That crazygeniusbastard (maybe if I run it together, no one will notice the profanity. Oh hi Mom.) Hemingway and I met again today.
For literature, the assigned reading was For Whom The Bell Tolls.
Remember last summer, when it took me almost a month to read that book? Remember how I was intimidated by it, and then hated it, and then loved it?
So do I.
Anyway, it was lovely to discuss the book with actual people and an actual professor of literature. It was also reassuring to discover that the themes I gleaned from the book last June/July are real, live WIDELY ACCEPTED HEMINGWAY THEMES. Hoorah!
There may be hope for me and my English major after all.
P.S. I have officially come to terms with the fact that I am taking a class entitled "Gender and Sexuality in Literature of the American Tropics" this spring. I have to fulfill a human diversity requirement for my major, and Multicultural Literature was full. I'm on the waitlist, but things aren't looking good on that front. So...gender and sexuality it is.
Don't get me wrong here; there is absolutely nothing wrong with the subject of this class, and as a matter of fact I've always thought I should take a GWSS course whilst at Morris, as it's not an area I'm familiar with. That's the thing, though. It's not an area I'm familiar with. And the course sounds so...specific. With the English classes I've taken thus far in my college career, readings have spanned many eras, topics, and writing styles. If I found myself uninterested in a topic (ahem. Romantic British poets, I'm looking at you), I merely had to grit my teeth and wait it out. But with an entire class dedicated to one topic, if I find it uninteresting, I'm pretty much stuck.
Still, I am looking forward to trying something new. I'll let you know how it goes.
Showing posts with label Whining. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whining. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Salzburged
Some funny things about living in Austria:
1. Every time I have to make an interaction with a native German speaker, whether it be to buy a bus ticket, order lunch, or simply to apologize for a random act of clumsiness, I think of said interaction like a game: let's see how long I can keep them believing that I am also a native speaker. Usually not long. But I'm getting better.
2. I am now utterly and completely unimpressed with the Alps. What? I can see a mountain from my dorm room window? Ho hum.
3. This is not a good place for people with a sweet tooth to live. It's downright dangerous. Must take brisk walks/slow jogs daily in retaliation.
4. Since I'm (sort of) a native now, I'm quickly becoming annoyed by tourists. Dear large group of 60 plus-ers: please take your umpteenth picture of Mozart's birthplace and quit blocking the sidewalk. Danke schön. (Sorry if this sounds mean, but those darn tour groups almost made me late for class this morning; their bulky cameras and fanny packs forced me to practically crawl along the street in order to keep moving.)
5. Almost every single person in my group (that is, other members of my study abroad program) goes out drinking every night. Every single night. Drunk. Stumbling home at 7 a.m. as I'm walking the opposite way, heading to class. Ergo, I have not made many friends as of yet. Because although I'm now legal, and although I'm certainly not opposed to having a drink now and then (not that I really have yet), I also firmly believe that the majority of one's fun, whether alone or with a group, should be had sober. I mean, if you're drunk, you're not really having fun. The chemicals poisoning your liver are. And I don't know if they should be having that much fun, especially when in close proximity to a vital organ.
Come on guys, can't we just play Sardines instead?
I miss Morris.
6. It's so incredibly beautiful here, but I think about home and the people back home ALL THE TIME. I'll be looking at something, and all of the sudden I'll think, "Jeez, my Dad would enjoy this retired WWII tanker. He would probably make me spend hours touring it with him, because he always has to read EVERY SINGLE THING in EVERY SINGLE DISPLAY." And then I'll shake my head and remember that I'm supposed to be independent and grownup and I'm supposed to be making new friends and sharing things with them. And then I'll remember that my dorm room currently smells like a brewery and I'll feel a little bit of despair because I don't know if I want that kind of friend.
And then I'll get really snobby and decide that I already have enough friends back home. Why do I need more?
And then I'll sit in my room by myself, stare at the wall, and think, "Oh. That's why."
Don't get me wrong; I love it in Salzburg. I just wish I had some good people to love it with.
Stay gold, guys. And maybe send some my way. I'm the one reading Northanger Abbey in Room 330.
1. Every time I have to make an interaction with a native German speaker, whether it be to buy a bus ticket, order lunch, or simply to apologize for a random act of clumsiness, I think of said interaction like a game: let's see how long I can keep them believing that I am also a native speaker. Usually not long. But I'm getting better.
2. I am now utterly and completely unimpressed with the Alps. What? I can see a mountain from my dorm room window? Ho hum.
3. This is not a good place for people with a sweet tooth to live. It's downright dangerous. Must take brisk walks/slow jogs daily in retaliation.
4. Since I'm (sort of) a native now, I'm quickly becoming annoyed by tourists. Dear large group of 60 plus-ers: please take your umpteenth picture of Mozart's birthplace and quit blocking the sidewalk. Danke schön. (Sorry if this sounds mean, but those darn tour groups almost made me late for class this morning; their bulky cameras and fanny packs forced me to practically crawl along the street in order to keep moving.)
