I really admired her free-spirit. She talked about all of these trips she has taken alone, sort of spiritual pilgrimages. I told her that I am an anxious person and should try something like that to overcome it. She said, "The most important thing I've learned is to pay attention to signs." I laughed because we were driving and had almost taken a wrong turn. I also laughed at how I fail to notice signs. She said, "I mean literal signs, but metaphorical ones too. I would have missed so much if I would've missed some signs." I reflected on this. I am oblivious to all signs. I think her saying that was a sign that I should pay attention to. To add to this sign, my teacher told me today, "I wouldn't say this to most people, but because you are so young don't feel like you're not a writer if you stop writing for a couple months or even a couple years. The most important thing is to stay up on reading and live. Do something crazy like go to Turkey." The nun interrupted and said, "And while you're there take a Turkish bath." I thought more about this, and I do need to do some spontaneous traveling alone. I can't live in a bubble my whole life. I'd like to slowly progress into it, though. I figure there is no need to throw myself into situations where I have panic attacks.

I meant to do so much more reading and writing tonight. I didn't read at all, but I did write four pages of a journal entry. I guess, that's acceptable. I need to go to bed. I have to wake up early. I took a long nap today, though, so I probably won' fall right asleep. Oh well, what can ya do?

I'll Write a Novel, Run a Marathon, and Save the World

I shouldn't be blogging. I am in a five day writing workshop. It started last night and ends Sunday morning. I was assigned an 8-page fictional story to start and finish before then. I am terrible at fiction, but I love writing challenges. I'm excited to see where it takes me. I should be investing any free time into the story, but I just got back from a run, and am taking a few moments to debrief. In class I felt so jittery and excited. I think it's from working all day and then sitting in a classroom for two hours. I enjoyed the lecture and writing exercises a great deal. After class I was so jittery that I was excited to get home and run. When I made it home, I started my run much too fast, but I was just full of energy. It died, though. My run was good, but not any better or worse than normal. My energy to write a novel in one night is gone, which is good, because my instructor reminded us of all of the excuses and traps we can fall into in order to avoid finishing a story. He said 8 pages. No more. No less. I'm curious to see where I will go with this project.

Work is going well. I love the kids, but we don't have very many yet, which makes me sad. It makes for a slow day, and the kids don't have as many others to play with. Today we took them swimming. That's one of my favorite parts of my job--when we take them to the pool. Their reactions are just priceless. I should blog about so much more, and put more thought into this, but I'm tired. I need a shower. Plus, I really need to get going on that story!

Tragedy

I received this mass message from a friend who is in Palestine. It broke my heart.

Hi Folks,

A semi-quick message--I really need some support and a little time from all of you right now. This morning, we received notice that two university students had been shot and killed last night during an Israeli raid into Nablus, the city in the West Bank that we are staying in right now. We toured the flat less than 12 hours after their deaths. The Israeli army had used small explosives to enter the room and shot and killed one confirmed member of Islamic Jihad and a suspected affiliate of Hamas (the locals and university students I am working with all claim that the 2nd student was not an activist and as apolitical as a student under military occupation can be). Both men were unarmed when Israeli forces entered their apartment. One was shot 16 times while he was still in bed, naked, while the other was shot in the chest several times. The explosives used to enter the apartment had already torn through both of his legs and his arms. The first witnesses to the scene told us they believe he was executed after he was wounded.

I saw the flat. I saw the blood next to the shattered pieces of furniture, appliances, and debris. There were no explosives, no weapons, nothing. Just your ordinary student flat.

They could easily have been arrested. Another one of the students in the apartment building, the one who answered the 1st floor door, was arrested without a struggle. Instead, the Israeli forces deprived the Palestinians, themselves, and the world of justice by executing suspected militants without a trial or conviction. This is not unusual.

