because writing is hard, and whining is therapeutic.

Writing is hard, and not-writing makes me annoyed at myself, and the longer I procrastinate, the easier it is for my brain to tell me that what I'm doing is pointless and dumb and that I may as well give up because don't I have better things to do than pretend to be a novelist?

It's not that I'm just automatically self-deprecating (although I can be) or that I actually have no faith in my abilities (because if I'm being honest, part of the problem is that I think I am a good-or-at-least-decent writer, but none of what is coming out seems to be proof of that). It's just that I've never done this before. Not really. I've never made it this far in a first draft, and I've never published anything, and I'm still--still!--convinced, deep down, that no respectable adult-type person actually intentionally spends time writing fantasy novels geared toward slightly-older-than-"YA"-humans. I mean, really, who even does that.

...

Anyway.

I have the phrase "Write now, worry later" written on a piece of paper at eye level if I look up from my computer (although you'd be surprised at how little one actually looks up-and-straight-ahead from at a computer). It's my reminder to myself that first drafts are supposed to be messy and no writer ever actually feels good about what they're doing until well after, if they do at all; just read all those writer quotes you've been collecting. It's to tell me to get out of my head, and that the more I think, the less I do, and the less I do, the more I worry, and then the cycle just continues. [1] So I may as well just shut up already and sit down and write that awkward paragraph or two to get myself to another, more interesting part of... of whatever it is that I'm writing. [2] I always say, afterwords, that I was happy I made myself push through it, even if it was terrible, because I can always go back and revise it later. I mean, like, way later, when I'm actually done with the first draft.

"Done" with the first draft, she says, as though she believes that possibility exists.


So, yeah, this post is a totally shameless appeal for encouragement, and for someone to maybe tell me that Writing YA Novels (Even Fantasy-Fairy-Tale Ones) is a perfectly acceptable thing to want to do with my life.

... also that if I stop whining and end this procrastiblog post, I might actually get something accomplished tonight before Being Old and Having A Grownup Job Or Whatever decide to take over.

Thanks for listening. I'm going, I'm going.

---
[1] Never has the concept of "obsessive thought patterns" been more relevant to me than when I am trying to write. Argh.
[2] ...of my book. The book that I am writing. It's going to be a book; that's its intended purpose. Why is that so hard for me to say out loud?! (or type, or whatever)

I know she can GET the job, Harry, but can she DO the job?

I have always thought that making first-or-second-year college students pick a major was a little ridiculous. How on earth is someone supposed to know, at age 18, what they want to do with their lives? [1] I cannot tell you how many people I talked to in my senior year who decided that they didn't want to be an education or business or psych major, but they only had one more semester and changing their minds would mean more time and money spent at school. And yes, I know that (thankfully!) many employers are just looking for a degree in general, nevermind what that degree is in, and no (just for the record), I'm not saying that getting a degree isn't worthwhile (although see [1] and a probable future post for more thoughts on this), but the point is: that's a hell of a lot of pressure to put on someone fresh out of high school, who--thanks to senior year and an unrealistic sense of self-assurance--thinks they actually know what it is that they want to do.

Like me, for example. I knew exactly what I was doing with my life (note the rueful shake of the head). I never even changed my major, because I knew before going to college that I was going to get my English degree, and then go on to grad school to study Composition And Rhetoric, and then become a tenured English professor and teach college freshmen How To Write and have a book-lined office with a comfy swivel chair and be that crazy blue-haired professor who changed students' lives on the regular.

Confession: I had no idea what "rhetoric" actually was (something Aristotle something), and now after a year and a half of grad school I might be able to explain it to you. Same applies for "tenure." I have also learned (in a mere 3 semesters of teaching) that I'll settle for making sure my students remember to bring a pencil to class, and convincing them that teachers DO actually notice when you use 12.5 point font (and that it just makes you look desperate when I've told you seventeen times that there isn't actually a page requirement). [2]

--anyway the point is, being an English Composition professor just made the most sense. Writing has always been pretty easy for me (which is why I would wait until the night before to do it...), and I care about reaching students at the early-adult-stages because that's the time when most people deal with/go through a lot of pretty significant life changes. I certainly did. And you'd think (maybe) that the fact that literally all of my other plans had changed would have indicated to me that I should rethink the English Prof one--but no, I'm stubborn, and it was the one thing I was determined to hold on to. Going To Grad School was the reason I turned down a promotion at The Corporation (at least three different times), why I only half-heartedly looked for better-paying (and more enjoyable) jobs, why I spent my summers trying to study for the damned GRE and write up application essays instead of doing the thing that has always been waiting (patiently) on the sidelines for me to notice it. I was thoroughly devastated when I didn't get accepted on my first round of applications (surely the magna-cum-laude-with-honors and a talent for writing would up my chances of a killer statement of purpose?!) but then not getting accepted just became a challenge that I had to take on, which I did, because I knew that I could if I just tried a little harder.

Not once did I stop to think whether or not that was what I really wanted to do.