5. Almost every single person in my group (that is, other members of my study abroad program) goes out drinking every night. Every single night. Drunk. Stumbling home at 7 a.m. as I'm walking the opposite way, heading to class. Ergo, I have not made many friends as of yet. Because although I'm now legal, and although I'm certainly not opposed to having a drink now and then (not that I really have yet), I also firmly believe that the majority of one's fun, whether alone or with a group, should be had sober. I mean, if you're drunk, you're not really having fun. The chemicals poisoning your liver are. And I don't know if they should be having that much fun, especially when in close proximity to a vital organ.
Come on guys, can't we just play Sardines instead?
I miss Morris.
6. It's so incredibly beautiful here, but I think about home and the people back home ALL THE TIME. I'll be looking at something, and all of the sudden I'll think, "Jeez, my Dad would enjoy this retired WWII tanker. He would probably make me spend hours touring it with him, because he always has to read EVERY SINGLE THING in EVERY SINGLE DISPLAY." And then I'll shake my head and remember that I'm supposed to be independent and grownup and I'm supposed to be making new friends and sharing things with them. And then I'll remember that my dorm room currently smells like a brewery and I'll feel a little bit of despair because I don't know if I want that kind of friend.
And then I'll get really snobby and decide that I already have enough friends back home. Why do I need more?
And then I'll sit in my room by myself, stare at the wall, and think, "Oh. That's why."
Don't get me wrong; I love it in Salzburg. I just wish I had some good people to love it with.
Stay gold, guys. And maybe send some my way. I'm the one reading Northanger Abbey in Room 330.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Can I Stay Wit You Please?
Good Lord I hate Wordpress. I don't know if they actually claim to be user friendly over there, but if they do, it's an atrocious lie.
Can I just stay wit youse guys?
Stats:
Current suitcase weight: 55 pounds
Fee charged for an overweight checked bag: $70 American Dollars
Hours until I leave: 6 1/2 hours
Hours I will be in the air today: 9
Books I'm bringing along to pass the time: The Hunger Games, Catching Fire (sequel to Hunger Games), and my crappy paperback version of Gone With the Wind
Can I just stay wit youse guys?
Stats:
Current suitcase weight: 55 pounds
Fee charged for an overweight checked bag: $70 American Dollars
Hours until I leave: 6 1/2 hours
Hours I will be in the air today: 9
Books I'm bringing along to pass the time: The Hunger Games, Catching Fire (sequel to Hunger Games), and my crappy paperback version of Gone With the Wind
Monday, August 29, 2011
In Which I Bring Back A Souvenir
The funny thing about work is that you have to show up every day for it. And the funny thing about having to show up every day for something is that you can't possibly look (or feel, for that matter) your best every single day.
Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.
And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.
Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.
I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)
Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.
And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.
Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.
I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)
Sunday, August 7, 2011
I Need to Get Out of the Country
I need to get out of the country.
My life has turned into a monotonous string of work days and non work days.
On work days I wake up at 5:15 a.m. after about six hours of sleep. I listen to music on the way to work, which cheers me up briefly, but as soon as I'm facing the double doors of Target, knowing I won't emerge again until 3:00, I lose my courage. I still like my job, but I think it's gotten to the point where not much can sway me anymore. Not much tries to sway me anymore. Every day is the same, with only a few variations: I cover two electronics breaks instead of three, I see a former high school teacher wearing summer clothing and I am strangely embarrassed for them and for myself, I have cherries instead of a peach in my lunch. It's getting more and more difficult to pretend that these variations are something special.
On non work days I sleep in until 9:15. I then have decisions to make: should I watch TV, read, or fiddle around on Mac? Should I do Tae Bo, Gilad, or Gunnar Peterson? How much longer can I procrastinate on replying to that email or depositing that check or putting away my clean laundry?
There are sparks of hope and there are sparks of fun, but I think mostly I'm getting that feeling I get every summer around this time.
I need to get out of the country.
I suppose Austria will do.
My life has turned into a monotonous string of work days and non work days.
On work days I wake up at 5:15 a.m. after about six hours of sleep. I listen to music on the way to work, which cheers me up briefly, but as soon as I'm facing the double doors of Target, knowing I won't emerge again until 3:00, I lose my courage. I still like my job, but I think it's gotten to the point where not much can sway me anymore. Not much tries to sway me anymore. Every day is the same, with only a few variations: I cover two electronics breaks instead of three, I see a former high school teacher wearing summer clothing and I am strangely embarrassed for them and for myself, I have cherries instead of a peach in my lunch. It's getting more and more difficult to pretend that these variations are something special.
On non work days I sleep in until 9:15. I then have decisions to make: should I watch TV, read, or fiddle around on Mac? Should I do Tae Bo, Gilad, or Gunnar Peterson? How much longer can I procrastinate on replying to that email or depositing that check or putting away my clean laundry?
There are sparks of hope and there are sparks of fun, but I think mostly I'm getting that feeling I get every summer around this time.
I need to get out of the country.
I suppose Austria will do.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Lay Mizz
Some midnight thoughts from page 48 of Les Miserables:
1. How does one put the slash above the e?
2. This book is messing with my summer reading. I am officially 11 books behind last year's count.
3. Do I really have to look up these French Revolution references? I don't wanna.
4. Is it legal for me to read another book on the side? Will said side read cause me to put away Les Mis, possible forever?