For a sense of how twisted the reporting on this situation can be, please check out these links:

http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/world/international-palestinians-israel-violence.html?_r=1&ref=world&oref=slogin
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7470530.stm
http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2008/06/20086246582657247.html

Again, I witnessed this scene less than 12 hours after the students were killed, saw videos and pictures taken directly after the raid, and heard the eye-witness accounts of those who lived, worked, and went to school with these students.

Needless to say, I'm a little shaken, but I care more that you are able to benefit from what I saw today. A quick little note from you, though, would make a big difference for me...as well as your time checking out those stories.

I love you all..

Anne Lamott

This is what truth sounds like to me. It's a long interview, but worth it--even if you only can watch a couple minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhP5GmybvPM

All My Life's a Circle

Tonight I gathered in a circle with a few people from the South Dakota trips to reminisce and reflect on our intense experiences. A group usually goes to the reservation every summer, but this summer the trip fell through. It's heartbreaking for so many people. It's crazy how many lives are affected by these trips. Tonight I was reminded how intense the energy and connection is between all of us. We are still very much connected to the people on the reservation. Many of them are just as sad as we are that we cannot make it out. The energy fades when I don't see the group for extended periods of times, my life challenges me, or I feel down. I discovered that this is a defense mechanism, because the spiritual energy from my experience last summer with the kids is too much to carry around alone. Other people don't want to hear about it 24/7, and it's an experience that words will never do justice; that gets frustrating. The energy fades, and I think it was some fluke that I will never understand. Then I get back together with the group, and we feed off of what little energy is left in each other, and when I leave I'm high off of the experience again--unable to sleep and experiencing life with a new, temporary lens.

We agreed that there has to be a reason this energy is so slow to die. We have seen real, positive change in lives here and on the reservation. It's hard to keep going, because we are all so wrapped up in our own lives, but it's even harder to just let it die.

Last year, after our life-changing week with the kids from the reservation here in Michigan, "Let it Be" was one of our mantras and a song we associate with the week. I was moved when the song came on the radio as I drove away from Jon's house tonight. I sang loudly and let the music take me away, because when the kids were here, there were many night drives from Jon's to my house alone. It's not a very long drive, but long enough to process the amazing experiences before going home to bed. It was a wonderful flashback to be able to have a few moments alone with just me and the radio after a spiritual experience.

We talked about how our lives have changed over the year, and what is the same, because we view life as a circle. We have always sung Harry Chapin's "All My Life's a Circle" when we are together. We even have silly dance moves, that freaked me out and made me want to run away when I was 16 (dancing during prayer times is so NOT cool). Now, I have grown to love the silliness we feel while enjoying the connection and wisdom the song sparks.

I start work bright and early tomorrow. I guess, that means I have to start functioning on a normal schedule. I took a two-hour nap today. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't find any reason to make myself wake up. I'll feel the sudden change of sleep schedule hard tomorrow. Until then, I will try to relax and be okay with my inability to fall asleep. Maybe I will read or write a bit.

Goodbyes

I said goodbye to April and Evan today. It was unreal, because it's hard to imagine them being on the other side of the country. I was telling April that, even though I'll still see them at holidays, the fact that they are three time zones away is the worst part. Time zones separate people emotionally-- in addition to the physical separation created from distance. I reflected on this same idea when I was at the O'Hare airport in Chicago on the way to Las Vegas for Spring Break. We landed on a Saturday evening, and I thought about how I was in the same city as Adam (the atheist--not the priest). It's funny, because Chicago is not that far away. If he lived in Traverse City, I wouldn't think much of the distance, but all I could think about was how it was nice to be in the same time zone as my brother. I just take for granted the idea that I am in the same time zone and connected by similar everyday events to the people I love. Most of us all eat lunch or dinner within a few hours of each other. We usually have several hours of sleep at night that overlap. One hour is not that big of a difference, but I still notice it when it comes to chatting to Adam online or calling. We're certainly on different schedules. It will be really tough having April and Evan three time zones away. It will make calling a pain in the ass, but we've always e-mailed pretty regularly. 

