Agonies of a Young Author

After a morning full of a series of depressing articles: "So You Wanna Go to Grad School?" "Graduate School in the Humanities: Just Don't Go" and "Deprogramming from the Academic Program" my motivation is low and my confusion is high. Not about grad school, per se -- I'm pretty convinced that even if I learn nothing in an MFA program (and that's highly unlikely) the two years of concentrated output is a visible benefit.  Plus, any program comes with exposure to new authors/works and networking with professors and other students. So, an MFA is a 99% likelihood. 


However, these articles tap into the approaching reality of post-grad life. What kind of job can a creative writer find? Is it truly possible to support yourself financially as a full time freelancer? Is there even freelance work for someone not interested in non-fiction/journalism? How much writing do you truly do with a 9 to 5 job? Is it possible to find a compatible lifestyle balancing writing and "reality"?


There are no answers. Google did have somewhat encouraging search results for "writing jobs"- grant writers and business writers most numerous, but from companies I didn't expect and could be more enthused about than I expected. Still, it's a scary scary world out there, and I don't deal well with uncertainty. I work better having defined steps to achieve a goal, and while finishing my undergrad and then grad school takes care of the next four-ish years, I would still like some article out there to say "Hey look! Do this, and you become qualified for 'reality'!" 


Of course, that's the wet dream of every humanities major, so this is nothing new. 


So, to counter the depression, a return back to what I know. Writing. And a little offering of humor. 


Devin Galaudet's The Creative Writer’s Bill of Rights (or The Creative Bill of Writes)

1. The artist can turn off all filters and say anything about any subject, at any time, for any reason.
2. No subject matter, no how uncomfortable or offensive to self or others, is off limits
3. No single word: expletive or other no-no should be avoided due to political correctness or fear. If the word is appropriate in the context of the writing, it should stay. *
4. Any random thought should be written down by the writer, especially when the writer’s internal voice says, you can’t say that!
5. No matter how perfect a writing is, it could be edited down further or expanded upon.
6. Sometimes a writer will have to kill his or her babies. This means some great ideas/lines/articles will have to be removed, taken out, destroyed, sacrificed or edited in order to make the writing better. It can be a painful process.
7. Making changes that others have suggested, after careful scrutiny, gives the writer more authority as a writer.
8. Ignoring changes that others have suggested, after careful scrutiny, gives the writer more authority as a writer.
9. Getting a big authentic reaction is good – whether the reader liked the writing or not. Big reactions like “You suck,” is not a good reason to rewrite.
10. Taking a risk is a good thing.
11. Making a difference takes risk.
* Writing for shock value: using words and topics to offend for the sake of being offensive, is not creative. It is divisive and outside the scope of this sacred document — where is good parchment when you need it?

Write Now: 
What I'm listening to: The news (It's hurting my ears)
What I want most: chocolate, and good wine, and a hug

Finals time at my campus has a very peculiar cultural atmosphere. Somehow, once classes are over, all normal routine drains into the campus pond, and is eaten by either the troll under the bridge, or the gurgling whirlpool in the middle that I am convinced is Nessie blowing bubbles.

In any case, finals are like extended weekends, but without the pressure of trying-to-cram-in-as-much-fun-as-possible-in-two-piddly-days, but with the pressure of trying-to-cram-for-too-many-exams-and-I-really-should-be-studying-for-and-hey!-is-that- a-new-xkcd-comic?

Finals has the delightful prospect of being lawless yet with extreme deadlines.

So things like Wordle word clouds happen when avoiding a paper. Or magnetic poetry, same night, avoiding same paper.

For example, my lovely example of magnetic genius:


or that of TheatreProphet's (fellow co-conspirator in quiet hours wasting)


(and she even went one step further and alphabetized all the words, while I fought with Wordle. She also figured out how to get Wordle into a .jpg-- since I am sometimes blindingly helpless at technology-- so a big thanks to her!)


Yes, this is what we do at 11 pm at night in the library when no one else is around. *grins* In case you were wondering.

So now I am convinced that the only thing to do is create magnetic word poetry every night of finals! *bwahahahahahahaha*

I might even have to buy a set for my new apartment, and do a poem a day magnetic poetry! hahahaha

But we'll see, we'll see. I still have several finals to survive first.

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: Nothing. Roomie the Long Suffering One is studying. Shhhhhhh!
What I want most: no more finals?

WORDLE!!!

Wordle has been driving me crazy, for about the last six months or so, but I have finally got it Exactly. As I. Want.

So there, Wordle! Take that! Eh!

(Finals make me mature)

(Also, finals allow to spend endless hours putzing around on Wordle, instead of studying.)