(yes)
5. How in the world is this the abridged edition? It's 800+ pages long! Pleasehigherpowersdon'tsmitemeforreadingabridgedIswearIdidn'tknowwhenIboughtit.
6. So far, when people have asked me what I'm reading, I've said, "Les Mis" (pronounced Lay Mizz). This abbreviation stems from my lack of confidence in my French pronunciation. I hope no one's on to me.
Goodnight from page 49.
1. How does one put the slash above the e?
2. This book is messing with my summer reading. I am officially 11 books behind last year's count.
3. Do I really have to look up these French Revolution references? I don't wanna.
4. Is it legal for me to read another book on the side? Will said side read cause me to put away Les Mis, possible forever?
(yes)
5. How in the world is this the abridged edition? It's 800+ pages long! Pleasehigherpowersdon'tsmitemeforreadingabridgedIswearIdidn'tknowwhenIboughtit.
6. So far, when people have asked me what I'm reading, I've said, "Les Mis" (pronounced Lay Mizz). This abbreviation stems from my lack of confidence in my French pronunciation. I hope no one's on to me.
Goodnight from page 49.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A Downer Day
It's been a downer day for me.
In order to write last night's brilliant post (you can chuckle at this. I am.), I had to sacrifice quite a bit of sleep.
Lack of sleep meant that I was pretty much a space cadet the entire time I was at work.
I bumbled around stupidly.
I punched in when I wasn't supposed to.
I banged my arm against a shelf (bruise is appearing slowly but surely).
And last but not least, I somehow thought that I worked 8-4. It was 3:00 when I finally figured out that I was actually only supposed to work until noon.
On the way home I stopped at the library. Libraries usually cheer me up, but somehow, it didn't work today. I got 8 books, but only 1 that I really want to read. Outside of the library, there was a big construction zone where they were tearing up part of the sidewalk. I'm tired of construction. It seems like all of Forest Lake is one big "CONSTRUCTION GOING ON, PLEASE TAKE DETOUR." I'm tired of detours. I don't care what anyone says, roundabouts are not all they're cracked up to be. I have yielding issues.
Now I'm sitting in bed dragging myself down slowly but surely (mentally bruising??? (see above)). It's a sad sad thing to be doing on a Tuesday night, but when I'm in a funk like this there's not much of an escape. I worked on my Press article for a while, but it started to give me a headache; council meeting coverage not only requires an annoying amount of precision, but it's also kind of boring. Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I can read, but I'm currently stuck in the middle of "The Handmaid's Tale." This book disappoints me. I'll probably explain why once I've finished.
Sorry for lack of eloquence, optimism, excitement, etc. I'll try to be up to snuff tomorrow.
In order to write last night's brilliant post (you can chuckle at this. I am.), I had to sacrifice quite a bit of sleep.
Lack of sleep meant that I was pretty much a space cadet the entire time I was at work.
I bumbled around stupidly.
I punched in when I wasn't supposed to.
I banged my arm against a shelf (bruise is appearing slowly but surely).
And last but not least, I somehow thought that I worked 8-4. It was 3:00 when I finally figured out that I was actually only supposed to work until noon.
On the way home I stopped at the library. Libraries usually cheer me up, but somehow, it didn't work today. I got 8 books, but only 1 that I really want to read. Outside of the library, there was a big construction zone where they were tearing up part of the sidewalk. I'm tired of construction. It seems like all of Forest Lake is one big "CONSTRUCTION GOING ON, PLEASE TAKE DETOUR." I'm tired of detours. I don't care what anyone says, roundabouts are not all they're cracked up to be. I have yielding issues.
Now I'm sitting in bed dragging myself down slowly but surely (mentally bruising??? (see above)). It's a sad sad thing to be doing on a Tuesday night, but when I'm in a funk like this there's not much of an escape. I worked on my Press article for a while, but it started to give me a headache; council meeting coverage not only requires an annoying amount of precision, but it's also kind of boring. Don't tell anyone I said that.
I guess I can read, but I'm currently stuck in the middle of "The Handmaid's Tale." This book disappoints me. I'll probably explain why once I've finished.
Sorry for lack of eloquence, optimism, excitement, etc. I'll try to be up to snuff tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
In Which I Finish Sophomore Year and Do Some Kickboxing
I'm a bit displaced from the last time I blogged.
I am now sitting about 3 final exams, 1 final paper, 220 miles, and 10 days away from my last post.
Hi.
So, as said displacement has left me a tad scrambled, and as 10 blog-free days tends to make one even more discombobulated (to borrow a word from my 5th grade teacher), you may have to put up with some sporadicity. Bear with me here.
Finals were good. As I mentioned 10 days ago, I had two finals on Monday, a final paper due Tuesday, and another final Thursday. Honestly, I felt that I performed pretty solidly on all of the above. It was absolutely wonderful to have all day Tuesday and Wednesday to study for Art History on Thursday.
As for the paper, well, let's just say that if you ever need to talk to someone about A Streetcar Named Desire as a Gothic Novel, I'm your girl. 6 pages of epic analysis, with an outside source included just because I could. Not to brag or anything.