It's funny, because saying goodbye to them forced me think about how our relationship has evolved since I first met April on my way to South Dakota when I was 16.  I went to breakfast with Jon recently; I mentioned that I was still close with April and Evan. He said it brought a tear to his eye, which is funny, because it's a classic Jon moment, but it was nice that he recognized the sacredness in the growth I've experienced in the past few years.

I can't stop thinking about how many people I've had dramatic goodbyes with in the past year or two. It seems like I say a lot more goodbyes; it's the long ones that kill. I hate when I don't know if or when I will see the person. Saying goodbye to my writing professor was hard for that reason, because I knew I could learn so much more from her, but I might not see her again. It made me think of saying goodbye to my favorite English professor from the year before. I still e-mail her from time to time, but I didn't expect to see her again when I said goodbye. I wonder if I ever will. Kristin is going to Spain for the ENTIRE year next year. Saying goodbye to her will be heartbreaking, I'm sure. April's sister, Val, is also moving out-of-state, so I am preparing to go to coffee with her in the next couple weeks to say a final goodbye. Even saying goodbye to Adam before he goes back to Chicago,  saying goodbye to my family before I go back to school, or saying goodbye to my friends at school before I come home for the summer is emotionally draining. I am fortunate, because I keep meeting wonderful people, but the more people I meet, the more goodbyes that brings. 

I'm always especially awkward when I say long goodbyes. I ruin the moment by being silly or stupid, because it keeps me from being sad until the person actually leaves and allows me to laugh a little longer with them. I should work on my goodbye behavior. How does one practice that? I seem to do it a lot these days, so I should get smoother at it, but sometimes I feel like my inappropriate and awkward behavior in sad situations helps ease the intensity of the sadness. It does for me, at least.

We Stand Alone

**This is a work in progress

Indie music plays
like colorful dots
dancing on a white wall.
We turn it up
until the bass
owns our hearts.
We sit silent,
surrounded by noise,
driving across our dark dead town
like we did
years ago,
before we stood alone.

Car doors slam.
Stiff hugs and stiff drinks
reunite forgotten friends,
summing up years
in short sentences.
Silences tainted by time
tear freshly formed masks.
I giggle glue
we’re no longer
patient enough to let dry
like we did
years ago,
before we stood alone.

Join

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=29360338496&ref=nf

Invite ALL of your friends =)

If you don't have facebook, I will post the official "call" for this project when i get it okayed by my professor.

cReAtiVitY

I'm creatively frustrated. I've had bursts of creative energy throughout the past couple days; I've even jotted stuff down on a notepad with the "Lady of Guadalupe" on it. I look at the notes. They inspire me to write, but when I actually start typing it feels meaningless. The Lady of Guadalupe notebook is really cool, so that in itself motivated me to write. Also, I finished the book about the woman with Bi-polar disorder. It was the same woman who wrote, "Wasted," the book on living with an eating disorder when she was 23. It was good to see how frustrated she gets with writing. She goes weeks without writing when she gets depressed. It's been a couple weeks, and all I've written is a few journal entries and a poem. My writer's group is meeting for the first time on Sunday morning (at my house). I hope to talk about goals with them and work on fixing up my two poems.

I waste a lot of creative energy on making playlists. When I'm inspired to write, I have to have the perfect playlist first (excluding my disciplined writing time). This is only for my spontaneous attempts to write. In my writing class, my professor always said being a writer means combining creative, spontaneous inspiration with discipline and technicalities. They don't blend together very nicely most days. 

