I've been thinking a lot lately about my writing. I guess I'm trying to figure out what it is that I'd like to continue to do with my English degree. Let's face it, I'll probably never be lucky enough to have the Julie Powell-type serendipity of having someone want to actually do something with my blog. I'm not going to get a book deal based on my boring life. I'm going to have to figure out how it is that adults write things in the real world and manage to trade it for some type of money. Making money, obviously, has never been my forte.
In all, I wouldn't mind teaching. I love to teach. If there was one thing that Owens taught me about myself, other than the fact that I can manage to get decent grades when I put in the time and effort, it would be how much I enjoy helping other people to find their "Aha!" moments. I love that moment where a person actually understands a concept, and they understand it because of the way that you explained it to them. I know that I could be happy as a teacher, but I'd really love to get a doctorate and teach at the college level. I'd like to tackle hard concepts with my students.
Here's the rub: when I was a kid, I always had this fantasy that I'd be a great writer. I'd have a best-seller. It wouldn't be cookie-cutter tripe, either. It would be a deep, meaningful, moving novel, rife with symbolism and hailed by the critics as a brilliant piece of Literature--literature, that is, with a capital L. I'm actually closer than ever to having that silly dream come true. Well, alright, parts of that dream anyways. I don't think I'm the next Salman Rushdie. I'm not shooting for Dickensian talent, but it would be nice to be able to write something that wasn't completely foolish or crappy. I don't know if I'm ready to give up on the idea that I could be a writer yet.
Permit me a moment of sibling rivalry here as well: my twin, marathon man that he is (graduated from Purdue with a degree in mechanical engineering, and was ridiculously close to having a double major in applied computational mathematics), also writes. He contributes to a Purdue-related sports blog, and he makes money off of it. His writing, which I had always thought was my domain, is fluid and cohesive. Considering familial achievements, I'm behind. But then, I was behind before I even started to consider this because my twin has been in college since 2004, whereas I didn't go back to school until 2008. (Yes, that's right, I fail at an abundance of things! It's not just writing!) Like I needed one more reason to be slightly jealous of my brilliant twin. The upside is that I can be very proud (and please don't doubt that I am completely proud of his talent and achievements) that he's a good writer.
I have time to figure it all out, of course. I have to get a basic degree before I can get a higher one. It's just been something that I've been thinking about. The future has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. I have a lot of decisions to make and courses of action to ponder.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Reflections and Milanos
Tonight, I had my biochemistry midterm. I feel somewhat cheated by it, actually. The study guide had so many concepts on it! I studied so hard, but then I came face to face with only a fraction of the concepts on the exam. I feel like we learned things that we'll never be tested upon. I memorized the structures and names of 20 amino acids because our instructor told us that we had to memorize them. Then, during the exam, she wrote them on the board for us. WHAT!?! This is inconsistency at it's worst.
I've been grappling with the quitting smoking lately. More than anything else, I miss the familiar burn of smoke in my lungs, the feeling of nicotine coursing through my body. There are so many things that would be appropriately followed by a cigarette. A surprising number of my social exchanges happened because of my tendency to sneak outside for a cigarette. None of the girls here smoke with the exception of Kaitlin, so we became partners in crime. Now, I'm abandoning her for the pursuit of a smoke-free lifestyle which, to be quite frank, I don't really want. None of the other girls smoke, and M Jay and Cat have been particularly ruthless about smacking down any of my whining complaints that I want a cigarette. It's nice to know that I have loyal friends who care about my health. It would be nicer still if they would tell me about their care while lighting me a Marlboro.
I feel the need to write lately, but I'm stagnant and stale. I started some short fiction, which somehow became long fiction. The more I think about it, the more trite and absurd the concept seems to me. The girls like it because it's pulpy and sexual, but I just don't really see where I'm going with it. It already seems lame and endless to me. I'm already bored with it. It seems that the further I develop the characters, the less I happen to like them. The woman is becoming a tearful bitch, while the man is a gutless codependent. I'd like to write something with purpose, something deep, but I have no idea how to even begin to broach that kind of subject. I am not a particularly deep individual. My shortcomings on that front would become shockingly apparent if I tried to bring them up in writing.
