Monday, December 28, 2009

Consistency and personal preferences

Lately, as I've been submitting my applications to MFA programs, I've been thinking about my writing process/style.  I've gotten better at being consistent with my writing, as in writing more frequently.  But I've found that there are some days when I just can't get anything to come, and there are other days when the floodgates open and I write for hours and hours.  After those sessions I tend to not write anything for a couple days.  Thinking about grad school, this sort of worries me.

It took me forever to drum up a good work ethic as a student.  I coasted in high school, and also the first couple years of college.  Hit and miss: an A here, a C there, the occasionally D.  A GPA hovering around average, sometimes rising above and dipping below.  But after some bad experiences sophomore year--regarding the outside questioning of my academic integrity and some inner struggles--I forced a work ethic out of me.  I transformed into the student/writer/thinker I knew I really was inside, but until then I'd never been able to reconcile my lackadaisical lifestyle with my academic interests.  But I finally bucked up last year (junior year) and now I've gotten straight A's every semester since.

The thing is, it took me forever to come to those internal epiphanies, and even now I'm still lazy quite often, not writing because "I don't feel like it" or "I'm not inspired."  I know this needs to change, and this semester's been good for that, since I've been forced and forced to write and write and write, especially when i didn't feel like it, and I found out that I could do it, even though it was painful.  I just hope when I get to grad school--wherever I end up going--that I can find the energy and willpower to write even when I don't want to.

I'm just so lazy.  Call it lackadaisical, call it carefree, call it quixotic, whatever--it usually ends up boiling down to the pure desire to not do anything except what I want to do at any certain point in time.  Gotta kick that habit, or at least keep it on a leash, only letting it go when the time is appropriate (i.e. when I don't have a deadline looming or projects to start).  Never before have I considered my contented laid-backness as a bad thing.  Gotta work on that before I continue with life.  Gotta write consistently even if that means writing when I don't want to. 

No one ever told me when I was in third grade that being a writer meant hard work.  Sigh.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Able to Breathe

Finals are done, the semester is over, and now I'm home.  I love this feeling.  There's just something about sitting on the home couch wrapped in a homemade blanket drinking homeground coffee while reading a collection of Steinbeck stories--which happens to be a gift from the previous Christmas.

In the last 2-3 weeks of the semester, I used up 2/3rds a ream of printer paper and almost an entire ink cartridge.  A little bit of that was for the 1st grad school app, but most of it was for school papers/stories.  I swear my fingers still hurt from typing.  After I handed in my final papers, I never thought I'd want to see anymore printed text or put pen to paper again for at least a week.  But somehow I just can't get away from writing.

Last year in my advanced composition class (given by a prof w/ a phd in rhetoric and composition), we did lots of tedious things that most people would find really boring.  Sentence imitations (semantic and semiotic, NOT just semiotic, else the prof would have our heads); learning greek words for writing techniques (synecdoche with a little polysyndeton, anyone?) as well as learning how to use and recognize said techniques; reading a book called 'Rhetorical Grammar' (awesome...basically teaches you the rules AND how to break them effectively).  I and my classmates complained about the 'busy work' of the class while we were in it, but now that I'm done with it I find myself coming back to what I learned time and again, despite wishing to forget about the intellectual pain that class put me through.

Imagine my horror when, while wrapped in a blanket and reading Steinbeck, I read a particularly awesome sentence and instantly thought "I must imitate it!"  By the time I was halfway to my journal and pen, I stopped and realized what I was doing.  Dear God, something a professor taught me actually stayed with me and influenced how I see/think about writing!  Shocking.  (I'm still trying to imitate that sentence...it's incredibly complex on a semiotic and a semantic level.)  Oh, and I actually brought my copies of Rhetorical Grammar and Literary Criticism back home for pleasure reading when I'm bored.  I think the transformation from indifferent student to obsessed academic is nearly about complete.

Point is, now that I'm in a relaxing, informal environment--with barely any obligations--I actually want to study the writing of authors I admire and work on my own stuff.  During the semester I lived for the end of the paper so I could go to the bar with my friends.  (By the way, Great Lakes' Burning River ale is fantastic.)  Sometimes I feel bad about this, that I would rather write when I don't actually have to.  Maybe it's just a psychological college student thing..."This is an assignment with a deadline, therefore I don't want to do it" type thing. 