I've spent a lot of time the past couple days at the hospital with my grandma, who had her kidney removed. She is recovering nicely. I'm going back tomorrow morning. The hospital certainly evokes creative feelings. There are so many unhealthy, unhappy people, yet so much love. It's nice to witness how people bond together so selflessly in times of struggle. It made me think about human beings' benevolence as an evolutionary benefit. We touched on that a bit in my "Religion and Psych" class. I was also reflecting on how amazing it is that the doctors can cut a person open, remove an organ, and the person's body heals at tremendous speeds. The human body is amazing, along with the human mind; I'm especially grateful that we have the ability to connect and help each other because of our advanced minds. I was thinking about how miraculous it is that we can read words--just black and white symbols--and feel a specific emotion that the writer intends. We can control each other's emotions with black and white symbols. I can make people laugh, cry, or angry. I can recreate any emotion and make a reader feel actual EMPATHY, because I can describe the feeling with the countless words available as tools to me. I I love the power writing has. I'm not being proud; anyone can write (how well is another story). The pen is mightier than the sword. Write on.

Change and Growth

I spent last evening with Kristin and her brother, John. We dropped in to see some friends from high school. Several of them dropped out of college and are working decent, but repetitive and depressing jobs. We conversed uncomfortably about all of the people from our class with kids. One of the boys seemed so down and apathetic. Kristin and I talked all afternoon today. We couldn't help but admit to feeling sad after leaving the boys last night. I'm used to things changing, and I don't keep in touch with many people from my class. It's easy to forget about their struggles until I see them again. I think I feel the most sadness for the people who haven't changed--or the ones stuck at jobs where they will be the rest of their lives. The monotonous jobs where happiness is drinking a six pack on the weekend. I guess, some people are content with a simple life, but that seems so depressing to me. It seems like they are just numbing themselves with mind-altering substances and trying to "survive" instead of live. I shouldn't assume they aren't legitimately happy. It could be that I know too many unhappy people, and that taints my view of happiness in humanity.

Kristin is living in Spain all of next year, so she is trying to come home to see her mom a lot. It's been nice. I think I've seen her more in the past month than I have in the last two years combined. It is amazing how much we both have changed since high school. I considered her one of my best friends then (I still do), but we were in all of the same classes, soccer captains together, same clubs...we were constantly competing, and that made it difficult to fully trust one another. We both have grown so much. We have totally different interests and lifestyles; I barely see her, but I realized today that she is one of the rare people I think I will be friends with for life. Even if that means, only talking on the phone once a year. I don't think she will ever completely fade out of my life. At least, I hope not. There's very few friends I feel that confident about. I love all of my friends, but I'm not so naive to think that we will be friends forever. Life tears people apart. I am terrible at goodbyes and letting people go, but I'm learning. Jenn (from the South Dakota group) said "we are never as far away from someone as our thoughts." I like that idea, because I think about all of the people I care about often. I think of the most random people sometimes. Last night, I thought about a good friend of mine from fourth grade who moved away. I wonder what happened to him.

Things change. It's sad, but beautiful to be able to reflect on life as a circle. John's band is signed now. They still have a long ways to go, but they're playing pretty big shows and opening for killer bands. I can remember when he was pestering his mom to let him buy a guitar when we were in middle school. People, things, and places change. Friendships do too, but there's just something really powerful about keeping friends throughout life and changing together. My friend, Adam, and I were recently talking about how he and I have both changed so much since we became friends a year and a half ago. We both have evolved and grown closer to the center of our beliefs. While we used to be on nearly opposite sides, we are both pretty laid  back and moderate--either that, or we're both just crazy together.

I've had trouble writing for the last couple weeks. It's been enough to drive me mad. I have a first draft of a poem, though. I'm unbelievably happy about it. I will post it if I ever finish it (or get a solid enough of a draft to post).

Identity & Maybies

I’ve been reflecting on life. I feel like I’m always waiting for it to get better instead of enjoying the moment. It's like when I have my ipod on shuffle. I keep skipping tracks to get to a "better" song, only to realize I passed far too many good songs along the way to get to a mediocre one.

I just watched “Leaving Las Vegas” and then “The Last Kiss,” both incredibly depressing movies. It made me think about how everyone talks about college being the best time in life, because there is so much possibility. I don’t think that’s it. I think they look back at college, because it’s a time where people are adult enough to live in reality but inexperienced enough to dream unrealistically. I think I will always dream big.