The summer before I started school was the first time I gave myself a break, took The Pressure Of Everything Else off, and allowed myself to take my writing seriously. After all, I had the time, and no other commitments, and I might as well make the most of my summer before I moved on with my "real" life. And then I wrote more that summer than I've ever written, and it was messy and mostly awful and that project has been temporarily shelved, but it underscored the thing I've always known and pretended not to: I want to write fiction. My heart has always been in the young adult fantasy shelves, with the stories about girl heroes and adventures, with magic and romance and learning about life and relationships and yourself. But then grad school happened, and there I was, doing what I'd worked so hard to do and trying (only somewhat successfully) not to be miserable while doing it.

This is a post about Making and Changing Plans (she explained), but allow me to take a small detour to talk a little bit about whining. The thing is, it's so hard to explain where I am with school without looking like I'm just pathetically complaining about having relatively-demanding responsibilities. On the one hand, my problems are directly related to the combination of the objective, widely-accepted stress about grad school and my own struggle with anxiety. Being a graduate student is all-consuming: you wake up in the morning thinking about the work you have to do, and frequently just doing your chores feels like reprieve. [3] But I also never feel like I am doing as much as I should, and I never reach a point where I can look at my to-do list and say "yep, crossed everything off for today." And because I'm teaching, I have the weight of the education of 48 students on my heart, and the constant feeling of failure when it comes to providing meaningful feedback on their work (which only about a third of them will read anyway), as well as managing my interpersonal anxiety when it comes to overly-confident-and-cocky students (or, worse, the totally non-confident students, when my Big Sister Function kicks on and it's all I can do not to hug them while they're crying). It's little wonder that I'll take my victories in the form of pencil-equipped students on a daily basis.

But that's only one side of it. The other side comes directly from the fact that I can't seem to stop from talking about how hard of a struggle this is. And that's the really upsetting thing about grad school: it consistently makes me feel like a failure, like I am the kind of person who would rather be doing anything other than the work she's supposed to be doing. It makes me genuinely concerned that I am lazy and/or incompetent, that I am bad at sticking things out, that I can't handle actual responsibility (so much for motherhood) and I'm never going to be happy because all I want to do is watch Netflix and color--and that all of this is my fault, because I'm useless. Personal life history and character references will probably (hopefully) prove otherwise, but grad school makes it hard for me to even know who I am anymore, and between weeks 1 and 15, sometimes it's literally all I can do to have a good solid cry on the couch (or the floor, or the shower, you know, wherever). [4]

For those of you who have asked me about school and gotten the overly-dramatic time-for-a-paxil answer, this is why. And then I hear myself say (again) how it's really challenging and how rough of a time I've had, and then I hate myself for whining about all of this, again, and then I shut up because methinks the lady doth protest too much.

And thus I return to my main point, which is that having plans is fine, and being the kind of person who pursues her goals is fine, but what we often forget to tell ourselves is that we need to take time to consider what it is we actually want to do, and whether our Well-Made Plans are really getting us there.

Last semester I had to decide whether to turn in an application to renew my teaching assistantship, as well as one to the Creative Writing department to Continue My Education and get a PhD (because regardless of the fact that The Plan had always been a PhD in comp/rhet, getting a PhD in general was still acceptable). It's such a good opportunity, everyone said, and it would be silly not to at least apply because you can always decide not to go later. And even if none of UWM's fiction writing classes will specifically help you with what you want to write, you can still benefit from the classes, because writing and sharing your work will always help you improve, won't it?

I am not ARGUING that with you, Harry. [5]

But for the first time (that I can think of anyway), I made an active decision not to act on something that I could have. I nervously took some deep breaths as December deadlines passed me by. Filling out some forms? No big deal. [6] But what was a big deal was realizing that even taking that step--even pretending that I would decide later--meant that there was a really good chance that I would make myself do it. Because, damn it all, I'm not a quitter! I'm not someone who flakes out on Serious And Important Life Goals! I am not someone who just gives up on her dreams!

Not arguing that with you, Harry. But just because I can get the job--and maybe, even if I CAN do the job--it doesn't mean that I have to.

Now (almost 10 years after Making Plans) I finally, actually, know what I want.

I want to write novels and raise a family. I want to go to a job that allows me to actually cross items off my to-do list, a job that I don't need in order to feel fulfilled, and I want to leave everything there when I come home. I want to read ALL of the books and learn not to feel like I'm disappointing anyone (myself included/especially) for not Being Productive every waking moment. I don't mind hard work, and I don't mind challenges. But if I'm going to face those, no matter what, they might as well be hard work and challenges on the road to doing the things I'm actually interested in.

So, long story short (much too late, they chorused): I'm about to hit the ground limping with my final semester of grad school. [7] I'm really, really overwhelmed by it (I have to write my thesis and teach a totally new class, not to mention ignore the noisy conflict of senioritis and highest-grad-school-stakes-so-far), and I could use your prayers, because I'm already a couple of emotional meltdowns in and the semester hasn't even started yet. But if Joe can jump into a volcano, and if Addie can leave the castle to find the cure for the Gray Death [8], then I can (probably) (hopefully) make it through the next 3.5 months.

And then?

I guess we'll find out.

---
[1] Not to mention the fact that we tell them to go directly to college, do not pass go, do not collect any money for having a full time job to grow up a little and figure out what you want out of life (because you certainly won't be making enough money to pay for college, to the collected dismay of the older generations) -- but that's for a different post.

[2] For the record, blue hair washes out right away and looks terrible with my complexion, and besides, I don't even like to own books.