So, the actual point is...it's the holidays!  Yay for a much lighter load of responsibilities and obligations!  Go to the bar with your friends and reconnect with your family, but in the cracks don't forget to jot down that story prompt or poem idea while you have the time.  And late at night or early in the morning when you're alone or the only one awake, instead of succumbing to the urge to watch mind-numbing late-night TV (and believe me, I'm an advocate of mind-numbing late-night TV), maybe spend some quality time with a favorite book or a favorite journal and pen.  The holidays--especially Christmas, since it's usually the longest--are some of the only instances when we actually have spare time to write.  Take advantage of it!

Hope everyone has a merry Christmas!

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Themes in Poetry vs. Themes in Prose

I've been writing a lot of poetry this year, and most of it tends to follow along the lines of a certain theme.  These themes are not things I decided to write about, but after a time I noticed a similarity between my poems that I had not intended, like my subconscious mind made its concerns known through these poems.  I think I've identified at least three broad themes in my poetry: shadows and light and the interplay between the two; the changing of seasons and individual seasons and the symbols/metaphors attached to them; and snow and ice.  This last one could be wrapped up in the seasons, but it's not always necessarily about winter. 

I deeply enjoy writing poetry, but I don't think I could ever teach it; it's just too personal and ambiguous.  Have you noticed how NO ONE can agree on a single definition for poetry?  Even poets can only give poetic definitions of it.  It's very subjective, and I don't think it would be fair to teach my personal views to students.  I would rather teach prose, since a) I've learned more about this than poetry in school and b) prose (except journals/diaries/) is generally written for the purpose of having other people read it.  Myself and most other writers I know tend to just write poetry for their own satisfaction, only showing it to other poets or to close friends.  It's like prose writing makes up the bricks of a house, and poetry fills up the cracks that prose is too dense and large to fill.  Switching between poetry and prose keeps me balanced.

Poetry is personal for me: it's cathartic and useful for exercising my imagination.  I might see leaves falling from a tree and think that it's sort of sad that the trees are losing their beauty, but then bare trees have a sort of spare beauty in themselves, and then I'd start thinking about decay and renewal and relationships and how there's a time for everything and then go write a poem about this vague idea.  Afterward I'd feel better, as if I'd just had a good conversation with a friend where I let go of all these things on my chest.  If the poem is good, that's good.  If I still like it a week later but don't think it's as good as it could be, I'll try pruning it and nurturing it.  If I come back to it and realize it's a piece of crappy writing spilled out in a blindly sentimental burst, then I'll just leave it, forget about it, or even delete it.  It doesn't matter really, since I just write for myself and for whoever else might care to read it.

But prose is different.  I--and most other people, I assume--write stories and novels for the purpose of being read by other people, and in some cases, to try and send a message to readers.  A message about life, about relationships, about happiness, what have you.  Or, most of the time, prose writers just have a ripping yarn in their heads that they're itching to pen down.  Or, in rare cases, both things happen: a riveting tale with a careening plot AND deep characterization and psychological/philosophical messages.  When I write a story, I try to pay really close attention to detail, and if a word doesn't fit I'll spend as much time as needed to find what I think is the right word.  I really do want other people to read my stories, both to get their feedback and see if it's a good, realistic story and all that stuff.

Thing is, I know what themes dominate my poetry, but I'm still not quite sure about what themes are holding my stories together, or what themes/motifs I want to infuse in my stories.  As a follower of Christ I'm really interested in the idea of grace--in the strictly Christian sense, that we receive totally undeserved love and favor from God and that He will do good things for us for no other reason than to show his love, and in the more secular/general sense, that good things, good turns of events, will happen to us seemingly for no reason and with no pattern--like a more benevolent version of fate.  But grace isn't something so easy to write about without being religiously didactic, which I do NOT want AT ALL.  Honestly I despise most Christian fiction because it's boring, predictable, filled with cliche 1-dimensional characters that exist solely to embody a virtue that no human can possibly possess to perfection.  So, what sort of themes should I have in my prose?  I don't know.

Perhaps I should just keep writing my stories and then see what comes out, like I did with my poetry.  Shadows and light and seasons could certainly be themes in prose, but in general prose is about people and relationships.  I, for one, have never read a story with no characters.  Maybe that's where the difference between prose and poetry lies: poetry is about the individual poet and how he/she sees and interprets the world, and prose is about other people, and maybe humanity in general, and how they relate to each other within the world.  Well, before my rambling becomes any more disjointed, I should stop and try doing something more productive.  Good day, everyone.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thanksgiving Eve random update

Well, I took my GRE this morning.  I did badly on the math, but I expected as much.  Got a somewhat-above-mediocre score on the verbal (570) which I am not happy about, but will take it for now.  Even after studying and widening my vocabulary (which wasn't even narrow to begin with) a lot of the questions threw me off due to their tricky nature and use of words that I believe no living person uses.  Argh.