People have mid-life crises because they realize, “Wow, I’ve been waiting for something spectacular that’s never going to come.” “The Last Kiss” talked about how people are having their crises much earlier, which probably is just an identity crises. The character was saying that we are moving at such a faster pace that we have these panic-stricken realizations earlier in our lives. It reminded me how I jokingly left my friend a voicemail in the fall telling her I needed her help, because I was having a “quarter-life crisis.” I laughed about it, at the time, but it was just an identity crisis. I think I will have flashes of identity crises all throughout my schooling. My friend (the one I left the voicemail to) is several years older and she said she thinks that we are supposed to have them forever.

INDENTITY…

What does it even mean? We all have so many different slivers of ourselves that we expose. It doesn’t mean we are fake--because the slivers are all from the same board. We can’t fake the quality of the board. I’m thinking about that quote “Character is who you are when no one is watching.” I suppose, that’s true, but it makes it sound so easy. I don't even know who all of me is. I can think of a few rare individuals in my life who make me feel like they see all of me. That usually scares me. Sometimes I push them away, because I don’t like seeing myself reflected off of someone else. For example, I wrote an essay about my friend, Adam. He is comfortable enough with himself and outrageous enough to be able to inspire an honest essay. I didn’t have to make him look like a saint. He was flattered and didn’t mind seeing his flaws included with his attributes. He recently told me he wants to start writing again (he hasn’t written since high school). He said he wants to write an essay about me, because I’m so neurotic (in the lovable way—or so he says). I confessed that I don’t think I can handle seeing someone’s honest reflection of me. It scares me. 

Most of my thoughts are consumed by trying to find truth--especially truth in myself. It feels hopeless some days. Everyone says how I over-think things. It’s true. It’s a vicious downward spiral—I think about how awful it is that I over-think things, then I think about how I need to stop, but then I get frustrated when I can’t stop thinking, and I get mad that I’m over-thinking it all. Everyone says, “Try meditation.” I do. It helps, but I’m beginning to think I will always be a little crazier than the rest of the world. While that is bad on many different levels (poor health, anxiety, etc…), I think that’s why I connect with people easily. I am a compassionate person, because I’m always thinking about what different situations would feel like. I couldn't write if I wasn't compassionate, and writing is such a huge part of my identity. I wouldn't give up my wild mind if it meant giving up writing.

Maybe I should just stop feeling bad about the fact that I over-think things until I feel bad. 

Maybe I should just breathe the sanskrit mantra “ham-sa" or “I am that.” 

Maybe I should just let it be. 

Maybe I should just let me be. 

Maybe I’m working on it, and that's all I should demand of myself for now.

God Says Yes to Me

We read this in my writing class and I fell in love with it. 

God Says Yes To Me

By Kaylin Haught

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes
I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is
I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to
Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Energy

Today I was talking with a friend about how I believe everyone has energy. I surprised myself when I said this, but I think I finally have something to believe in. I think when we die our energy lives on in the people we love, which is why people can feel the presence of their loved one so strongly after that loved one dies. I believe the idea of tapping into people's energy is a way for me to make prayer work without making it like talking to an imaginary friend. Harold Kushner, a rabbi, wrote about prayer as a way to tap into ourselves and be connected to other people. I think we can pray for help and there will be people in our life who pick up on that vibe and help us. I think we can pray for strength or courage and surprise ourselves with what energy we can tap into. Some people call that God. Other's argue it's just the miracle of the human mind. I don't really care what it is. I just like having a way to articulate how I feel about it, and not let other people define it for me with a three letter word.

