Rambles (Because I Dunno What Else to Say)

Day two of Spring Break, and I’m already feeling stir crazy.  Which is funny ’cause I haven’t even been stuck at the house.  Yay for the freedom of having ones own vehicle.

My schedule is so deeply engrained into my mind, that I feel like I should be elsewhere – at this time (6:59 AM) I should be putting on my shoes, grabbing a water bottle, and heading out the door to go to my 8:00 AM math class with enough time to do my Bible study in the parking lot.

I don’t really have a plan.  I don’t have plans.  I’m playing this week by ear, and it’s stressing me out but it’s also liberating.

I’m thinking of it as a lesson in letting go.  Because, and my friends will back me up on this one: I have control issues, and I don’t know how to relax.  My mind is constantly racing with a bulleted list (plus sub-points) of all the things I should be doing, the things I need to do, and the things I want to be doing.

I kind of wish sometimes that my mind would hush up.  But it doesn’t.  Which is chill.  I kind of like the chatter, most of the time.

It’s been frustrating though, because my mind has been so full of life, of actual real life, that there hasn’t been room for fiction.  I haven’t written anything on my Creative Writing Project since the first installment was due three weeks ago, and I had barely managed to get that poured out onto the pages.

It’s like bleeding, writing is.  You can’t bleed if there isn’t a wound deep enough.

No.  That was dumb.  Ignore that.

Writing is.

Cathartic.  It’s freeing.  It’s a way to flush out your emotions without hurting anyone else (unless you’re like Allison Bechdel and you write really intense memoirs before anyone in your family is dead – people are bound to get mad about that).

I dunno.  I’ve pegged myself as “writer” since sixth grade, and I was writing way before that (don’t ask to see the short story I wrote in kindergarten or the third grade novel I co-wrote about a talking mustang – copies have long since been made scarce), and I’m watching some of my friends start to get into the thing that I love so dearly.

Which is fantastic.  Having writerly buddies is the best thing, even if it’s just a phase they’re going through.  Even if they only ever write one novel or a handful of poems – I love sharing and creating and critiquing with friends.

But it’s difficult seeing the words come so easily to them, while I fight for every sentence.  Most of which end up being fragmented and sloppy.  But that’s what shitty first drafts are for.

I’ve just never really had shitty first drafts before.  I’ve always been so careful pick the perfect word the first time – this “write now, edit later” thing is a struggle (did I mention my control issues?).

Okay.  I’ve got to stop rambling.  I have yet to begin on the assignments I want to knock out today, and I’ve got a day trip planned.  Provided the weather doesn’t interfere.

 

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One Comment

  1. “It’s been frustrating though, because my mind has been so full of life, of actual real life, that there hasn’t been room for fiction. ”
    This… I just told my brother almost the exact same thing. My brain is so caught up in business side of things it’s hard to sit down and figure out a chapter. Hang in there, girl. You’re a great writer. Often the trick is just to set a goal for a few hundred words. Once you get past the thousand mark, I find the faucet begins to flow. Or skip the “staging of the scene” and jump straight into the action. Hope you have a wonderful Spring Break. Call me sometime on it. 😉

    Reply

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