I did better on the more intuitive questions, like the sentence completions and reading comprehension.  I just don't use big old dead words very often.  It's frustrating.  As my friend Kristin, who's studying for her PhD in English at Ohio State University (I think) said, "The GRE is the most annoying pointless test ever."  Well said. 

I do feel a bit confident about the essays; I just hope the readers think I did a good job.  I believe I addressed the issues coherently and with sound structure and arguments.  *crosses fingers*

I was a bit depressed afterward, but then I remembered what everyone ever has been telling me about applying to MFA programs: the writing sample is the most important thing.  Besides, the programs I'm applying to don't SEEM to have minimum GRE score requirements.  It's time to continue polishing my prose and then pick which piece I want to submit.  I'm quite nervous.  That is all.

Hope everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving!

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Trying Something Different

I've been having a lot of trouble staying focused on my writing tasks this semester.  I partly attribute this to the fact that my writing for school leaves me barely any energy or motivation for personal writing, but then I realized two things:
1) My school writing assignments are creative in nature and should be sparking my interest just because they're creative and I have free rein, and
2) I've always been doing my writing the same way: on the computer, which also has internet access, all my music, and Instant Messaging on it.

So, I've decided to revert to writing by hand in notebooks my assignments--at least the rough drafts.  I used to write by hand all the time in high school and earlier, and I wrote a lot more personal creative pieces back then, too.  I think I've realized that by always using my computer to write, I've associated my writing with the impermanence and whimsically speedy activities of surfing the 'net, chatting with friends, and listening to music.  When I wrote by hand, I had a much earthier, permanent, direct-link feeling between me, my hands, and what appears on the page.  It's not so easy, especially with pen, to crank out a huge amount of words and then obliterate them all even faster than they were created.  I write slower and more deliberately by hand, knowing that if I make a mistake or don't think carefully about what comes next that I'll have to laboriously erase or scribble out the text: no copy-paste fuction here!

So I've been working on short stories for class (now, toward the end of the semester, more full-blown stories are being assigned, rather than outlines or snippets) by writing them out in notebooks, alternating between pen and pencil, whichever I have with me at the time.  I tend to deliberately use pen when I can tell I'm starting to get distracted; since pen is much more permanent, I have to concentrate harder to make sure what I write is what I mean to write.  Of course, the stories have to make their way into the computer, since my professors don't accept hand-written anything; and well they don't, since my hand-written stories inevitably end up framed in doodles and peppered with scribbles, circles, arrows and marginalia (I love that word).

So I end up transferring the hand-written stories into Microsoft Word, which works well for my process since I end up editing them as I transfer them, so by the time they're all digitalized they're much nicer than they would have been if I'd written them on the computer in the first place.  And even though it takes me twice as long to get them printed, they're much better for it.  I think I've found a permanent method, as long as I can give myself enough time to do it properly.

And on paper I can doodle when I get bored....can't do that on the computer.  If anyone saw my inked-up rough drafts they'd probably think I was a four-year-old.  Well, time to get back to the grindstone.  I have four more stories to write (!!) before Tuesday.  I just hope they don't suck.  Good night.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Time keeps on running by

Well, I unintentionally took a week off from this blog.  Time just got away from me I suppose.  Last week was full of campus events and club meetings and extremely long reading and writing assignments.  By the time I realized I hadn't posted anything, it was, well...today, at this moment.

Not to worry, though; I've been plugging away at my writing.  It's been haphazard, though--some days I didn't write at all, other days I wrote a ton of stuff in under an hour, other days it took me hours to get a few good paragraphs.  Maybe this is just how I work.  At any rate I feel I've produced a good amount of valuable raw material.  My creative writing class is upping the ante as the semester winds down: at this point I've written around 6 short stories in the past couple weeks.  Admittedly, a couple of them are too short and rushed...but the kernels of interesting ideas are there, and now that the basics are on paper, I think I can work to expand them and make them better.  Work on my long final project is slow going: I've got the (long) prologue down as well as chapter one.  However, I'm extremely excited to finally be writing it.  I've had the idea in my head for over a year, and this class and my independent study next semester give me the perfect opportunity to work on it, and not leisurely but as a necessity so I know it will get done.