(P.P.S. The poetry portfolio is taking up all my time. Must regulate, must regulate)

Write Now:
What I'm listening to: Zero 7
What I want most: new study music

Sometimes time curls inupon itself and passes by without noticing, while simultaneously stretching out longer than molecular taffy, each moment a perfect representation of infinity. I'm always reminded of the William Blake poem at these moments:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
and a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

Beautiful lines. I think it might have been the earliest verse of poetry that I memorized, although I admit that I was not some progidy child but rather one who watcher Lara Croft: Tomb Raider on repeat. But that's another story.

Anyways I feel as if I have finally woken up mentally. There was a haze that seemed to consume me these past two weeks- the effects of residual jetlag and adjustment to school I'm sure. Creativity was out of the question, as was any sort of exertion on my part beyond what was strictly necessary. But I have high hopes for the coming weeks. I'll gradually adapt to this semester's schedule, and gradually be able to carve out those hours for writing. I plan to be more ambitious and far-reaching in my writing career goals-- no more just writing X poems or X words a day, but publishing X pieces in X journals.

So, let it start.

But I'd love to hear an encouraging word from you all to keep in mind when I hit the next haze period.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: 'Just Dance' by Lady Gaga
What I want most: more time in the day

So I have an application deadline coming up soon for a writing position here on campus. And I would like people to look over my application essay. The requirements are 300-500 words, on this topic:
Explain why you would like to be a writing and oral communication consultant. Indicate any related experience you’ve had and/or qualifications for the position, including relevant class work. Also include any other information you think we should know as we consider your application.

And so, PLEASE tell me what you think. I have been applying to this job for my third time in a row now, and I really really want to actually get it.

*****
I love words. Really, really love words.

I love playing with words, rearranging word order or debating between minute word differences. Words are everything to me- more than a drug, more than a god, more than anything. And for many years, I've been on one side of the pen, but I believe that to become a better writer I need to understand how to effectively edit as well.
I believe that I do have a natural sort of talent at identifying problem areas, but I would like to be officially trained, and more desirable still, I would like to learn solutions. Instinct is fine, but I would like to have the confidence and experience of formal education behind me.
I would also like to work with academic and expository writing. With my background in fiction and poetry, it's easy to forget that critical papers require just as much creativity. I do realize this, and would like to get involved in this other side of the creative process. Writing is not, as I sometimes think, limited to the profession of publishing, but is a product of the entire world around us-- from the casual to the intensely formal. It is impossible, and harmful, to ignore something that is as vital as academic or analytical writing.
I would love to be a part of that creative process for a student here on campus. The ability to collaborate artistically is one of the most beneficial and enjoyable pursuits available, and I have determined to spend my life in that sort of environment. Sometimes, however, the campus atmosphere is detrimental to that sort of mindset-- encouraging individual excellence to a point of self-sufficiency that is exclusionist in scope. I believe that collaborative projects can be broader in vision and more successful in implementation than projects undertaken by a single individual. Truly extraordinary papers are created by the same sort of cohesive effort.
I have seen the benefits of collaborative work in the creative writing peer review group critINK that I founded and directed this past semester. The atmosphere of the meetings are wonderful, and all works have truly improved, not only for the writer, but also for the reviewer. Sometimes the only way to learn is to put aside your own work and help someone else. I know that personally I have benefited more from my role as the director of this group that I ever expected, or could ever expect as a member, because in my quest to help others, I have incidentally helped myself. I am more knowledgeable because of others, and I am more well-versed because of others.
In short, I have applied before to this position, and I have been rejected before. But I do not consider this a failure. Each time I am forced into a new position that helps me grow as a writer. And each application is another step towards a goal that I have determined is my destiny.

Oh, writing contests.

They abound, they really do, and sometimes in ways that I wouldn't expect. Fashion blogs. Photography descriptions. Organizers.

My latest foray into writing contests is for a $40 gift card to Knock Knock, the irreverent world of professional "organization." I get all the necessities for college there, and I really hope I win.

So for your enjoyment (because I have other things that I need to waste my time on), my entry:




In the world of college, everything is put off by at least one day, if not by one week. Two, if possible, but reading always falls by the way side. Then, one day, finals start looming, and the poor college student is forced to rush frantically to the syllabus. Papers fly, pencils break, and general chaos ensue. With the Timing Task clips, I can organize the random stacks into cohesive units.

And then be able to procrastinate, perhaps, just one more day.


Right now:
What I'm listening to: Imogen Heap, "The Moment I Said It"
What I want most: A turn of the hourglass or two...