And now, as I said, I am at home. On the couch. With my trusty laptop on my lap, A Secret Life of Bees at my elbow, and the Sunday crossword within reach. I feel deserving of this luxurious lifestyle because: a) I had to write a paper and take 3 final exams last week, b) I had to work at Target at 8 this morning, which means I had to wake up at 6:15, and c) after work I did a half hour of kickboxing with Denise Austin. I found the VHS tape in the basement and thought I'd try it out. Denise seemed nice at first, but after about 15 minutes she started looking fairly masochistic. That was around the time when I figured out that whenever she said, "Don't worry if you can't do this yet; you'll get there soon," she really meant: "This is going to hurt, you out of shape loser, because I'm not going to stop until you're on the floor, panting like a winded rhino, and drenched in sweat."
Mom just brought home a pizza for dinner. Kiss it, Denise.
I'll talk to you guys soon.
P.S. I feel like I need to add this sentimental tidbit right here at the end: it was really strange to leave Morris last Thursday knowing that I wouldn't be back until January. When I hugged all my friends goodbye I had to keep saying, "I'll see you next Spring." Weird. I still haven't wrapped my head around Austria, despite the fact that I'm officially going now. That's right, I put down my ridiculously large initial deposit (I don't want to talk about it), and on Saturday Mom insisted on buying me a German/English dictionary and a Rick Steve guidebook. Nothing seals the deal quite like Rick Steve.
I am now sitting about 3 final exams, 1 final paper, 220 miles, and 10 days away from my last post.
Hi.
So, as said displacement has left me a tad scrambled, and as 10 blog-free days tends to make one even more discombobulated (to borrow a word from my 5th grade teacher), you may have to put up with some sporadicity. Bear with me here.
Finals were good. As I mentioned 10 days ago, I had two finals on Monday, a final paper due Tuesday, and another final Thursday. Honestly, I felt that I performed pretty solidly on all of the above. It was absolutely wonderful to have all day Tuesday and Wednesday to study for Art History on Thursday.
As for the paper, well, let's just say that if you ever need to talk to someone about A Streetcar Named Desire as a Gothic Novel, I'm your girl. 6 pages of epic analysis, with an outside source included just because I could. Not to brag or anything.
And now, as I said, I am at home. On the couch. With my trusty laptop on my lap, A Secret Life of Bees at my elbow, and the Sunday crossword within reach. I feel deserving of this luxurious lifestyle because: a) I had to write a paper and take 3 final exams last week, b) I had to work at Target at 8 this morning, which means I had to wake up at 6:15, and c) after work I did a half hour of kickboxing with Denise Austin. I found the VHS tape in the basement and thought I'd try it out. Denise seemed nice at first, but after about 15 minutes she started looking fairly masochistic. That was around the time when I figured out that whenever she said, "Don't worry if you can't do this yet; you'll get there soon," she really meant: "This is going to hurt, you out of shape loser, because I'm not going to stop until you're on the floor, panting like a winded rhino, and drenched in sweat."
Mom just brought home a pizza for dinner. Kiss it, Denise.
I'll talk to you guys soon.
P.S. I feel like I need to add this sentimental tidbit right here at the end: it was really strange to leave Morris last Thursday knowing that I wouldn't be back until January. When I hugged all my friends goodbye I had to keep saying, "I'll see you next Spring." Weird. I still haven't wrapped my head around Austria, despite the fact that I'm officially going now. That's right, I put down my ridiculously large initial deposit (I don't want to talk about it), and on Saturday Mom insisted on buying me a German/English dictionary and a Rick Steve guidebook. Nothing seals the deal quite like Rick Steve.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Another Finals Week
Finals week has rolled around once again, and, as you've come to expect, I will spend most of my time from now until Thursday evening:
a) Studying/writing papers/taking exams
b) Complaining to you about studying/writing papers/taking exams
Prepare accordingly.
Here's the agenda:
Monday:
German final from 8:30-10:30
American Lit. final 11:00-1:00
Tuesday
American Lit. response paper due 4:00
Thursday
Art History final 4:00-6:00
And of course I also have to work a lot during finals week, and I have to finish up my study abroad planning, and I have to begin packing up my maelstrom of a room in preparation for my Thursday night departure.
And of course of course the weather right now is absolutely perfect; 66 degrees, sunny, breezy, and bugless. That's what I'm told, at least; the basement of the Science Building doesn't have any windows.
Fun Fact: Last night I had a dream that I was running around inside a Revolutionary War-era house that had belonged to someone named Brady. This morning I did a Wikipedia search and found out that Samuel Brady was a Revolutionary War hero (and an all-around cool guy). It's funny, because I don't think I've ever heard that name before. Apparently my subconscious has.
a) Studying/writing papers/taking exams
b) Complaining to you about studying/writing papers/taking exams
Prepare accordingly.
Here's the agenda:
Monday:
German final from 8:30-10:30
American Lit. final 11:00-1:00
Tuesday
American Lit. response paper due 4:00
Thursday
Art History final 4:00-6:00
And of course I also have to work a lot during finals week, and I have to finish up my study abroad planning, and I have to begin packing up my maelstrom of a room in preparation for my Thursday night departure.