The idea is sort of a mish-mash of elements from the Canterbury Tales and the movies 13 Conversations About One Thing and Little Miss Sunshine.  A bunch of people--some closely related, others not so related to the rest--set off on a road trip across the country to go camping for a week.  The core family that started the trip has their own reasons for going, and the seemingly random people that end up going with them all have their own reasons, and the family members that invited them have different reasons for doing so.  In general, they all need a break from reality for a while.  Throughout the trip, they all tell stories (a la Canterbury Tales) to pass the time on the road, at the hotel, when the car breaks down, etc.  It's a story of relationships: how people aren't meant to live in isolation, and how by simply being near other people things tend to change.  It's also about appearances/facades...how everyone has different masks they wear, why they choose those masks, and why and how they need to break.  I still don't know how I'll end it, but am I really supposed to at this point?  The journey is so much fun at this point that I think I'll feel sad when it's over.

This novella (or novel, depending on how long it ends up being) is also a great opportunity to put these last few years of learning to the test.  I've come a long way in terms of understanding what characters are, what or who the narrator is, and different angles of perception and viewpoint in storytelling, as well as the technical methods of writing effective prose (which I would never have thought of without going through this program).  Short stories are good for this, too, but for such a long piece there's way more room to toy around with stuff.  It's really exciting, and I just hope the end product is something good, at least in my professors' eyes.  This is still undergrad, so I know this isn't going to be the next Grapes of Wrath or anything, but I just hope that for me at this point in time it stands as a good testament to my best writing abilities.

I just have to keep plugging away and not get distracted.  It's so easy for me to get distracted...I have what my friends have given the name of ADOS (attention deficit...ooh shiney!).  So I think it's time to get off the 'net and continue being productive.  Good night everyone. 

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Cosmetic Touchups vs. Ground-up Construction

Today I didn't write anything new.  Instead, I spent my allotted hour touching up various small projects.  Tightening a poem here, adding more characterization to a story there...that sort of thing.  All in all about a dozen poems got facelifts and tummy tucks and a couple stories got a revitalizing spa treatment.  Although I didn't write anything new or expand on as-yet unfinished poems and stories, I feel pretty good about the revisions I did on already finished work.  It was like re-laying the mortar between the bricks in a flimsy wall, or stripping old paint off a house and applying a new coat.  It was fun and relaxing.

I also sent a batch of recently finished poems off to Bateau Press.  It was easy and enticing because they're one of the print journals that has adopted a snazzy online submissions manager.  I feel pretty confident that the five poems I sent are my best work so far and that they represent the widest range of my interest in poetic forms: a couple free-verse poems and a couple tightly structured poems, including my first sestina--which I wrote last year and to which I've been applying continuous poetical TLC.  I still haven't heard back from the Barn Owl Review yet (I sent a few poems over a month ago), and, honestly, I can't remember which poems I sent them.  All I know is that they're not the same ones as I sent to Bateau.  Not good, I know, which brings me to my next point.

In addition to my revisions, I also spent some time tidying up and organizing my computer files.  Before this, all my text files were sort of strewn haphazardly in random corners of the general My Documents file.  And as the essays, poems, and stories (and drafts) have piled up, the worse the clutter has gotten.  So I finally set up a system of folders within My Documents for easy and quick access to all my poetry and prose, creative and academic, along with a Submission Tracker document (which I'll update continually with Active, Rejected, and Accepted Poetry and Prose submissions) as well as folders specifically to keep Word documents that contain specially collected poems meant for submissions to certain journals, so I'll never forget what I sent where, and when I sent it, and whether it's still under review, has been accepted or rejected.  (I'm starting to accumulate a nice drift of poetry rejections.)

All in all I believe it's been a productive day, and these revisions and other considerations helped me to momentarily lower my constant stress level as the GRE date approaches as well as final project considerations, graduation requirements, and grad school apps.  I'm still torn about whether I should pursue an MFA in Poetry or Fiction.  I write Poetry on a more regular basis, but I'm still not at the level of understanding about it that I can say whether each poem is good or bad, and more often than not I'm not sure if a poem needs revision and much less HOW it should be revised.  On the other hand, I write prose less frequently; but when I do, I slave over it, revising draft after draft and picking it apart word by word until I think it's much better than before, and even then I still think it isn't that good.  I DO have lots more short story ideas, and I'm working on a novel this year for an Independent Study...I just need to get the motivation and creative juices flowing to write the stories.  I'm leaning heavily toward fiction despite my recent burst of poetry.