[3] If that doesn't capture the sense for you, I don't know what will.

[4] For my Catholic friends out there: how do I nominate my husband for sainthood?

[5] This, the title, and the images are from the movie Joe versus the Volcano, which if you haven't seen yet you absolutely should.

[6] Sending in creative writing samples and actually getting accepted to the program? Much bigger deal. All things considered, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have gotten accepted anyway (realistic observation, not self-depreciation). But that's not actually the point, so this got footnoted instead.

[7] I've considered quitting, but Aaron has convinced me that I should have something to show for all the work I've done (emotional and otherwise), so I guess I'll at least give it a shot. See [4].

[8] Bonus points if you know what this is from -- looking at you, Minte.

Rhetoric, Anxiety, and the Apology I'm (Supposed To Be) Living Without

It's been a while.

Mostly, I blame grad school--there really isn't time to do much outside of schoolwork. And summer is always much crazier than I expect it to be, and any writing I did was working on my novel (which I have since decided I need to shelve and ponder for a while because of reasons).

But the time away has given me a chance to think about the point of having a blog in the first place. I can certainly tell you what I do with it: sometimes I vent, occasionally I post an article I find interesting, and once in a great while I just like to update the virtual community about the goings-on in my life. But somewhere under all of that I know what this is really for--and I try to pretend I'm not avoiding it.

When I created this blog in 2011, it was because I was sick of not saying what I thought, sick of hiding from the things that I think and believe and care about. I was fresh out of college and everything was new and different and I decided: this is it. This is my space to think out loud. I'm going to create a blog that people have to choose to read, and it's not my fault if they don't agree, and if they don't care enough to hear me out and respect my perspective then that says more about them and the true nature of our relationship than it does about me.

That determination lasted for about three posts, and then I moved on to "I loved this book" and "ooh look at this interesting article I read." And now, years later, I'm still hiding.

Some of you may know, or have guessed, but it's not really a secret: I deal with a lot of anxiety. I've been told by a professional (but just one, so take that as you will), that I rank in the 93rd percentile for the amount of anxiety I have. (That means, she explained to a mathematically-challenged Piera, that only 7 percent of the population has more anxiety than I do.) That's... well, that's a lot of anxiety. I've lived with it for long enough that I don't always notice it, and teaching myself TO notice it has been the real challenge, but it's been getting better. Mostly. But it doesn't help me much when it comes to being honest with people about what I think. It's to the point now that a lot of the time I try to figure out how to say as much of what I mean in as little words as possible, because I can't believe that anyone would want to hear me talk long enough for me to get to what I'm actually trying to say. Mostly, that belief just shuts me up--I can't think fast enough, can't get to my main point fast enough, so it's probably better just to say nothing at all.

You might be wondering what I'm talking about. If you've made it this far (see my disbelief, above), then rest assured that I'll get to the point. Eventually. Probably.

It's hard, I have discovered, to exist as a practicing Christian in largely non-Christian environments. So hard, in fact, that a few people have been surprised to discover that I am a Christian. Someone told me once that they appreciated the way that I went about being one, because I didn't shove it in people's faces. In a certain sense, I was quite pleased to hear this, because I have little patience for people (Christians and non-Christians alike) who aggressively shove their beliefs in the faces of others. Underneath that initial pleasure, however, was the sinking feeling of failure, of being lukewarm. What does it say about my faith if I hold it so close to my heart that it surprises people to discover it there? And (more importantly) what does it say about God and what it means to have this faith--especially one that, as too few of you know, I hold at the very core of every way that I understand the world?

People (Christians and non-Christians alike) have an increasing tendency to make declarative statements about their beliefs, without considering (a) whether that statement truly aligns with and represents their "worldview" or theology, or (b) how they sound while making these broad, generalized comments. I have tried for my entire life to avoid doing either of these things. When non-Christians do them, I feel a vague sense of "that's not fair," because if I were to voice my beliefs about a particular topic, it would be generally written off as being preachy and obnoxious (and ain't nobody got time for that). But the thing is, when Christians make ignorant or abrasive comments, it makes me annoyed, nearly to the point of angry. Sometimes it's a matter of theology, and by theology I mean that what they are saying is not what the Bible actually says or means. Sometimes, even if their theology is correct, said Christian comes across as just generally being a loudmouthed jerk. Either way, Christianity, Christ, and the faith are all sorely misrepresented.

Before half of you who are reading this explode into a kind of frenzied alarm about my theological values, let me add this: I am not saying that Christians shouldn't advocate for their beliefs when those beliefs are fully grounded in what God has told us through his Word. I'm also not saying that those beliefs will be welcomed by the world, or that we should amend our beliefs so that they will be accepted by everyone. I'm not saying this at all. Both Jesus and Paul, among others (okay, like everyone in the Bible), make it perfectly clear that what we have to say is not going to be popular, and that is part of the challenge we face while we are still on earth. But there is a difference between holding firm to what you believe and being belligerent or rude about those beliefs.

In Paul's letter to the Colossians, he writes: "Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." [1]

Paul's not telling the Colossians (or us) to "say things that people want to hear." But he is explaining that as children of God, it's our job to live in a way that demonstrates the love and peace of Christ Jesus.