And of course of course the weather right now is absolutely perfect; 66 degrees, sunny, breezy, and bugless. That's what I'm told, at least; the basement of the Science Building doesn't have any windows.
Fun Fact: Last night I had a dream that I was running around inside a Revolutionary War-era house that had belonged to someone named Brady. This morning I did a Wikipedia search and found out that Samuel Brady was a Revolutionary War hero (and an all-around cool guy). It's funny, because I don't think I've ever heard that name before. Apparently my subconscious has.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Some More Winter Scenery
Holy expletive, it's cold out!
The walk from my Humanities Building class to my dorm, which only takes about 3 minutes, is enough to freeze my ears, numb my cheeks, and stiffen my knees.
Yes, that's right. It's 10:15 a.m. It's January the 21st. And it's -15 degrees, with 17 mph winds.
Having been born and raised in Minnesota, perhaps I should refrain from ranting so much about the intense cold. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? In fact, perhaps I should even be ashamed to complain about it. Perhaps I should bang my chest and claim that Minnesotans are made of stronger stuff. We swim in lakes in the summer and fish on them in the winter. We consider 40 degrees to be wonderfully balmy. We watch tornadoes swoop through our next-door neighbor's backyard, while standing in our own. We're fearless, and what's more, under our thick skins beat hearts of steel that cannot be frosted over. Not even in -15.
Yes, I'm surely proud to be a Minnesotan, although I guess I'm not stoic enough to refrain from admitting that Florida is looking wonderful right about now.
This is a photo of my window, almost completely frosted over. It's been this way for a few days now.
The walk from my Humanities Building class to my dorm, which only takes about 3 minutes, is enough to freeze my ears, numb my cheeks, and stiffen my knees.
Yes, that's right. It's 10:15 a.m. It's January the 21st. And it's -15 degrees, with 17 mph winds.
Having been born and raised in Minnesota, perhaps I should refrain from ranting so much about the intense cold. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? In fact, perhaps I should even be ashamed to complain about it. Perhaps I should bang my chest and claim that Minnesotans are made of stronger stuff. We swim in lakes in the summer and fish on them in the winter. We consider 40 degrees to be wonderfully balmy. We watch tornadoes swoop through our next-door neighbor's backyard, while standing in our own. We're fearless, and what's more, under our thick skins beat hearts of steel that cannot be frosted over. Not even in -15.
Yes, I'm surely proud to be a Minnesotan, although I guess I'm not stoic enough to refrain from admitting that Florida is looking wonderful right about now.
This is a photo of my window, almost completely frosted over. It's been this way for a few days now.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Don't Worry
Don't worry. I'm not just ignoring you.
I haven't really written anything at all over Winter Break. No stories, no poems, only 1 journal entry, and the meager blog posts you've shaken your head at.
I think all the papers and exams and general stress of fall semester made me unwilling to do anything requiring deep thinking during my time off.
It's unfortunate, because now that I have less than a week left before spring semester begins, I'm regretting my lack of productivity.
But what can I say? I needed a break.
On a different note, I'm currently between books, and it's driving me absolutely up the wall. I finished "The Brief History of the Dead" last night, and now I don't know where to go next. "Three Cups of Tea" is waiting patiently for me, but as I recently read "Eat Pray Love" (as you know), I think I need a bit of a break from the memoir genre.
It's 12:31 a.m., so I suppose I could just go to sleep, but I would prefer to sleep knowing I have a good book to delve into tomorrow.
Okay...I'm thinking seriously about doing some Salinger. I read "Catcher in the Rye" in 10th grade and wasn't impressed, but "Franny and Zooey" looks promising, so maybe I'll give J.D. another shot.
I haven't really written anything at all over Winter Break. No stories, no poems, only 1 journal entry, and the meager blog posts you've shaken your head at.
I think all the papers and exams and general stress of fall semester made me unwilling to do anything requiring deep thinking during my time off.
It's unfortunate, because now that I have less than a week left before spring semester begins, I'm regretting my lack of productivity.
But what can I say? I needed a break.
On a different note, I'm currently between books, and it's driving me absolutely up the wall. I finished "The Brief History of the Dead" last night, and now I don't know where to go next. "Three Cups of Tea" is waiting patiently for me, but as I recently read "Eat Pray Love" (as you know), I think I need a bit of a break from the memoir genre.
It's 12:31 a.m., so I suppose I could just go to sleep, but I would prefer to sleep knowing I have a good book to delve into tomorrow.
Okay...I'm thinking seriously about doing some Salinger. I read "Catcher in the Rye" in 10th grade and wasn't impressed, but "Franny and Zooey" looks promising, so maybe I'll give J.D. another shot.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Finals Week, Part II
I'm on a study break. I tried to do an hour of straight memorizing American writers and their works and the terms that describe their works, and I barely made it.
It's only the first day of Finals Week, and my brain hurts.