I'm also making myself accept the idea that I may not end up going to grad school as soon as I want.  Maybe my GRE scores won't be so good, or maybe my writing sample will still need some work, or maybe my undergrad transcripts won't be sent out in time (a flaw my school is notorious for).  I'm still not sure exactly what I'd do in this situation...I've always wanted to do the Peace Corps; maybe that would be a good thing to do if I don't get accepted to grad school.  Anyway, I guess I'll sleep on it...sleep always helps.  It's like my second drug of choice, number one being  coffee of course.  Good night everyone.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Finding Energy

I've not quite yet logged an hour of creative writing today, and the writing that I have done consists of an assignment for a class I'm taking  (Special Topics in Writing: Narrative Voice & Character).  It was a fun assignment: we've been modeling our assignments off a story outline in one of the books we're using (13 Types of Narrative, by Wallace Hildick) which involves a young American soldier on leave in Britain who's going up to the top of a cathedral tower to take pictures for his uncle back in the states, and he runs into a young but grossly obese British man on the stairs who--unknowingly for the American--plans to jump off the cathedral, ending his miserable existence.  This week we looked at diary narratives, so our assignment is to write the diary entries of the fat man for six days prior to the day of the tower incident.  I must say it was a lot of fun to write, and before now I'd never really considered the artistic/stylistic/narratorial merits of doing a story like this.  This class is great because it's helping me break out of my 3rd-person-omniscient storytelling mindset.  Who knew that a complex, emotional story can be delivered artfully and meaningfully through diary entries or simple letters?  I didn't.

But anyway, despite how fun this assignment was, it didn't kick me up to an hour of writing.  Did I have a really busy day, you ask?  Well, no...not really.  I had to take a make-up test in Astronomy (I missed the test because I stayed home late from Fall Break due to illness), so I studied for that (and despite my efforts I'm pretty sure I didn't do well on it...my brain's not wired for complex interstellar geometry).  After the test, the introvert in me decided it was time for a nice, relaxing, energy-boosting break.  Only, the energy never came back.  I didn't "feel" like writing much today.  If I hadn't forced myself, I probably wouldn't have written that assignment until tomorrow morning.  (But since I took the time tonight, it's much better than it would have been in a 5-minute pre-class writing session.)  This is bad.  Just because I lack energy is no excuse for not writing.  I wish there was some sort of magic creative-energy-giving potion that would set me on fire for verbal creation...like Gatorade for writers.

But now I realize there is such a thing: it's called "reading." I have been reading more lately (except for today, which might be my problem).  Another class I'm taking is the writing/English majors' senior seminar: this semester's sem is on James Joyce's Dubliners and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.  We've been going slowly, deliberately, through the Dubliners stories, so we have time to take them apart and absorb them before moving on.  I must say, I love this book of stories.  I've heard this prof gush about Joyce's style in other classes, but didn't think much of it till now.  As writers and lit nerds, I and the 2 other students in the class (we meet in his office for class with coffee and tea prepared for us :-) pick the stories apart--after the initial wave of awe and emotion has washed over us--to try and figure out WHY these stories are good.  We've hit some good points: he has great sentence structure, amazingly appropriate diction, perfectly spare yet evocative descriptions, and he chooses carefully what information he has the narrator impart and what is shown through dialogue.  I want to share one of my favorite sentences from his story "A Painful Case" (which is also my favorite story so far): "He lived his spiritual life without any communion with others, visiting his relatives at Christmas and escorting them to the cemetery when they died."  It made me laugh, yet it was also a profound glimpse into the sad state of mind this protagonist has been in his entire life.  I think I like this story so much because it's completely devoid of dialogue but still manages to be an amazing story.

But anyway, there's still a mysterious X factor in these stories that makes them good that we still can't figure out.  Hopefully by the end of this year if not this semester I'll have gotten some more clues into knowledge of the X factor, that mysterious process of literary alchemy that some people seem to just have a knack for. Reading Joyce's short stories has been the catalyst of my desire to read more short stories.  I've owned the complete collections of Flannery O'Connor's stories, Ernest Hemingway's stories, and O.Henry's stories for a while: maybe now I'll actually read them all on purpose.  (However, I am struggling to get through For Whom the Bell Tolls and, honestly, I really don't like it very much.  Maybe I'll like Hemingway's short stories better.) I also have a wish-list for short story collections from people like Nathaniel Hawthorne, Virginia Woolf, and Anton Chekhov.  If I get my wish, I'll have enough books for a small library of my own. 