But, because this post is really about me and my issues (hashtag selfie...!), Paul also doesn't say "hide the truth, defend your pride, keep your mouth shut so you don't cause any conflict." And this is my daily struggle. This is the battle I continue to lose.

I'm so jealous of the people who seem to find it easy to state their beliefs on any given topic. Many of them even do it gracefully, in a way that people listen and accept that while they may have a different view, that person is entitled to those beliefs. Some of them have told me that I just need to "care less about what people think," which might have some value, but then again, might not be a value that I can fit into who I am. And besides I've spent too many years being told, by different people and in different ways, that what I have to say is only valid so long as it doesn't run contrary to what the other person is saying. Most of the time, in my effort to be humble, I give up on expressing myself in order to validate the other person (which, I should add, is more out of cowardice than actual humility). And now, here I am, trying to exist as an adult (ha!) with many people who don't share my beliefs or my faith, and with whom I am trying to maintain various types of relationships.

The problem, I have realized, is that there are so few people that I actually trust to hear me out, to let me hold the shrew-stone [2] long enough to make sense of my "divided mind" [3] and get to some kind of point. It's hard for me to accept that I take a while to process my thoughts. I like to think I have a quick wit, generally speaking, but when it comes to things I care about, things that matter, things that have to come from the very protected core of who I am--it might take hours, or days, or years. I might never say it, no matter how much I need to, no matter how much I want you to hear it. Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing you, afraid of inviting an argument, afraid of damaging your feelings, afraid that I might have any kind of effect on you at all, and that you might resent me for it.

But even in those moments when I get over myself, when I truly believe that the things I have to say might be more important than either of our feelings, I am faced with the paralyzing fear that I will say the wrong thing. At the core of it all, I'm a writer. Words matter. And if I haven't had the time to draft and reflect and revise, then I'm not ready to tell you. And conversations move so fast, and you're almost done with your beer, or I have to get to class, and my ideas are exploding like fireworks and I can't pull the shells together fast enough to even hand you a piece of shrapnel as we walk away from each other. And anyway, even if I was a little faster, I might hand you the wrong piece, something out of context that doesn't really say what it's supposed to mean.

It's better to stay quiet. It's safer. I can't fuck anything up that way.


I've been writing this post in my head for years. I've started it twice and walked away from it. Right now I'm working on my third version of this draft, and I'm still fighting the urge to tuck it away somewhere, to not say anything at all and certainly not share this post on any kind of social media. This is my problem, my particular dramatic emotional issue. No one really needs to know about it.

Why do we blog, anyway? Why do we tweet, or repost, or share pictures about our lives? Do we really think our mostly-unregulated circles of kind-of-but-not-actually-"friends" care about what we have to say? Do we really think we'll make some kind of impression on anyone? Do we want to? Do we care?

I care. I care too much. I care about the person who's upset that I used the word "fuck" just now (and in a post about Jesus, too!). I care about the person who's caught up on my having a faith that's not even supposed to be widely accepted. I care about the people who are going to leave a comment to be supportive, to tell me that they care, that they think I have worthwhile things to say. I care too much, but I don't think any of that matters. I don't think I'm doing this for you. I think I'm writing because I have to, because it's eating at me from inside and if I don't start writing, don't start sharing in some capacity, don't take my rants out from behind my shower curtain and make them in some way public, I'm going to drive myself mad.

Peter tells us to "live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God." [4] That's why I started writing: because I am a free servant of God, and because's he's given me a capacity to write. He planted all these fireworks, and he's going to keep setting them off. I don't know if I'll ever know whether I'm affecting you. I don't think that's the point. I have to trust in the freedom I'm given, and trust that he wouldn't set me loose on the world if he didn't think it was a good idea. I have been saved by grace, through faith, [5] and that faith sets me free--free from fear and from the constant pressure I put on myself to be perfect.

Living without apology is the single most difficult thing I have ever tried to do. And it might never get any easier. But since I have the hope of Christ "as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul" [6] --what have I got to lose?

---
[1] Colossians 3:12-17
[2] it's a Redwall reference. basically everyone has to shut up while the person with the stone says what they have to say.
[3] in Greek, the word "anxious" translates most literally as "drawn in opposite directions" or "divided into parts." See here for more details.
[4] 1 Peter 2:16
[5] Ephesians 2:8
[6] Hebrews 6:19a

how i became a writer

For my entire life, I have wanted to be a Writer.

Naturally this means getting published, and even, maybe, (although I would never admit to such a wishful hope) producing a bestseller one day. I've been journaling and daydreaming and telling stories for as long as I can remember, and with nothing really to show for it, except a box of diaries, a computer folder dedicated to notes and story ideas, and one novella that I "completed" in high school and can't bear to re-read.

This week, I decided to take a page out of Castle's book, and take myself seriously. [1]

...anyway. In college, for my senior honors project, I decided I was going to start writing a book. At the end of the semester, I presented on it, I graduated, and under the pretense of "stepping away from it to let it develop in the back of my mind," I haven't opened the file since. [2] I had 41 pages, a lot of notes, and most importantly: inklings of an idea about what it means to Be A Writer.