I have decided that sometime in the future, I will take a year off and read a book a day. One year, 365 books, one epic adventure.

I vote yes.


Right now:
What I'm listening to: sone Bollywood song
What i want most: a year off school anyone? heh

Oh, midterms. How I love to loathe you.

Thankfully, I didn't have a heavy midterm schedule, and my one test is over now. No thanks to Madame Mocking Muse popping up at the most inopportune moments.

Moments when I'm finally really focused on studying, and reading deeply for all possible nuances, and she appears, taps me on the shoulder, and whispers "That'd be a great story."

Me: The sentence says "One insight provided by studies of verbal repertoires is that speakers with fewer codes at their command are both socially and verbally limited in their interactions with others." How exactly is that interesting? At all?
Madame Muse: Make it a metaphor. Explore the power of language. Combine it with a rags to riches theme. See how being literary can make you a successful member of society... or not.
Me: Oh.
(pause)
Me: Huh. That is interesting.
Madame Muse: Yessssss.
(pause; one hand inches out for a blank piece of page)
Me: No! Go away! I have to study!
(furious scribbling, pages turning and flashcards flashing, highlighters squeaking in protest and pens groaning under the abuse.)
Madame Muse: (tap, tap) That'd make a good story...
Me: ARGH!!!

Sometimes, I really love being an English and anthropology double major. Other times, they complement each other scarily well.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: "We are Golden" by Mika
What I want most: SLEEP!!!!!!!!

I've been ruminating on the nature of school, and my purpose in being a student. I'm spending four years of my life (or 8, or 10, or more, depending on if I want to go on to a graduate or doctorate program) in college, not to mention the 13 years of primary education. And when I get out of college, then what?
I suppose I'm hitting that famous point where all English majors realize that life after grad school is full of the same uncertainty - career wise at least- as if I had never gone to school at all. But even more fundamental than that, I realize that my academic career is probably not worth anything to anyone outside academics. But I care, or least I should, if I wasn't certain that I could be spending my time much more wisely by working on a book or other publication. Will some prospective employer interrogate me about that pop quiz I failed? No. Will anyone care about the term paper I got a B on? No. But will they care that I've published two books and been included in multiple anthologies? Infinitely yes. So why am I not spending more time on writing?
I don't know. I really have no answer to that question- I was throwing it out into the far-spread cosmos of cyberspace.
I want to do well in school. I do. But time is a limited commodity, and some things just have to be selectively neglected. I don't like selectively neglecting my homework, but I dislike my "aspiring author" status more.
This week has unfortunately emphasized this concern. Several professors have spoken about authors -famous ones- that never made it past a few years of primary education (think Shakespeare, most famously.) Did it matter that he didn't have a formal education? No. Do you think he was any less intelligent? No. Do you think he had a diminished level of genius? No. Do you think it negatively affected his work in anyway? No. The pretentious snobs that criticized his "ignorance" sat back and analyzed his work, while he was actually out there writing the plays. We remember Shakespeare; we don't have the names of the other men.
Who do YOU want to be?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
I wanna be Shakespeare. I don't wanna be an arm-chair literary critic. I have joked about being a professor, but I don't think in the end that I would honestly want to become one, because I know myself. I would sink into reading and writing about reading... but I would never write. It would be a different sort of creativity, not lessened, just different. Which I love equally ... in a different way.
So why I am learning to write academically?

I think there might have to be a serious change in my class schedule next semester.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: The recitations of the ESL class I tutor for.
What I want most: Fall break. Ohmygoodness, fall break. I can't wait.

As of my Friday's post, I was rather frustrated with the general trend in my education. I've been musing over the weekend on a particular quote of Mark Twain's that I read many years ago:

As most of you know, I've been rather blase lately about school. I'm busy, to be sure, but I'm probably not particularly challenged this week, and that leads to all sorts of trouble. Thinking trouble. (Yes, take that sentence both ways.) Discontent, restlessness, and general whiny-ness kinds of trouble. Not that I ever want to be staid, placid, settled, or content as a lifelong trend in any case (a number of those sort of adjectives will do), but I do want to be happy. However, happy derives from engaged and engaged derives from interested and interested derives from challenged and challenged derives from learning. Which, to bring it all back to the beginning, I have felt to be somewhat lacking.

Hence, the general discontent with assignments and the wish to have uninterrupted time to explore. Explore everything. Explore life. Explore writing. Explore writing in the form of reading. Explore authors and noted persons, explore events and cultural opportunities, explore outside of my bubble of self-imposed exile that contains myself, my textbooks, and my desk, and rarely extends to other objects,even including my bed.