Maybe because I spent all weekend (literally) trying to make a thesis based on an essay we read in Honors, based on one of the paper topics provided. It kept not working and not working until I finally realized that it was not going to work. So, I switched topics. At 2 a.m. this morning. Wrote until 5. Woke up at 10. Wrote until 3:30. Turned the paper in about fifteen minutes before it was due. And it was probably the worst paper I've ever written. Not for lack of effort, but because I didn't have time to make it good.
That's the worst thing about this semester, I think. I'm trying so hard but my grades still aren't where I'd like them to be because I don't have time to focus on one subject or one paper or one reading for very long; the others start calling to me before I have a chance to even sit and consider.
Now my brain hurts and I don't think I can spend much more time with this American Lit. stuff I'm currently doing.
But okay. Here's the plan:
Tonight: Finish typing up study guide for Am. Lit. Study study guide.
Tomorrow: German final 11-1, study Am. Litl, Am. Lit. final 4-6, Work on Understanding Writing paper, Writing Room work 7-7:30, Info. Desk work 8-10, Finish Understanding Writing paper
Wednesday: Social Science work 9:30-11:30, Think of an idea for/research/write Icelandic Sagas paper. All day. Get 'er done. Info. Desk work 6-8. Finish Icelandic Sagas paper. Preferably before 3 a.m.
Thursday: You're not done with Icelandic Sagas? You've got to be kidding me, Hol...well...you have until 4:30. WRITE. After 4:30, take a few cleansing breaths, collapse limply on bed, then get up and start packing. 7:30 Mom arrives. Load car. Go home. Sleep until Saturday.
It's 10:14. 4 minutes past my alloted break time. Must go.
It's only the first day of Finals Week, and my brain hurts.
Maybe because I spent all weekend (literally) trying to make a thesis based on an essay we read in Honors, based on one of the paper topics provided. It kept not working and not working until I finally realized that it was not going to work. So, I switched topics. At 2 a.m. this morning. Wrote until 5. Woke up at 10. Wrote until 3:30. Turned the paper in about fifteen minutes before it was due. And it was probably the worst paper I've ever written. Not for lack of effort, but because I didn't have time to make it good.
That's the worst thing about this semester, I think. I'm trying so hard but my grades still aren't where I'd like them to be because I don't have time to focus on one subject or one paper or one reading for very long; the others start calling to me before I have a chance to even sit and consider.
Now my brain hurts and I don't think I can spend much more time with this American Lit. stuff I'm currently doing.
But okay. Here's the plan:
Tonight: Finish typing up study guide for Am. Lit. Study study guide.
Tomorrow: German final 11-1, study Am. Litl, Am. Lit. final 4-6, Work on Understanding Writing paper, Writing Room work 7-7:30, Info. Desk work 8-10, Finish Understanding Writing paper
Wednesday: Social Science work 9:30-11:30, Think of an idea for/research/write Icelandic Sagas paper. All day. Get 'er done. Info. Desk work 6-8. Finish Icelandic Sagas paper. Preferably before 3 a.m.
Thursday: You're not done with Icelandic Sagas? You've got to be kidding me, Hol...well...you have until 4:30. WRITE. After 4:30, take a few cleansing breaths, collapse limply on bed, then get up and start packing. 7:30 Mom arrives. Load car. Go home. Sleep until Saturday.
It's 10:14. 4 minutes past my alloted break time. Must go.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Regis, What is This?!
My ears are burning a little bit.
A group of girls on my floor have gathered to sing Disney songs at the top of their lungs in the hallway.
I am trying to memorize about 40 German flashcards.
Excuse the bitterness.
But really, girls?
I hate to be the party pooper, but this has got to stop.
It's a Thursday night!
People (besides me) are studying!
Be quiet!
Here's a funny picture to make up for my non-funny complainings:
A group of girls on my floor have gathered to sing Disney songs at the top of their lungs in the hallway.
I am trying to memorize about 40 German flashcards.
Excuse the bitterness.
But really, girls?
I hate to be the party pooper, but this has got to stop.
It's a Thursday night!
People (besides me) are studying!
Be quiet!
Here's a funny picture to make up for my non-funny complainings:
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
A Disparaging Day
I'm feeling a little beaten down by college right now.
Got my Honors essay back today with an A-, but also with comments labeling it as "smart, well observed, and unusually well-written," but also as "superficial, unconnected, and undeveloped."
Truthfully, I've been getting comments such as these on a lot of essays lately. My writing is great, my style is wonderful, but apparently there's not much behind it.
This is obviously extremely troubling for me-to have professors think that I can write pretty, but that I'm ultimately uninsightful and unable to make strong arguments.
I had a bit of a breakdown after Honors, needless to say.
Crying unabashedly, I walked through campus, down behind Spooner and Gay and the Science Building, until I finally realized that I had nowhere to go. In the end I would just have to turn around and head back to the library to make things right.
College can be a surprisingly lonely place sometimes; your friends can sympathize, but in the end they have their own studying to do. Your parents aren't there to tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that when you wake up in the morning your problems will have worked themselves out. In college, you have to work your own problems out before bed. You have to be independent, and you have to bounce back from things whether you want to or not. You always have to try harder next time. You have to write two papers and study for a test in one weekend, because you have no other choice. Because you did have a choice; you chose to pursue higher education. You're paying for your classes. You wanted to be here.