In the last week of trying to Write More, these ideas have begun to resurface in the practical, hands-on kind of way, and I am eager to share [3] what I believe to be a decent foundational approach to the insurmountable task of Getting Started. [4]

1: the muse is a tease

Basically every creative person I know waits to write or draw or whatever until "the muse descends." Because when you've got some down time and you're just feeling really inspired and passionate, it's a great time to bust out the old moleskine and be clever. Except the problem is that we then tend do nothing until we get those surges of creative energy, and let's face it, the most common time to get them is either right as you're falling asleep, or when you're in the shower. [5] If you only wait for the muse, the number of times you are actually productive dwindles significantly, until you all but forget that you like to write in the first place. So don't wait. [6] You can't rely on the muse (that fickle minx) and you shouldn't. When I'm feeling inspired I'm also at the height of my perfectionism, and I hardly ever get anything done, because I'm too worried about losing the Perfect Moment to horrible writing. On the flip side, however, if you condition yourself to write every day, or every other day, for some concentrated amount of time, you are at least producing something. One and a half pages of crap is still better than nothing. Which brings me right to my next point, which is this:

2: editing and writing are not the same thing

I like to edit. In fact, I could spend all of my Designated Writing Time reviewing the last four pages, making them the best four pages you have ever read, and at the end of this time period (which really is never long enough, but it's what I have), I haven't actually written anything. This ... well, this defeats the purpose. Four pages of really brilliant writing is still only four pages, and doesn't get me a publishing deal. And yeah, it's awful to skim yesterday's work and not do anything about the fact that you hate it, and is that even what you want to say? And does this ramble? And is that a good character-driven bit of dialogue? But the thing is, it still doesn't get me another page. I'm training myself to leave it alone, to look forward to the time that I can red-pen the hell out of my ~*finished manuscript*~ and until then, I'm going to focus on actually producing said manuscript. Which means no editing.

3: there's nothing permanent about your decisions

is very closely related to #2, but I make it a separate heading because it has two main points I want to address. The first is for perfectionist, anxious creatives like me: it's okay to pick a direction for the sake of getting some writing done. Nothing is final until probably like, the final publishing date [7], and if you spend your whole 47 minutes of writing time dithering over character names or period settings, you still don't have more than four pages. Pick one, and go for it. If you hit a problem somewhere in the future, reassess as necessary. Names? Use one so ridiculous you won't become attached to it, and wait until it presents itself. Or better yer, spend some time outside of said designated writing time in order to brainstorm ideas and make notes for yourself.

The other side of this section is for perfectionist, anxious creatives like me: it's okay to change your mind about a past decision. Even one you were in love with. It's hard to let go of the things you loved (especially when they were just so good!) but more often than not, it's necessary. Mostly in terms of editing (because let's be honest, that's when you basically destroy everything you wrote and start over), but also in terms of just writing something down. You have to let the writing go in the direction it wants to go, and not get caught up in "but I was going to do it this way!" I only half believe in the writers' myth that your characters and story run away from you, but that half of me is pretty darn convinced. [8]

I'm pretty sure that Stephen King said something about "killing your darlings," [9] and that's ironic, because it brings me to my next thought:

4: there really is nothing new under the sun

I have a friend who doesn't even like to use the term "creative" because she believes that if God created the world and everything in it, all we are doing is copying it in a variety of ways. I think there's some truth to that. There are limitless scenarios and nuances, but the core ideas about humanity, relationships, and emotions are never going to change. Someone is always going to say "wow, way to rip off ___." Obviously there's a fine line here, and I'm not suggesting that 50 Pairs of Shoes is going to be a successful romance novel, but when it comes down to it, you can't spend all of your energy trying to create something completely new. Because it won't be. And anyway, the Greeks probably did it first.

5: writing is writing is writing

People keep telling me that the menial journaling and blogging that I do still counts as writing. I have a really hard time accepting this, because as previously stated I am an anxious perfectionist. But in the end, every little bit still counts toward the final goal. Everything you produce is proof that you can produce something, even that page of terrible poetry or the sketch of the family on the back of a napkin. Not everything you produce in the course of your life will be worthy of publishing or selling--but that doesn't make it meaningless. Do you write for the recognition of having written something, or do you write because writing is just...fun? Goodness knows I have to remind myself this. And goodness knows--writing isn't always fun. It's almost like a relationship: you have to dedicate the time and energy, even when your heart isn't in it, even when you wish it could be better. Writing isn't just an isolated magical Thing--it's a process, a habit, a way of life. It doesn't get better unless you do it, and you can't do it if all you care about is the end result.

Am I a writer? You know what, I think I am. I might not be a good one, I might be a little rusty--but I write, and I do it because I adore it. And I think that even for anxious perfectionists like me, that is enough.

---

[1] I use "decide" as a very loose term here, but that's a story for a different post. Also, look at all the clever jokes. ahaha.

[2] except for just now, to see how many pages it was. Sorry, Andy. It's lost but not forgotten.

[3] primarily with other struggling creatives out there, because I feel your pain, but with everyone too because what the heck

[4] I mean, for whatever that's worth, since I have approximately four pages of Brilliant New Story and have never been remotely published

[5] that last bit might just be me.

[6] I think this is essentially what Stephen King is saying in his infamous "butt glue" quote (you know, about making yourself sit down to write and then staying there until it happens). I quite enjoyed On Writing, but I also appreciate Peter M Ball's objections to it, because--well, because he gets me.