Sometimes I think I want to quit, and spend my days free of responsibility so that I can learn on my own. Sometimes I want to quit, and go to concerts on the weekends, and art shows in the afternoon, spend mornings at the famer's market and enjoy going to see The Nutcracker Ballet without worrying how close to finals it is, or thinking that I can't go to a performance of Carmen because I have a paper due that Monday. Sometimes I want to quit and run away to France, where surely I'll learn French better, or to Argentina to learn about the country's history from the people who live there, or to Russia where the folktales are still told and not written down and analysised by some arm-chair specialist. But I know I would make a terrible auto-didact, and discard that idea. Then I think that I should marry rich, so I never have to work, but I discard that idea too, because it's more than a little outdated. Then I think I need to find a job which allows me to live and work on my own schedule- a freelance life, if you will... and then I remember that I want to be a writer, and that's ultimately where I'm headed to anyways.

I've mentioned it before many times, but it's hard to keep going when there's not constant feedback. And for school, with it's long-term payoffs... well, it's unfortunately the nature of the beast.

Doesn't mean that I have to enjoy the teeth as they bite down on me.

Hello everyone!

It's been quite a while since my last post, and I'm sorry for the AWOL act I just pulled. I'll try to go back and fill in the blanks, but it's going to be sporadic.

Whew! So school has started again, that special blend of horror, excitement, nervousness, and sheer chaos. I finally have my schedule finalized, and I am so glad to get that stress behind me. There were a few days for which my sanity was feared. But that's another blog post.

Anyways, GOOD NEWS!! I got into my Life Writing class, which is so freaking awesome! We study memoirs and journals, from the perspective of those that others have written and from the perspective of writing out own. I am so stoked for this. Journal writing has always been a failure for me in the issue of consistency, but memoir writing has really struck a spark since completing this summer's Intro to Creative Writing class. My first class is today, and I am so excited to get in there, (*warning: nerd alert*) grab the syllabus, and get writing!

Well, that's about it on the creative writing front. I've been running around like a mad, headless chicken trying to take care of extracurriculars (I'm president of two clubs, ay me, what was I thinking?) and other various start of school activities. So I'm a little drained. But hopefully with the start of Life Writing, I can get back into the creative flow.

That's all, folks!

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: "Peggy Sue Got Married" by Buddy Holly
What I want: more time. But that's old news.

This writer has been running errands all day. That's want happens when you get a car. Suddenly, all those excuses for procrastination just magically float away. And you are left with a to-do list a mile long, a steadily increasing pile of bills, and only an hour or so to complete it all. Sigh.

I am trying not the rant and rant about my new bright shiny policy of weekends off, but honestly it saved my butt this time. Between flying cross-country on Saturday and moving into the dorm on Sunday, I was beat. And writing really had no chance. 

Yay! InkyGirl Debbie Ridpath Ohi just gave permission to repost her work under the Creative Commons license! I'm so excited. I love her work. So I'm posting one here. Just because I can. Ehehehe. 

I cooked 100 salmon entrees today, along with beer-battered shrimp and haddock appetizers for 100. 

Hi all. 

So three minutes before midnight, go!

I freely confess. I will not deny it. This is my statement, my testimony, my guilty plea, my sentence.

I am a horrible person.

I missed writing a blog for two whole days, and I apologize. Not because I am deluding myself with the idea that someone out there is waiting eagerly everyday to hear my rambling and often juvenile opinions that have been said before in a much more elegant manner. And not because I think that ten years down the road when my name might finally be recognized and pursued to the level of reading this blog that someone will gasp and say "She missed two days of writing!" But more because ...... well, just because. I had no valid excuse. I even planned the topic for Friday's post: why i enjoyed the thought of a career in writing so much was because it allowed me to role-play in every other career that I had the tiniest spark of interest in without all the stress and draw-backs of actually practicing in that profession. Trouble is, I seem to have issues with the draw-backs of a writing career, namely procrastination and laziness. When you free-lance for a living, you have the opportunity to royally screw yourself without immediate reprocussions. So Friday spiralled into Saturday, and the only reason that I am here today on Sunday is that I have a paper due tomorrow that has yet to be written. Even with immediate reprocussions, my procrastination still gets the upper hand. So, I would love to stay and explicate upon my convulted mental processes that all deal with writing, but that Sherman Alexie book is glaring reproachfully at me from the neglected corner of my desk. Sigh. The agonies of a college student.

Right Now:
What I'm listening to: Nothing, but Natasha Bedingford's song "Love Like This" ft. Sean Kingston is cycling through my head
What I want most: Somehow magically to become organized in life (read: stop procrastinating)