When I sit down and write, I am a messy writer. I will do anything to distract myself from distracting myself. At the moment it means resting the keyboard on top of the computer screen. (My display is an older model and leaves me plenty of room.)
I remember being so freaked about writing a paper for school that I nailed two 8 by 14 pieces of paper to the wall and wrote the introduction in graphite crayon.
I’m suyre by now I’ve filled the that fake white paper in Microsoft screne with tons of illegible blkdsjf;alkej fwdef and m,xcnvwa478jkdf, but I can’t care about that. I’m too busy tricking myself. I’ve an insane, intense, inglorious fear of writing. I don’;t know when it strated because I wrote quite well as a younger girl. I’ve won two awards in college for writing (one for an opinion column and one for peotry), but I still squirm when it comes down to it.
It’s not unusual, I think. I heard somewhere that the difference between a published writer and all the rest is that the writer won’t give up.
This is me not giving up.
A writer once came to a school to give a lecture on becoming a writer. He opened by asking the students how many wanted to be serious writers. A whole sea of hands rose. “Then,” he said as he began to leave, “why you at aren’t home writing?”
Pithy.
I’m not at the bagel shop.
It’s a new year. The last new years of my undergraduate career. I didn’t make all aa’s last semester but that’s ok.. …and even though I think my Shakespeare professor is quite possibly insane (the good kind), I am proud of the work I did for that particular class.
I’ve had to distract the wicked editor within. The computer screnen is off now and I’m seated.
Someones fire alarm keeps going off athte apartments across the street.
I imagine “oooo, perhaps if I put the peanut and butter jelly sandwhich in the toaster it will taste better “ being thought each time the alarm goes off.
College kids
You love them or hate them
This year is only slightly different from laszt year.
Last year I was gioing to save the soul of new york city. This year I want to live on a farm and grow green beens.s It seems like a big difference , but really the similarities lie in the pronoun “I”. It’s all about what I want (damnit!) [sorry].
There goes that alarm
Beep beep beep……beep beep beep…..beep
Good, someone shut (beep beep) if off.
How distracting. Now I’ve got to do something entirely desperate. Now I must turn the computer screne off.
There, that’s better. As ai WAS SAYING, Y, ITS Always oubt me (ooh, gotta whatch that caps lock light) But not so much anymore. This has been a difficult semester emotionally, though granted they all are (yes,m, I do frequently ride the whambulence), but God has shown me many different things:
- He’s shown himself. I’ve a stronger, inexplicable desire to read the bible. I pray. I seek his counsel for things.. It’s not just because I know I’ve got nothing on me, it’s just a natural pull towards him. A pull I didn’t put there and I believe won’t be going away. I praise his name so much. My heart has felt so cold and dead for so long. I can breathe his name and not feel hypocritical. I don’t feel a huge burst of religious energy. It’s more like being pulled up stream by a warm river. (oh dear, I feel a a poem coming on).
Actually, I’m satisfied with talking about 1 right now.
Life is pretty much the same. Laws of gravity apply and I still eat way too much macaroni and cheese (sorry Matt). Yet my hearts at peace with God and the sky is a stark-dreamy blue.
Thanks for reading an un-edited blog.