[7] clearly, I don't know the first thing about this process

[8] see also [4] because I will be the first to admit I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm guessing Being A Writer is sort of like Being In Love ... you just know.

[9] or he was quoting Faulkner? It doesn't matter enough to research this right now

why i've been going crazy for the last few months

I can't decide if posting this is cheating, since I didn't write it for my blog in particular, but I guess it's no worse than posting a link to someone else's blog? So here it is: my grad school application essay. It feels a teeny bit pretentious to show it off, but I'm kind of proud of it, so...whatever.

Oh, and while I'm being self-conscious, I thought about taking out the school-specific details at the bottom, but then I didn't.

Anyway, enjoy.

---
When I assign the first paper in my future English 101 class, it will be on a current and controversial topic sure to elicit strong opinions from my students. This will encourage them to share their perspectives while giving me a snapshot of their writing abilities. But my favorite part of this assignment will come at the end of the semester, when I ask them to write a second paper on the same topic—except this time, they have to write it from the opposite point of view.

I can’t wait for the uproar when they learn that this is their final.

This assignment epitomizes what I find so glorious about writing. On a practical level, it requires a structured outline, thorough research, and the ability to present information in a logical progression. But this assignment is about more than just composing The Perfectly-Written Essay. It forces students to build an argument from scratch, and to learn how to use language to support an idea—even an idea they disagree with. In committing to the writing instead of only to the position, students learn the value of each and every word used to present a perspective. In using their writing to communicate to the world, students learn the power those words have, and the importance of having reasonable support for their ideas.

There comes a time in our lives when we have to figure out what we love and what we stand for. We have to account for ourselves, but in order to do so, we first have to understand ourselves. In college—right when we need it the most—we learn a beautifully structured method for thinking through an idea and supporting an opinion: expository writing. The classic essay format provides a way to identify the questions we are asking, and gives us the medium with which to answer them. But most of all, the essay calls for order in the form of a thesis. And when students are inspired to create and deliver a personal opinion by means of that thesis, they not only learn to write effectively, but also they also come to a better understanding of their own beliefs.

The unfortunate reality, however, is that college writing assignments are often a wasted effort. Working in the Concordia Writing Center for four years revealed to me that even the most diligent of students do not take their English Composition classes seriously simply because they are boring. The essay is established only as an arbitrary format for future homework assignments, and students walk away uninspired. And what a shame that is, because learning to write is the perfect platform for learning how to think critically. English Composition must not become obsolete, and I intend to be a part of its regeneration.

To do so, my idealism needs to be met with the reality of experience and the structure of a strong education. My attraction to the English department at the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee lies in the department’s dedication to writers, evident in its cross-cultural, interdisciplinary studies as well as in the active support and involvement of the writing center. I look forward to the guidance of scholars with such diverse backgrounds and research interests, particularly Alice Gillam and her course “Teaching Writing as Process,” and Dennis Lynch’s experience as Director of Composition. I am also eager for the opportunity to hold a teaching assistantship, which is the ideal method of a hands-on education for my intended career as a professor of English. I hope to use my experience at UWM to reshape the way we write, and consequently, the way we think, one thesis at a time.

Today, the essay. Tomorrow, the world.

the perils of a persuasive thesis

I'm good at selling myself.

Not like that. Shame on you.

As an English major, you practice over and over again picking an idea/conclusion and then finding ways to prove yourself right. That's the whole idea behind writing an essay: come up with a thesis, and use literature and/or various sources to support it. Demonstrate why you are arguing your point, and why other people should agree with you. Essentially, you're selling an idea. The more textual support your paper has, the better that idea sounds, and the more people will buy into it. You learn to see literature through certain lenses and to pick out quotes from other people in order to prove that you're not the only one with said idea.

And let's be realistic here: eventually, because this skill is practiced in terms of homework and grades, you learn to sell the idea long after you have stopped caring about it. I might have lost interest in Hamlet's hubris, but I have three more pages to write by tomorrow morning, so I'm going to keep at it. [1] There's a certain amount of shmoozing that goes on at this point, and you get really good at making broad connections and tying in loosely-relevant quotes. [2] It becomes part of what you do and how you think. I'm the kind of person now who hesitates to share an opinion without also giving at least two good reasons for having it, because I believe in writing strong and convincing theses. [3]

And sometimes I am really pleased about having this mentality. I am of the opinion that more people should have reasonable support for their perspectives, and that society would benefit from a little bit of research now and again. But the problem, I have found, is that I am too good at supporting an idea. So good, in fact, that I buy into my own arguments, simply because they are well-supported.

There's this recurring theme in my life: discovering a new and different job (that pays better, or has a "better" schedule). I pursue that thing by doing what I know, which is pitching myself as perfect for it because of XY&Z previous experiences or skills. [4] Resumes are more or less just a weird-looking works cited page. And while I'm trying to get there, I manage to convince myself that all the selling points about me are why I will love this job, and then one of two things happens:

1. I don't get the job, and I feel all the feelings of rejection, dejection, depression, existentialism, frustration, etc, OR
2. I do get the job, and I charge into it headlong, and at some point a few months down the road I realize that while I am completely capable of doing it, I don't love it like I thought I would. It doesn't change me or edify me in the ways that I had hoped. Plus, so far, these instances have involved work in addition to The Corporation, so while I (sometimes) make a little more money I also have less time to be Piera-y, which ends up making me crazier than ever.