I also am discovering that I pick up on other people's energy a little too much sometimes. I'm one of the most oblivious people I know (it's discouraging, really). Despite being oblivious to the real world, I am crazy perceptive about people, their mannerisms, and energy. I tend to let other people's negative energy bring me down more than I let people's positive energy bring me up.  I am working on that. Being home while everyone is stressed and experiencing existential crises, is really forcing me to dig deep into myself and try not to stray too far from center. It seems to go better earlier in the day, and then I struggle around dinner. I think it has to do with the fact that Im home alone all day, and then all of the stressed family members come home around dinner time. I've been trying to take a walk, rollerblade, or bike after dinner to clear my head. It helps somewhat. I don't know why I didn't do it tonight. I felt like writing, but then I got down about writing and started blogging. It seems I'm not the most proactive person about my mental health.

Flashback

Today I came across some of my old writing from elementary school. I forgot how much I loved writing as a kid. I often tell people that I believe kids are much more self-aware than we give them credit for. I was looking at a lot of my awards and comments from teachers, and I realized what a nerd I was. It's funny, because I became "too cool" for all of the stuff I loved as a kid, and it is not until recently that I am returning to my old passions. For example, as a kid, I loved being outside and learning about nature. In High School, I told lisa I didn't like learning about nature. I'm back to being a nature-geek these days. I used to want to be a writer, then for a while, I hated English classes, and stopped writing. Now, I'm back to being dorky passionate and naively optimistic about being published someday. I wanted a pair of Chuck Taylor's as a kid, because of the show "Zoom" on PBS. All the kids wore them. My friends told me they were stupid, so I never got a pair until my senior year of high school when I stopped caring so much about what my friends thought. I still love Chucks. I need a new pair. Mine have holes in them. I am copying a paper I found from fifth grade. I'm misspelling all of the same words and punctuating it just like I did then. It made me laugh, because my teacher wrote a note at the bottom saying she believed I could do this too. I ended things rather confidently. I wonder when that confidence faded. I'm thinking it might have been sixth grade. Adolescence is when I really lost myself. I think everyone does, though. It's such a strange time.

"My Life as an Adult" (fifth grade-1998)

When I grow up, I would like to go to University of Michigan, because it is near home and a good school.

 

I will take a class on creative writing, a computer class, an art class, and a chemistry class.

 

When I get out of college I would live in a small, quiet, apartment with a swimming pool, so after a hard day of doing my job (wrighting and illastrating) I could go swimming.

 

After a hard time of my rent and student loans, I would publish my first book, and make a lot of money. I would have enough to pay all of my student loans, move into a nice house and be able to pay my house and car payments.

 

Soon I would begin writing a series to go with my first book. My series would have 21 books, and I would make millions. By the time I turn 35 I would have a mansion with an indoor and outdoor pool, a spa, two Jack Rusel Terrier puppies named Max and Jack, I would have one Calico cat named Crayons, two convertables, one silver and one red, and one black mercedes.

 

This dream will be very hard to make come true but if I set my mind to it I can do anything.

"Believe in me, 'cuz I don't believe in anything"

And the days are not full enough

And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.

- ezra pound

After not sleeping well for many nights, I have had two nights in a row of normal sleep. I feel extra tired, though. Catching up on such a large amount of missed sleep is never fully effective. The days have been slipping away. I am always disturbed by the way time slips by after midnight. It always feels like some sick joke. Every time I look at the clock, another hour has passed. I'm not nearly as productive as I'd like to be during my days off. However, I don't feel like I've been lazy either. I stay fairly busy, and I'm trying desperately to write with the discipline of professional writers. 

I e-mailed my former advisor/professor about a book idea. She responded with a beautifully written, very thorough e-mail about what I need to do in order to go through with it. It's the first time I feel like anyone's really believed in one of my big ideas. Usually people say, "maybe" and smile at my naive and youthful passion. I kind of expected my professor to do the same. I just asked if she thought the idea was worth pursuing. She said yes, it's an excellent idea, and then gave me a step-by-step of what to do. It never fails to amaze me how much more I can accomplish when I know someone believes in me--not just in the vague, "I care about you; I believe you will do something great," but in the specific, "you are great at_______; I think you should pursue it," kind of way. 