My recent reading renaissance has catalyzed my desire to write for myself: these stories are so amazing, so beautifully written and presented; the characters so fresh, their dialogue so real and vivid; the plots so organic-feeling that they seem to have grown naturally from the characters' situations, instead of being forced into reluctant existence by a money-minded Steinbeck wanna-be. Through my interesting classes and recent burst of reading, I've come up with some new (hopefully fresh) story ideas; now if I can only muster the willpower to put thoughts to paper, I'll be as good as gold (or at least iron: sturdy, flexible, and dependable).

Monday, October 19, 2009

Time to Start Being Something Real

So I like to call myself a writer.  I realized recently that--the way I'm living now--I am not, in fact, a writer.  I am, however, a day dreamer, a deep thinker, an optimistic pessimist, and an avid reader, learner, talker, and music-lover.  Does "writer" fall anywhere in there?  No, not really.  Oh yeah, I'm a poet...I write at least one new poem a week toward my Independent Study in Poetry (the end result of which will be another--bigger, better, prettier--chapbook.  But I call myself a writer.  So does that make me a hypocrite?  That I call myself a writer and don't actually write?  Well, I do, just not very often--only when I feel like it.  I do have a few short stories (some written for a class and some just because), but are they any good?  No, probably not, since most of them are either first or second drafts with little to no revision.  I do have outlines and research which are the slowly sprouting seeds of a novel I've had in my head for a while which I'll be fleshing out more concretely next semester for a second, final Independent Study.  Oh, and I have almost 150 pages of a fantasy novel (the first of a series) that I've been working on and off on for the past several years.  At this point I haven't looked at it in so long I'm afraid I've forgotten some of the characters' names; a sad state of affairs, especially for a story that I can't stop thinking about.  I hope I can find my old outlines...I really don't want those 150 pages of effort to fall into the void.  After examining my life as it is, I must say I need to stop calling myself a writer, even though I'm a Writing major and plan to go for an MFA and PhD in the field.  Wow, I must be the most retarded person on the planet.

However, I really really REALLY want to BE a writer.  And, for a time in my life, I was...I'd excitedly jot down ideas and trigger phrases at 3am after having a bizarre dream; I'd spend hours fine-tuning a certain sentence in a story; I'd agonize for days over a single word-choice in a poem.  So the question is...what happened?  Where'd my fire go?

I'm sad to say this, but I think that my Writing major classes have stolen that fire.  And I don't mean that the flames were diverted from one aspect of writing to another, that my zeal and passion--unabated--changed direction...no.  It's more like someone caught my creative lightning in a jar and turned it into a smeary yellow lightbulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling of some sterile retirement home's cafeteria.  All my writing focus has gone to academic papers, research papers, and teacher-assigned story prompts (skeletal plot points that I myself would never write or think of reading).  At the end of the day, I'm not even exhausted: I'm bored, bored to the point of tears, bored so that even the thought of doing something interesting seems boring.  I'd rather, after class, just sit there and do something mindless like watch TV or read Twilight (yes, I said it, and for the record, I haven't read the book and don't intend to).  Also, after all that, I need to cough up a new poem for the Independent Study.  I love poetry, don't get me wrong: since they're so short, I can scratch up a crappy sonnet or villanelle in under an hour, sit on it for a couple days, come back and realize it's crap but that I still like the central metaphor, so I'll change it to be better, either by changing its form (maybe even to free verse...gasp of dismay) or changing the diction or rhythm.

But my real passion lies in story-telling.  Not that you can't tell a story through a poem, but poetry is different...there's limited space and possibly one of the biggest aspects of poetry is that the best of it is entirely suggestive, capable of presenting a vague concrete idea--and sometimes not even that--but with infinite layers of possibility, depending on each reader's personal poetics (everyone has one!).  Now, good fiction has great suggestibility too, but even the most suggestive short story has a lot more concrete information than a poem.  Most poems don't have "characters," for one.  It generally takes a lot longer to write a good short story than a good poem; but, for me, the satisfaction of writing a good short story is way better than writing a good poem.  All the levels of complexity...narrative voice, character voice, plot techniques, characterization, rhetorical/grammatical techniques...it's like, to me, a poem is a work of obscure yet completely idiosyncratic modern art, whereas a story is like a piece of classical landscape or portrait art, conveying a clear surface meaning, but then as one delves deeper into the specifics of the painting--the composition, materials used, techniques used, perspectives, positioning, the use of shadows, light, color--then the viewing of the painting becomes an individual experience for each viewer, and each person, depending on his/her taste, temperament, background, and sensitivities, might come away with a completely different emotional response or interpretation.  It takes skill--mad skill--to pull off a piece of art, visual or verbal, that can do all those things.