Someone asked me the other day what I would do if time and money were no object. [5] First I panicked because I thought I didn't know. But as I opened my mouth to reply, [6] it occurred to me that I would write. Would I still teach English Comp to freshman? Yes, probably. And I would also read, and watch all manner of movies and TV shows--but most of all I would hole up and write.

And after all of this real-world adult nonsense, I'm asking myself the same question that keeps coming back to me: why aren't I doing this already?

I keep looking for ways to change my situation, and I keep trying to grab hold of options simply because they are there. I keep running away from what is right in front of me, because it's not "good enough." The conditions aren't perfect, and I have to make them perfect before I can go on. My mom calls this "if/then" thinking, and it's not really a productive way to live, because you spend your whole life waiting for something to work the way you think it should in order to do something that you want.

I don't love working for The Corporation. It's made me (more) cynical, if nothing else, and it's humbling to go to work every day and not have ways to express my intellect, my passion for thinking and relationships, my faith. And while it's not a terrible paycheck, it's not a good one, and we have bills to pay.

But for the present, it actually is offering me what I want: The freedom to come home and pursue my own goals. I have a flexible schedule, no homework, no problems to take home. My job even has benefits and vacation hours. So, I ask myself yet again, what's the problem? There's no glory, no intellectual high? Does there have to be? Is it not meaningful in the sense that I have a job at all? Am I in danger of wandering from my career path?

It's not that I can't pursue bigger or better options. But Real Jobs tend to want you for the semi-long term, and if I want to go to grad school, which starts in less than a year, the timing doesn't look so great. And until I know if/where I get accepted, I can't really make any plans. Once applications are submitted, I can stop stressing about grad school and start using my free time to--you guessed it--write more.

So new game plan? Keep on keepin' on. Reassess when I have an answer about school. Stop worrying and start making the most of what I actually have. And most of all, stop looking for answers in the wrong places, [7] starting with not buying in to my own sales pitch about me.

"I know he can get the job, Harry, but can he do the job?" [8]

And more importantly, should I?

--
[1] You also learn, eventually, to sell the idea by skimming the material for quotes instead of actually reading it. Not, of course, that I would ever have done this.
[2] I always wondered if professors just couldn't see through my bullshit, because I would get good grades on these papers. I'm beginning to think, however, that maybe they were grading my ability to bullshit in the first place.
[3] When it comes to serious stuff, anyway. In regular life I don't usually think about the things that come out of my mouth O_o
[4] I'm especially a fan of tying in stage management as great life experience for everything, which is ironic because I've never even done it in an actual professional capacity.
[5] Granted, the person asking was using a marketing tactic herself, but that's neither here nor there.
[6] See [3]
[7] If this were a different blog post, I would go on to explain that the answer is trust in God's design and knowing that I am loved and forgiven. And all of these things are true, but this wasn't the angle I was taking, because all of these things are already assumed and in place. At least,they are in my head.
[8] from Joe Versus the Volcano

is God telling me to ruin MY life?

I'm going to do it again: that thing where I link to another post because someone else said what I have said or have wanted to say. Only (naturally) they said it better, and more concisely. Because let's face it, I don't do concise.

Go ahead, ruin your life. I dare you.

... this post is everything I have been saying, to myself, to my husband, to my sister and brothers, to my friends.

You can't lose. You can't! There aren't "right decisions" in the freedom of the Gospel. We still commit sin, that's not what I mean--but if you think about it, nothing we do is untainted by our sinful human nature. Everything is affected by our self-serving attitudes. But when it comes to life decisions? When it comes to choosing a path, a career, a spouse... we spend so much time worrying about what is Right that we often end up not making decisions at all.

It's like Allison says:  "if I’m living in honest pursuit of Truth, I believe I’ll find it."

I'm ridiculously worked up right now, for two reasons. First, because someone else thinks how I think, and is passionate about the steadfast presence of God. Because my friends have heard me say it enough that they really just need to hear it from someone else too.

But also? Because I feel like she is talking to me. Because right now I'm feeling inspired to Write (oh, to BE a Writer), to find a way to pursue teaching English between now and whenever-I-get-into-grad-school, and to stop barista-ing in order to pursue it.

I mean, let's face it. That's what I want to hear. And there's a fine line between taking a leap of faith for a specific purpose, and doing something irresponsible because I want to. And there's two of us, and I have to consider how my theories and philosophies and passionate ideals will change our life.

