2am

it's two in the morning and i just finished my 20+ page short story. 

yesyesyesyesyesyes

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first draft completed.

second/third/fourth/fifth/sixth draft to finish?

well, okay.

it's a process

with all of this creative writing filling up my nights three times a week, i feel like i'm in a creative writing explosion. i'm always writing these days. which is actually kind of a wonderful thing. it comes easily and quickly now. i almost wonder how i'm going to stop once this semester is over. i've written four short stories that stemmed from small assignments that weren't supposed to turn into anything and i'm starting on my big twenty pager this weekend. i kind of love it. i'm learning a lot and falling in love over and over again with every assigned short story to read for class. i love short stories. i never had an appreciation for them but now that i've read some truly amazing ones, i don't think i can stop reading those, either.

today we talked about the creative writing "process". it's different for everyone and we discussed what works for us individually. i realized quickly that my process is the least time efficient and most disorganized of all. i don't plan. i don't take notes. i don't brainstorm. sometimes, all it takes is sitting down and i'll have a 1500 word story in an hour without any thought process at all. but for the long term assignments, my process is a disaster. i usually make a list in my head of ideas, lines, hooks, or characters i want to write and end up starting a story for each idea i have. this can number anywhere from two ideas or in my most recent case, six. eventually, i'll lose interest in a few of them and they'll be put on the back burner until the one that sticks around suddenly has a direction in my head. i just "know" when i've found a hook. it isn't efficient at all. for me it's all about feeling out an idea until i know it's going to turn into something. which is how i end up finishing whatever i'm writing the day before it's due, even if i've been working on it for days or weeks.

it's a process. and a bad one at that. but it works for me.

not prepared

i wasn't convinced that today was the day. i got a solid seven hours of sleep, but a busy weekend left me exhausted and grumpy this morning. i wasn't in the mood for stepping outside my comfort zone and making today "the day" i made my impression in creative writing class. i was hoping modcloth model might forget that it was my turn to read out loud but with forty minutes left in class, she decided we were going to take some time out of class for people to read out loud. ugh. she asked for the first volunteer and sitting in the very front row directly in front of her, i averted my eyes and waited for someone else to pipe up. of course, no one did. i looked up and she was smiling at me and asked me wasn't it your turn?

without looking behind me at an entire class of creative writers just as if not more infatuated with literature as i am and writing it, i started reading. my belt was too tight around my dress and i felt myself talking too fast and having to take awkward breaths at the beginning of each sentence. i was nervous. and then something remarkable happened. three sentences in, i heard laughter. and in the next paragraph, moans and groans as i described the disgusting food at our cafeteria. and more laughter when i described the stereotypical college student in a cafeteria. and more laughter when i rudely critiqued college culture throughout the story. by the time i reached the second page, i was smiling as i was reading, anxious to get to the next part. people were laughing but they were also listening to me. as i reached the last line, i wasn't nervous or shaky anymore. i said the word 'fuck' out loud in front of my writing class and the entire room erupted in laughter at the punch line of the entire story.

modcloth model was more than just smiling, i couldn't ignore that. she was beaming. and clapping. and she said that it was wonderful and set the bar for how the rest of the class should be approaching their writing. she asked for critique from the room, and more than half of the class chimed in and contributed with nice words. i sat there with my hands over my face and i almost think it's more difficult to hear people say nice things rather than mean things to you. it was just a small assignment, something i started without knowing how it would end but gradually found hooks in different characters until they were speaking for themselves. i didn't spend more than fifteen minutes on my first draft. it was really, really nothing special but something i cared about, too. it was the first thing i've written since the first day that made me so excited about the class in the first place.

we didn't get to anyone else. modcloth model lectured the class using my piece as an example of how to approach all of these themes, techniques, and ideas in their stories that i really didn't even intentionally mean to use as a creative writing approach to tell my story.

i didn't think i was ready and i didn't want to do it, but it was my day.

creative writing

on the first day of school, i wrote about how infatuated i was with my creative writing class.

my teacher was basically a modcloth model straight from the website and completely wonderful and adorable and really, really enthusiastic (enthusiasm makes for the best kind of teachers). i can trust her.

two days in, i'm realizing how much of a challenge this class is going to be to get out of it what i really want out of it. every lecture, we're required to do the reading and instead of writing an analytical response as i'm so used to from my high school english classes, we are required to write a "fictional response". i didn't think this would be that difficult. however, it's proving to be extremely difficult. i can definitely get away with just mindlessly writing something that will work with a few good ideas, but i'm realizing i want more than that. i don't want to just effortlessly go through the motions in this class. i want to really push myself. for the past year and a half, i've journaled, i've blogged, and i've written a lot of non-fiction in various word documents hidden in folders on my laptop, but i haven't really dove into the whole "fictional" world. most of what i work with is from my own life and my own experiences so getting inside someone else's conscious that another author created is a little bit like a puzzle. and every single one of us has a different interpretation of every story which just illustrates the gaps and holes that the readers are supposed to fill. it's hard.

i'm realizing i know how to write about my own life. i know how to write an interesting story that happened to me. but i have no idea about the crafting of a fictionalized story that isn't about me. i have no idea how to convey my writing in a different way than i'm used to. i have no idea how to reveal a character story and create a character "arch" as they develop. i have no idea how to create a puzzle, revealing the pieces slowly. i have no idea how to pull back.