And so I'm trying very hard not to let the A- and disparaging comments get to me too much. I have miles to go before I sleep, and I don't intend to waste time dwelling, unless said dwelling will help me to write a better paper.
Goodnight, blog readers. May your struggles lead to triumphs, and may you find a secluded park bench on which to sit and think whenever you are in need of one.
Got my Honors essay back today with an A-, but also with comments labeling it as "smart, well observed, and unusually well-written," but also as "superficial, unconnected, and undeveloped."
Truthfully, I've been getting comments such as these on a lot of essays lately. My writing is great, my style is wonderful, but apparently there's not much behind it.
This is obviously extremely troubling for me-to have professors think that I can write pretty, but that I'm ultimately uninsightful and unable to make strong arguments.
I had a bit of a breakdown after Honors, needless to say.
Crying unabashedly, I walked through campus, down behind Spooner and Gay and the Science Building, until I finally realized that I had nowhere to go. In the end I would just have to turn around and head back to the library to make things right.
College can be a surprisingly lonely place sometimes; your friends can sympathize, but in the end they have their own studying to do. Your parents aren't there to tell you that everything is going to be okay, and that when you wake up in the morning your problems will have worked themselves out. In college, you have to work your own problems out before bed. You have to be independent, and you have to bounce back from things whether you want to or not. You always have to try harder next time. You have to write two papers and study for a test in one weekend, because you have no other choice. Because you did have a choice; you chose to pursue higher education. You're paying for your classes. You wanted to be here.
And so I'm trying very hard not to let the A- and disparaging comments get to me too much. I have miles to go before I sleep, and I don't intend to waste time dwelling, unless said dwelling will help me to write a better paper.
Goodnight, blog readers. May your struggles lead to triumphs, and may you find a secluded park bench on which to sit and think whenever you are in need of one.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Perceptions of Morris, an Email Story
Email No. 1:
Hey everybody!!!
I just want to write to everyone and say.....
I love you. I love morris. Here are my reasons for loving morris:
(btw taco i had you in mind when i wrote this)
i love that winter lasts 9 months out of the year here
i love the smell of manure in the morning.
i love how people never hold open the door when im right behind you
i love how the members of mpirg say they want to "help the earth" and "save
humanity" yet only one member shows up for the highway cleanup and not one
member participated in the food drive last semester
i love how you all think you are going to change the world
i love how you pretend to look at your phone as i walk by when you very
well know im walking toward you
i love how everyone here is so friendly towards me at face value only
i love the passive aggressive use of facebook
i love how you all think this school is better than harvard
i love the professors sunny attitudes and friendly dispositions :) while
they are telling me i am an idiot
i love how people insist on their love for morris then leave every weekend
for somewhere else
i love how no one boos anyone off stage at open mic even though our ears
are crying blood
i love that the city doesn't snow plow unless they feel like it even though
there is a foot of snow on the streets and even walking is difficult
i love that everyone judges
i love that all the science majors think each class is like some kind of
"competition" and refuse to help eachother out
i love that you make me feel like May 14th is so many years away
i love that i will never ever come back
PEACE
Email No. 2:
In response to an e-mail sent out to the listserv a bit ago, I would like to
share my personal feelings about Morris and the people here. There's enough
hate in this world, we don't need to feel miserable about ourselves.
Oh, Morris, how I love thee. Let me count the ways...
I love how tuition is so low that people like me actually get paid to study
here.
I love the small class sizes.
I love the theatre discipline, that's small enough to give me plenty of
opportunities to develop my skills without being constantly shot down my
competition.
I love the sense of pride this school has, so, even when we know we aren't
the best, we at least feel like we are.
I love how, out of all the places I've lived in my 20 years on this earth,
Morris is the only place that has ever made me feel at home.
I love when we always complain that it's too hot or too cold, but, in our
hearts, we wouldn't want it any other way.
I love that, even if we don't actually *do* all the things we say we want to
do to help the world, we at least have the brains and the balls to admit
that something's wrong and we need to do something about it.
I love when people you barely know can tell something's troubling you, and
will make sure you get a hug or an anonymous letter in your PO box.
I love how the campus is so small that you know a majority of the people you
cross paths with.
I love that you can go a day with three of your professors saying an offhand
remark that significantly boosts your self-esteem.
I love that when a friend says they love you, they really do love you.
I love how, even if it isn't expected that you'll make something of
yourself, you are still given the fuel to keep on dreaming.
I love how students are given the opportunity to be an active member of a
discipline that is not their own.
I love that you can be friends with your neighbor.
I love how Morris is big enough that you can always find something to do,
but small enough that you can live on one side of town and walk to campus on
the other.
I love how classmates and professors will constantly push you to step out of
your comfort zone and try something new.
I love that these new things you're pressured to try usually end up being
tons of fun.
I love how everyone I know here is now part of my extended "Morris family."
I love how, when something like a laptop gets stolen, the entire community
comes together to defend and protect the victim.
I love that you don't have to lock your bike up for fear of it being stolen.
I love how we're sophisticated, but not pretentious.
I love American Indian tuition waivers.