I am not the most confident writer, but after this year I think I am a decent one. I would not be a decent writer or even a writer, if lisa would not have told me that my writing was amusing, and I should try independent study with her when I was 17. Every other English teacher gave me occasional A's on papers, but never said, "wow, you have a talent." In fact, I didn't even like English until 10th grade. I didn't  feel like I was any good at it until just this last semester. It took: getting a job at the writing center, getting an essay published, a really supportive professor/entire writing class, and the support of my writer's group at home to make me feel like I could hold my own in the writing community. I did have some confidence from a few classes/professors the year before, but then I got a B in English 201 (A general, required English class) in the Fall. That was so upsetting, because I worked hard. In retrospect, I believe I deserved better. 

At the time, I let that grade kick down my sense of self-worth in general, and my confidence in English. It's stupid how one letter on a piece of paper can do that--how one negative professor can overpower all of the other English professors who liked me  and supported my writing. When I saw that grade, I felt like I was back in High School, when I found out I failed the writing part of the MEAP test, after I thought I had written a great essay (creativity is not a good thing on standardized tests. I learned that the hard way). Situations like that have made it so I can't accurately judge the quality of my writing. There have been too many times where I think I am writing something nicely, only to find out that it's terrible. There's even more times where I start to quit something, and someone will see it, and say, "This is really good." Why do I base the quality of my writing off of what other people say? After they tell me the "crap" is really good, I reread it, and start to see the good. Then it gives me the energy to keep working on it. My former professor said this is my biggest weakness as a writer--my inability to accurately judge my own writing. I don't know how to improve at that. I guess, keep writing and getting feedback.

Some people might not need anyone to believe in them. Take Jack Kerouac. He refused to change his book for anybody. He lived in his mother's basement and was a loser by most people's standards. Now, we learn about him in literature classes and he inspires tons of writers and musicians every year. I am not one of those people. I need people to believe in me  in order for me to feel I can achieve my full potential. Hopefully, one day, I will believe these people and no longer need to listen to any new criticism. Then I can say, "No, I think it reads better the way it is," and refuse to change anything. Until then, I will keep working my ass off to impress professors, advisors, peers, and anyone else who might read my writing. 

If you were wondering...

I rave about Anne Lamott often, because she inspires me creatively and spiritually. This interview reminded me why I love reading her thoughts. If you haven't read any of her books, this is a quick way to see what she's about.


http://www.beliefnet.com/story/167/story_16714_1.html

Under Construction

This is a poem I'm playing around with. Poetry is not my strength, but my writing class in the fall is "Advanced Poetry Workshop," so I figure I should start practicing. I'm sure I will change this a thousand times more, and I will look back and regret posting it this early (or just change it). I'm open to feedback, though. Plus, it shows where I am right now. Things don't come out perfect right away. Poetry is hard work. I still have a lot of work to do on this, but check it out.

Under Construction

Michigan
freezes, thaws
freezes, thaws,
leaving
open-wounds in once
solid sidewalks.

The roads,
blatantly
broken like people
who drive them slowly,
rolling by orange
cones and politically incorrect,
“Men Working”
signs, in dust-covered
cars that can’t
stay clean.

Writing About Writing (Again)

"A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

-Thomas Mann

My writing has been going really well the past two days, which was much needed, because I was losing faith in it. That's what keeps me writing--the way I never know when it's going to get good. That's why I have to write every day. Sometimes I mope and complain about it, but I keep dragging that stupid pen on paper and typing meaningless thoughts to keep the discipline. Then, once in a while, instead of looking at the clock and watching the time pass, I can't stop writing. During these rare occasions, I write abnormally fast (and sloppy) to keep up with the ideas, then look at the clock and realize hours have passed by without the slightest hint of disappearance. I probably shouldn't have messed up my flow to blog, because I don't know if I will be able to jump right back into it, but I had to get it in writing (I like how things only feel true if I see it in writing), that my writing was going well. Hopefully it will continue going well, because I have lots of goals and ideas. 