i've excelled in my english classes this far into my life but for the first time, i'm taking a class that isn't about a grade. i want to become a better writer. i want to learn how to write a character and i want to learn how to reveal that character (perhaps the most difficult task of all). reading these short stories for class and discussing them in a group has made me realize how many details there are in crafting a story and just being a good writer doesn't mean a lot. a good writer can be a good writer but can be terrible at crafting an intriguing story. 

my goal for this class is to listen and observe with wide eyes. i want to soak in every single thing modcloth model has to say and every single thing my classmates discuss about the stories we read. i want to push myself further than i've ever been expected to and learn what it takes to "craft" your writing. i'm at the point of desperation in my writing and i'm realizing that i do what to be heard. i want to write and write and write and write. i want my teacher to read everything i write and give me feedback. i want my classmates to read and figure out my own puzzle. 

this could be the best or worst attempt i've ever made in writing.

first day of school

nothing says hello to spring semester like a 7:00am wake-up alarm. however, on only the first day, i managed to oversleep when in the middle of tossing and turning in my bed in the hour prior (i'm always restless before the first day)(also, it's quite an adjustment to go from my perfect soul mate mattress at home to a still uncomfortable with three mattress pads dorm bed) and mid dream, i managed to convince myself that it was actually tuesday. thus, making myself think i could sleep in because after all, i didn't have classes on tuesday. this was in the middle of dreaming. even my subconscious wasn't ready for school to begin.

and yet, after a skipped shower (at one point, i was awake enough to realize that my dreaming self was completely and utterly wrong and all too manipulative) and quick hair brushing (it's a good morning when that gets done), i walked to my 8:10am class. it was pretty dreary outside and still a wee bit dark, but it was oddly peaceful, too. 

i might regret saying this later, but i'm actually kind of excited and motivated for my genetics class. it might be the first biology class in college where i'm not scratching my head 75% of the time wondering why i'm taking the class and why my major is biology. genetics just sounds cool, doesn't it? my professor also spent 18 months in chile and tends to veer off into random stories about it. also, he has a southern drawl. i like it. i like it a lot.

at 9:10 in the exact same room (pretty much every single one of my classes are in the same two rooms in the same building)(that's what happens when you're a science major) i had stats. um, ew? i don't know why but i just don't get the stats vibe. thankfully, i do have friends in there. how cool is it to recognize five or six people in college? i think it's cool. anyways, my stats teacher seems a little bit like professor trelawney from harry potter (do i even need to specify who she is?) except with a southern drawl as well. i'll be listening to "ya'll's" all semester long. for two hours a day three times a week. welp.

after stats, i walked across campus to my next class: creative writing. fiction. i don't think i've ever been more nervous for a class in my life. aside from writing 101, i've taken all science and math classes in college. not because i'm scared of the work, but because i'm scared of actually going to figure out if this is something worth pursing (aka if it's something i'm good at). plus, letting other people read my fictional efforts makes me want to scratch my eyes out this second. seriously, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. i walked in and sat in the second to the last row in the middle of the room between a girl with eleven piercings from her nose and chin (i'm not judging, she actually seems pretty awesome) and a girl with a white iPhone. Sorry, but people with white iPhones immediately earn my admiration. they are classy devices. and, just as class was about to start, she entered the room. and my first thought (after my jaw promptly snapped closed) was THIS GIRL COULD BE A MODCLOTH MODEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! she was wearing the most amazing vintage black knee length dress with a white ruffled color and shoulder pads. plus, adorable patterned tights and the cutest oxford brown heels that i've ever seen. oh, and a red belt. and her dark hair was pulled aside in a side pony. she is adorable.

so, of course, being the awesome person she is, she made us read our writing out loud on the first day (ohhhhhhhh shoot). of course, we didn't know we'd be writing our handwritten biographies to the class. so of course, mine was definitely a page long run on sentence of facts about myself here and there consisting of the statements that taylor swift should seriously have a restraining order against me, i am 19 and never want to turn 20, i believe in fairytales, i hated dinner, i sometimes expelled flatulence when i laughed really hard (along with my sister), i wanted my name to be maggey grace with an -ey, i spent too much money at modcloth, and i had no idea what i really wanted to do with my life except write about it in composition notebooks because my obsession with everything ultimately leads to my own demise because i can't for the life of me decide on one major. anyways, it basically sounded like someone on drugs and as people went before me, i was like shoot. everyone of these crazy cool creative writing people kept theirs "normal". i didn't even mention where i grew up or what i did in high school or who was in my family or anything as factual and normal like theirs. so when it came to be my turn, i started reading my page long run on sentence and heard laughter around the room (making me red in the face). ugh. when i finished, modcloth model beamed at me and clapped and said, "i love sentences that never seem to end. that was excellent!" um, okay. the girl after me was still laughing and began her biography with, "well, mine is not nearly as interesting but here we go." interesting? you mean out of her mind? so, moral of the story? i walked away somewhat excited.

it's only 1:00pm, but already my first day is starting off well. i could finish this blog post at the end of the day, but really, who am i kidding? everything notable just happened. and i don't think i've ever been more excited to be in a class than i am for creative writing. because reading out loud was actually somewhat... refreshing/cool/exhilarating? minus the tmi part.

sorry for my absence, the power was out

winter decided to take its sweet time making its way to idaho (...or to everyone, it seems) but when it did, it made sure that two snow days would be inevitable, freezing rain would leave an inch thick of ice on our cars (which is terrible, might i add), a powerless night would result in eating dinner by kindle light, i'd get to have my sister in the house just before i leave, i'd have a perfectly justifiable reason to do nothing but curl up in my down blanket drinking coffee and cozying up in front of the television, and the world would look winterified.