I need to find some kind of complementary outlet. I clearly cannot seem to make writing work for me. I need to find some way to express myself. I'm certainly not an artist. I like singing, but I fail miserably at it--just ask my family. I sort of wish that we could have candles here in the dorms. This is an instance in which I would light some candles, sit in the dark, and listen to music. I would contemplate things while watching life pass by my windows. I miss being able to do that like I used to as a teenager. My room was much more fluid, much more a reflection of my childish dreams, my need to acquire, own, and achieve. My room now is much more an image of changes, adult responsibility, simplicity, and a desire for the more feminine and childish (read: there's a lot of pink). It's an emblem of where I stand right now. Possessions all in their places, pretty maids all in a row.
One thing that this college life is teaching me, however, is to live my life with less. I have much less in the way of belongings here. I'm discovering how little of it I would actually miss, how easy it is to start all over when you have to, when you need to. Simple things, little things will teach you how to get through the hard times, will lift your spirits when you need them to. For me, it's Milano cookies and a glass of cold milk. Friends will be there for you if you let them. It's funny to me that most of my college lessons have had very little to do with college or classes. (There's a New York Times bestseller in there somewhere. "Things College Taught Me How To Teach Myself" or something similar...)
For now, I believe that I will retreat to my half-full package of Milano cookies and plastic cup of 1/2% milk. I was trying to save the Milanos for another hard day or two, but why wait? Better to enjoy things while you have them than to wait so long that you can't enjoy them or even have them anymore. At any rate, they will be savored.
I've been grappling with the quitting smoking lately. More than anything else, I miss the familiar burn of smoke in my lungs, the feeling of nicotine coursing through my body. There are so many things that would be appropriately followed by a cigarette. A surprising number of my social exchanges happened because of my tendency to sneak outside for a cigarette. None of the girls here smoke with the exception of Kaitlin, so we became partners in crime. Now, I'm abandoning her for the pursuit of a smoke-free lifestyle which, to be quite frank, I don't really want. None of the other girls smoke, and M Jay and Cat have been particularly ruthless about smacking down any of my whining complaints that I want a cigarette. It's nice to know that I have loyal friends who care about my health. It would be nicer still if they would tell me about their care while lighting me a Marlboro.
I feel the need to write lately, but I'm stagnant and stale. I started some short fiction, which somehow became long fiction. The more I think about it, the more trite and absurd the concept seems to me. The girls like it because it's pulpy and sexual, but I just don't really see where I'm going with it. It already seems lame and endless to me. I'm already bored with it. It seems that the further I develop the characters, the less I happen to like them. The woman is becoming a tearful bitch, while the man is a gutless codependent. I'd like to write something with purpose, something deep, but I have no idea how to even begin to broach that kind of subject. I am not a particularly deep individual. My shortcomings on that front would become shockingly apparent if I tried to bring them up in writing.
I need to find some kind of complementary outlet. I clearly cannot seem to make writing work for me. I need to find some way to express myself. I'm certainly not an artist. I like singing, but I fail miserably at it--just ask my family. I sort of wish that we could have candles here in the dorms. This is an instance in which I would light some candles, sit in the dark, and listen to music. I would contemplate things while watching life pass by my windows. I miss being able to do that like I used to as a teenager. My room was much more fluid, much more a reflection of my childish dreams, my need to acquire, own, and achieve. My room now is much more an image of changes, adult responsibility, simplicity, and a desire for the more feminine and childish (read: there's a lot of pink). It's an emblem of where I stand right now. Possessions all in their places, pretty maids all in a row.
One thing that this college life is teaching me, however, is to live my life with less. I have much less in the way of belongings here. I'm discovering how little of it I would actually miss, how easy it is to start all over when you have to, when you need to. Simple things, little things will teach you how to get through the hard times, will lift your spirits when you need them to. For me, it's Milano cookies and a glass of cold milk. Friends will be there for you if you let them. It's funny to me that most of my college lessons have had very little to do with college or classes. (There's a New York Times bestseller in there somewhere. "Things College Taught Me How To Teach Myself" or something similar...)
For now, I believe that I will retreat to my half-full package of Milano cookies and plastic cup of 1/2% milk. I was trying to save the Milanos for another hard day or two, but why wait? Better to enjoy things while you have them than to wait so long that you can't enjoy them or even have them anymore. At any rate, they will be savored.
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