The Dreaded Writing Sample

Here's that writing sample that terrified me so much last night. It still terrifies me, but I'm happy to have it done and sent in. I could have used some old material, but everything saved on Mac just seemed so juvenile. So, in true Holly fashion (well, in true Holly Fantasy Study Abroad fashion), I spent the entire day dashing about Paris, staring at Marcel Proust and Oscar Wilde's graves (asking for some help in the inspiration department), and I whipped out this tidbit an hour ago. I hope it's all right. I know it's nothing wonderful, but it reflects what I've been dealing with today, and I actually think it's kind of funny. I hope the professor agrees...


I tried to count, once, how many times you complained. I used my fingers, because I thought keeping a tally in my notepad would be too obvious, and maybe too concrete. One for your feet hurting, two for having to use the bathroom (yet again was what I didn’t say out loud), three was that you have to work over break, and oh man, you have to drive to Springfield to cosign your house lease.

After three, my fingers clenched into fists of their own accord, and I found myself swinging my stiff arms like an upright gorilla. Steam was coming out of my nose, thick as King Kong’s breath on some unsuspecting townsperson’s shoulder.
I huffed and puffed with that pent-up tally as you ordered a crepe. The man swirled the batter deliberately, used his fingers to lift and flip the pancake. While the other side sizzled you dug in your purse for change. One coin short, you moaned about high prices, and I ticked four in my head. I also handed you fifty cents.

Your crepe was warm, but you apparently were not, as we picked our way through the nightlife. Five was tallied walking past a porn shop. I ducked my head stupidly as a woman with big hair and big shoes beckoned us in. The neon lights glittered against puddles in the street, which you hated, hated to walk through. You paused, and I wondered, only half jokingly, if you expected me to offer to carry you across the water. I couldn’t anyway, because one entire hand was already carrying your complaints.

You hit six and seven waiting for the crosswalk to turn pedestrian green. My fingers clawed and jutted against my hips, and I trembled a bit. You get uglier every time you talk. Someday, when you’re not so old, I think your chin will melt against your neck. It’s used to being there as you look down your nose at puddles and people and such. Someday your eyebrows will fuse together in a permanent scowl, and then you won’t have to flex any muscles at all to achieve your favorite expression. I think how happy you’ll be, and then remind myself that you won’t be, of course.

Eight was a beggar who clung to your arm for a few seconds until you shook him off. I’ve sorry, sir, I mouthed, I’ve given my fifty cents away to someone else. I don’t think he understood.

Nine was schoolwork, and ten was me. Me, the dawdler, who couldn’t be bothered to appease beggars or glare at prostitutes or ferry over puddles. You threw ten over her shoulder as you continued on, leaving me out of fingers and gasping on the sidewalk. I felt my jacket shred off my arms, felt the fur burst onto my forehead and nose. I was on all fours behind you, pawing the ground with strong feet. You sashayed away, and I sat back on my haunches and watched you go.

Things That Scare Me

Part 1: Emails like this

Hi, Holly,

Thanks for your message. For students who haven't already taken the Intro to Creative Writing course at UMM, I'm asking them to send a short sample of their work in fiction. It doesn't have to be anything perfect -- just something to give me an idea of the level you're working at.

Thanks!

Part 2: Schedules like this

MWF:
11:45-12:50 Themes in World History
1-2:05 Advanced Fiction Writing (conditional: see above email)
2:15-3:20 U.S. Multicultural Literature
3:30-5:10 (W) Honors: Power of Place

Tu Th:
10-11:40 Intro to Stats

Just Like Elizabeth

It's raining here in Salzburg.
It has been raining all evening.
And you know what I just realized?
That my laundry is hanging outside, and has been since this afternoon.

I was upset about this, about having to throw on a coat over my jammies (yes, I call pajamas jammies. Don't judge), having to hunt down my ipod (because you can't do anything epic without a soundtrack), and having to run out in the cold to fetch cold, wet clothes.

I was upset, that is, until a friend pointed out that this situation sounds a lot like a scene in Pride and Prejudice (new version), where Elizabeth is snatching clothes off the line in the rain.

Needless to say, I'm now feeling pretty good about going outside.

Also, in case you're wondering why I've been so lazy as of late with my posting, check my other blog. Vienna last weekend. It's all there.

How to Feed Yourself While Still Leaving Enough Money So You Can Graduate in Four Years (A Food Network Pilot)

Here's what I'm considering:

Taking raw walnuts
A cup of Dole peaches
And cinnamon

And making "poor man's peach pie." (Aka putting the walnuts in a bowl and topping with peaches mixed with cinnamon)

Oh, the desperate lives we college-age dessert lovers live.

I should have my own Food Network show: How To Feed Yourself While Still Leaving Enough Money So You Can Graduate in Four Years. Or, How To Navigate Austrian Grocery Stores With Only a Pocket Dictionary to Aid You. Or, The Art of Grilled Cheese And Tomato Soup.

In case you're wondering if I'm serious about the "peach pie," I totally am. Photographic evidence will follow (later).

In Which My Prodigal Claim is Proved False

When I was in 1st or 2nd grade, I wrote the following composition on a piece of 1st or 2nd grade practice paper (you know, that tissue-thin stuff with the blue and red lines designed so that every laboriously-created letter could have a guiding mark?):

What is once loved.
You will find.
Is always yours.
Take it home.
In your mind.
And nothing ever can take it away.

I still have that piece of paper with the above words printed upon it, and while at times I've felt proud of those strangely poetic words, mostly, I've had the sneaking suspicious that I stole them.

Not on purpose, of course, but at that age, everything is about recitation and imitation. That's the only way to learn, really.

So today of all days I decided to do a Google hunt and see if I could find "my" poem under someone else's name.

Here's what I found, at the bottom of a chapter of Harry Potter fanfic, of all places:

"What is once loved, you will find, is always yours from that day.
Take it home, in your mind, and nothing ever can take it away."
- Elizabeth Coatsworth

And then I did a search for Elizabeth Coatsworth, and found this:
http://www.oldchildrensbooks.com/collectors-corner/authors/elizabeth-coatsworth

She was a children's book author, which of course makes sense; If I had stolen that verse from somewhere, it would have been from a book. Even back then, I was a ridiculous reader.

It also occurs to me, however, that maybe I didn't steal this verse on my own; one of my teachers could have printed it on the board for everyone to copy.

But then again, what if that wasn't it? What if it wasn't even an assigned, or an unconscious theft? What if we were asked to write something, and I, well aware that my composition was unoriginal, scrawled it out anyway? Holly Gruntner: violating copyrights since 1998.

The world may never know.

I guess I'm glad this mystery is finally (mostly) solved, but I'm a little sad at the same time.

I would have liked to have been a child prodigy.