I feel since I've been so engrossed with poetry that it's taking away from my prosaic abilities--despite the simultaneous need for good prosaic ability for certain other classes.  Also I'm just lazy...extremely lazy.  I make excuses like since I'm an introvert I need at least a couple hours of "down time" (aka doing nothing of any importance at all) to regain my "energy" (which mysteriously never returns but just keeps seeping away).  What I really need to do is come to grips with one fact: that being a good writer requires work--hard work, and lots of it.  I don't want to be a hypocrite:  a couple of my peers in the Writing major are those pretentious, snobby types that talk at the speed of light about their intricate projects and ideas and whatnot, and yet never seem to have anything to show for all their talk.  "Well, it's on my computer and I don't feel like wasting paper," or "I'm still revising it and don't want anyone to see it yet because it's not my best work" are just a couple lame excuses I get from them when I ask if I can read and possibly critique their work.  I may not be a writing machine, but when I do write I really try to make it good and am not afraid to tell people the details or give them drafts to look over.  Despite their pretention, these writers are pretty good--from what I've seen--and I value their input, and any input, for that matter.  But if I don't want to be a hypocrite for thinking badly of them not actually writing, that means I actually need to get writing myself.

I've decided that I'm going to force myself to write everyday.  My favorite writing professor--an old-timer with lots of industry and teaching experience--thinks that it's good to have a length goal for each day; after all, he says, 1 page a day equals 300 words a day, therefore 1 page a day for a year equals 109,500 words: a more-than-average length for a novel.  But I, personally, don't think a length goal is the right thing for me: I mean, sure, I can shell out several pages a day, but they might be crap or about nothing, and I'd just delete them the next day.  What's the point of that?  I mean yeah, it would be "practice," but I know from experience with papers/stories for school that sometimes I sacrifice meaning for word count just so I can say I fulfilled that goal.  No, I think I'm going to go for time goal:  1 hour of personal writing a day.  That means my own work, my own ideas, not related to school assignments.  I think an hour is reasonable, since I need other time each day to work on stuff required for school.  I'll even log my time, and maybe, at the end of the month, if I've managed to say loyal to myself and my professed lifestyle choice, I'll reward myself.  How?  I don't know...maybe with an extra special drink at wing night instead of the standard 1$ Yuengling lager, or a special outing with friends or something...I'll come up with something.  I think this personal scheduling will be good for me, since I'm such a free spirit...so free and lackadaisical that if I don't have a schedule, I won't do anything at all.  I'm serious.  If I don't have anything to do, nothing scheduled, I will seriously do absolutely nothing, which either entails just that--nothing, just sitting there daydreaming or even sleeping--or doing something mind-numbing, like computer games or surfing the net or reading books by Christopher Paolini (that's right, I said it...his Eragon books are poorly written, genre rip-off cliches filled with fantasy archetypes that might have been interesting when they were original but now have lost all their flavor, like a single piece of gum chewed obsessively for an entire day).  I've made up my mind:  I NEED to write, and every day, or I'll never get better, and no journals will ever accept my stuff.

I also plan on being more proactive and interested when I submit things to journals.  So far I've only submitted to journals that offer online services, because I'm too lazy and miserly to take the effort to send stuff to more reputable and accessible journals by mail.  I'll start sending stories, too, not just poetry.  So far I've been leisurely sending off random samples of what I think is my best poetry to random journals, one at a time, with the vague hope of seeing my name in print.  I'm a senior now and I think I need to start being more proactive with my own life.  Up until now I feel like I've been on a ride for my own life...stuff just happened and I simply reacted.  Now, soon, things won't just happen at all unless I make them happen.  This might as well be a New Year's resolution, because from here on out I'm living a different life: the life of a WRITER, and not someone who wishes TO BE a "writer."  Maybe I'll celebrate the anniversaries of this decision.  Who knows?