But damn. Right now, I'm ready to jump.

rainsong

I found this gem posted in my facebook "notes" of all places (does anyone even use those anymore?!). I'm posting it because...well, because why not, but also because this is the only poem I have ever written that I don't loathe. Oh, and also because I want summer.


raw beauty

painted across the weeping sky

sunset: red and gold and orange
pretty standard.

but tonight—
tonight the rain sang her quiet selfless song
as the sky yawned pale yellow and distant dreams behind the trees and telephone lines
until the glowing cavern of fire and light splashed through the clouds
the air ablaze with radiance

and the sky poured out her soul on my feet and my face and my heart.

the breeze is in my hair
and every breath is summer showers
and every footprint fades
and even the perfect unreachable unnameable sky
cries herself back to the comfort of evening blues and greys
back to where she belongs
back to how she is remembered

but even though this night is now no different than any other

the quiet rainsong lingers

her melody remembered in the grass under my feet
and the breeze brushing my face in a gentle passing caress

and my heart is still beating—
still glowing with an unfading image

a brilliant raw passion
an unfathomable tenderness
filling all the spaces of my heart
all laughter and sorrow and hope

and painted fiercely across the weeping sky

things to take: a breath; stuff to storage; one day at a time

I haven't written in a while and this is kind of disappointing to me, since I was pretty excited to have a blog that wasn't just a compilation of funny and/or geeky re-posts of pictures or quotes (that's what tumblr is for). But I think the problem here is that I haven't yet figured out this blog's purpose. I created it on a day when I was feeling particularly wise and intellectual, and I have tried to write only things that had some sort of intellectual point to them. And then I kind of stopped, because sometimes I just don't feel intellectual... sometimes I just feel regular, or even kind of silly (or even kind of dumb), and then I don't feel moved to write anything at all.

So maybe that's my problem: that I need to feel inspired, one way or another, to write something smart. I have to be feeling it, and I have to have the time and nothing else to do in order to feel that way. I also have to be inside, because it's hard to see my laptop screen inside and I really like to be outside when it's so damn nice out.

But then I leave this blog to sit and gather dust, and I spend a lot of time reading (which is good) but not writing (which ... is less good). I keep waiting for days off (like today) so I can sit in Arcadia (the Spring Green bookstore/coffee house) and write something thoughtful and intellectual, and then I get here and discover that this blank-page of a day is too wide open for me to make up my mind. Do I want to finish my hard copy of the Princess Bride? or do I want to start Water for Elephants, which I have just borrowed to my brand new Kindle? Am I feeling up to applying my mind to my email to Keaton, or to a similar discussion with a friend over previous posts? Should I be studying for the GRE so I can pick a day at random to take the exam, so I can start applying to grad schools? (there's a right answer to that last one, and it's "yes" except ... ugh. studying for standardized tests is NOT how I want to spend any day, let alone a day off).

On the bright side, all of my options are relatively intelligent. Lack of internet access means no watching of netflix, so I can even go home and do smart things, since I don't technically need the internet for them. But going home means finishing thank-you notes (which are already a month overdue) or packing up wedding gifts so we can get them out of the living room and into our (overpriced) storage unit. Going home means what am I making for dinner, and maybe I should nap on the porch because it's just mmm so lovely out there.

I guess that's my life right now. A big blank page of "you just got married! what are you gonna do next??" filled with a lot of good intentions but not a lot of action. And to top it all off, I really miss being around my friends back home or back at school, and even though I really want to go to UW Madison for school, I don't look forward to the fact that it will be a few years before I'll be able to call one of them up for a last-minute Target run.

Days like today remind me that life is still ... life-y, even though it feels like a major section of the story has concluded and I've begun a new one (entitled "Grown Up and Married and Everything"). It's actually pretty awesome to realize that all I'm doing is working right now, and I have wide open afternoons to sit and be intellectual. I've been reading a ton and I have writing projects and it's actually pretty lucky that I don't have internet at home, so the battle is really between me and myself. I think this summer is going to be about making decisions (to read or to write ... that is the question) and about being less stressed out about time. Days off happen twice a week whether I realize it or not, and they don't have to be chock-full of Getting Stuff Done!!! because there are still five other afternoons to do things. And I have no deadlines for any of this (another blessing-and-curse, but there it is). And the sun will be here, all summer, and I will still get to spend some time in it, even if I also spend some time in Arcadia writing posts with unexpected and less-than-truly-intellectual themes.

i've never written fan mail before

I just finished the book Pegasus by Robin McKinley. it was … incredible. just like everything she writes. I “liked” her page on facebook, added her blog to my favorites list, and posted this on her wall:

When I reach the end of your novels I am generally shocked to remember that I am reading a book and that good writers have the freedom to end their novels whenever and however they like. I closed Pegasus about ten minutes ago (after staring helplessly at the last few blank pages for a minute or two) and got online praying to see an announcement, or even a rumor, of a sequel. I won’t *like* being troubled for two years, but at least there is hope for resolution.

Thank you for continuing to tell fantastic stories.

… I’m not-so-secretly hoping she replies to me. #bigdork

She's on the list of authors I want to be like one day. Not in the sense of copying their writing (because that would be silly) but because she, among a few others (Gail Carson Levine, Megan Whalen Turner, Tamora Pierce), has a way of writing that draws me in so completely that sometimes I really do forget that I'm sitting in the breakroom at Starbucks and I have to be back at work in 7 minutes. I'm always mildly embarrassed to admit that I read "young adult fantasy fiction," and more so to admit that sometimes I need to read them in the privacy of my room, where I can allow the story to take me somewhere else, and I can allow myself to be completely and emotionally involved in the story.

And then I remember that there are authors out there who continue to write these novels, and write them for people like me. And that they also want to be whisked away to a foreign land and spend enough time there to fall in love, and come back to the world with new ideas and new memories--and that, in the end, is why they keep writing.