Oh and I'm dropping that psych class. On rate my professor, most of my classes said things like, "good class, but lots of papers and prof. grades tough." I decided I couldn't do 19 credits, but I HAVE to have a writing class. I will go crazy without one. I can try to take a summer class, and if that doesn't work I will take a different semester off of writing to get out in 4 years.

I intend to pick a topic to blog about soon and stop rambling about my life. I like to have a decent, meaningful entry every now and then. I just don't feel like it. Maybe when my writing starts getting discouraging again I will put effort into a blog entry. I'm just trying to keep up blogging, because when I get out of the habit, I end up taking months off, which is lame.

My First Publication

http://www.chsbs.cmich.edu/creative_writing/aimee_lewis.htm

I am even more excited for it to come out in the official journal version. As vain as it may be, my favorite part is my Bio. at that bottom. It makes me feel like an "official writer," finally. It's sad, but true.

I'm Back

My cord finally came in the mail. It is wonderful to be back on my computer. I felt lost without it for multiple reasons, but I think the biggest was probably because all of my writing is on here. I write in a notebook too, but my notebook is, generally, for freewrites. I've been writing meaningless entries just to keep writing, but it was horrible. It took me over an hour just to write four pages in my notebook this morning. That's unacceptable. Writing is one of the most frustrating things I do sometimes.

I have such high expectations for my writing this summer, which might not be good, because it only leads to disappointment. I told myself if my writing went well this summer, I would drop my writing class for the Fall. I'm signed up for 19 credits, and I worry about it a lot. However, if I am successful, I will be able to take a writing class every semester I have left (despite that I only need three more), and I will get out in four years. It seems like I have so much to gain. I am signed up for a poetry class with a poet who is starting to get into essays (so maybe I might be able to get a little help on essays).  Then, even though I really don't like fiction, I figured I would take a fiction class in the Spring. That would really diversify and strengthen my writing so that I could just focus on writing essays my last two semesters of my senior year, which supposedly will be possible, because they are supposed to hire an essayist after this year. My former advisor/professor gave me a name to contact so I can have a say in which essayist they choose. However, if I'm taking 19 credits, on the e-board for two RSO's, and working, I don't know if I will have time to attend all of the readings. I would really like to, though.  My other option, is drop my psych class and just try to take a summer course. I worry it won't work out, though, and I'd hate to have to come back another semester just for one course. I know my next four semesters of Spanish are going to be hard, so I am well aware that this first semester of it will be the only tolerable one. Therefore, it's the last semester I will be able to really push myself without failing Spanish. I, kind of, feel obliged to push myself while I still can. I could give up the writing class, but that's what I'm going to school for. I want to take advantage of being able to take a course with published authors every semester I have left. I want to be the best writer I can before I'm forced to go off to grad school or get a real job. I hope I can get into a good grad school. I want to go to one where I can teach so I don't have to pay for classes. That's super competitive, though. All I can do is hope I'm a killer writer by then and lots of schools will want me to write under them.

I was also stoked about getting my cord so I could finally buy the new Death Cab album. I'm listening to it right now. So far I like what I hear. They always inspire me creatively. I love writing while listening to them. They are soothing and simple, but not in the annoying pop music way. Their lyrics actually have meaning (they aren't about clubbing or dancing--sorry Britney Spears).

I've been stuck inside for days because of my sickness. I feel so cooped up and useless. I want to start running again. I might be well enough to start tomorrow. Maybe I'll start rollerblading in the mornings instead (if it stops raining). I did go rollerblading for a little bit last night. It totally wore me out. I feel like I'm 70-years-old.

This entry got way longer than I intended. I'm just so happy to have my computer back that I couldn't stop typing. I'm out.