I love our one grocery store, even if its name is a double-entendre.
I love how I can come up with more good things about this town than bad.
I love that the LGBT community on this campus actually has strength.
I love that, as a gay person, I don't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed
while I'm here.
I love how I can still be great friends with my biggest competition.
I love you.
So turn those frowns upside-down, my fellow UMM-ers! I've only been here for
three semesters, but it has, and I'm being completely sincere when I say
this, the best year-and--half of my life. I'm sorry that some people have
had an awful experience during their stay here, but I just wanted to
reassure anyone questioning the quality of life in this gorgeous town that
there are people who love it here.
Thanks for reading.
Ian Bloomquist
Hey everybody!!!
I just want to write to everyone and say.....
I love you. I love morris. Here are my reasons for loving morris:
(btw taco i had you in mind when i wrote this)
i love that winter lasts 9 months out of the year here
i love the smell of manure in the morning.
i love how people never hold open the door when im right behind you
i love how the members of mpirg say they want to "help the earth" and "save
humanity" yet only one member shows up for the highway cleanup and not one
member participated in the food drive last semester
i love how you all think you are going to change the world
i love how you pretend to look at your phone as i walk by when you very
well know im walking toward you
i love how everyone here is so friendly towards me at face value only
i love the passive aggressive use of facebook
i love how you all think this school is better than harvard
i love the professors sunny attitudes and friendly dispositions :) while
they are telling me i am an idiot
i love how people insist on their love for morris then leave every weekend
for somewhere else
i love how no one boos anyone off stage at open mic even though our ears
are crying blood
i love that the city doesn't snow plow unless they feel like it even though
there is a foot of snow on the streets and even walking is difficult
i love that everyone judges
i love that all the science majors think each class is like some kind of
"competition" and refuse to help eachother out
i love that you make me feel like May 14th is so many years away
i love that i will never ever come back
PEACE
Email No. 2:
In response to an e-mail sent out to the listserv a bit ago, I would like to
share my personal feelings about Morris and the people here. There's enough
hate in this world, we don't need to feel miserable about ourselves.
Oh, Morris, how I love thee. Let me count the ways...
I love how tuition is so low that people like me actually get paid to study
here.
I love the small class sizes.
I love the theatre discipline, that's small enough to give me plenty of
opportunities to develop my skills without being constantly shot down my
competition.
I love the sense of pride this school has, so, even when we know we aren't
the best, we at least feel like we are.
I love how, out of all the places I've lived in my 20 years on this earth,
Morris is the only place that has ever made me feel at home.
I love when we always complain that it's too hot or too cold, but, in our
hearts, we wouldn't want it any other way.
I love that, even if we don't actually *do* all the things we say we want to
do to help the world, we at least have the brains and the balls to admit
that something's wrong and we need to do something about it.
I love when people you barely know can tell something's troubling you, and
will make sure you get a hug or an anonymous letter in your PO box.
I love how the campus is so small that you know a majority of the people you
cross paths with.
I love that you can go a day with three of your professors saying an offhand
remark that significantly boosts your self-esteem.
I love that when a friend says they love you, they really do love you.
I love how, even if it isn't expected that you'll make something of
yourself, you are still given the fuel to keep on dreaming.
I love how students are given the opportunity to be an active member of a
discipline that is not their own.
I love that you can be friends with your neighbor.
I love how Morris is big enough that you can always find something to do,
but small enough that you can live on one side of town and walk to campus on
the other.
I love how classmates and professors will constantly push you to step out of
your comfort zone and try something new.
I love that these new things you're pressured to try usually end up being
tons of fun.
I love how everyone I know here is now part of my extended "Morris family."
I love how, when something like a laptop gets stolen, the entire community
comes together to defend and protect the victim.
I love that you don't have to lock your bike up for fear of it being stolen.
I love how we're sophisticated, but not pretentious.
I love American Indian tuition waivers.
I love our one grocery store, even if its name is a double-entendre.
I love how I can come up with more good things about this town than bad.
I love that the LGBT community on this campus actually has strength.
I love that, as a gay person, I don't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed
while I'm here.
I love how I can still be great friends with my biggest competition.
I love you.
So turn those frowns upside-down, my fellow UMM-ers! I've only been here for
three semesters, but it has, and I'm being completely sincere when I say
this, the best year-and--half of my life. I'm sorry that some people have
had an awful experience during their stay here, but I just wanted to
reassure anyone questioning the quality of life in this gorgeous town that
there are people who love it here.
Thanks for reading.
Ian Bloomquist
Monday, October 4, 2010
Stress Levels High
Here's what I have to do:
1. Study for a German test on Friday
2. Begin researching/writing my 10+ page Understanding Writing research paper
3. Write a paper for Icelandic Sagas (4 pages, due next Friday)
4. Write a paper for Honors: Traditions in Human Thought (5 pages, due next Friday)
5. Figure out topics for the above 3 papers
6. Give blood tomorrow
7. Work tonight, tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday
8. Do laundry
9. Get my Mac fixed once and for all
10. Study for American Literature Midterm next Friday
11. Finish reading Atonement (pleasure)
12. Sign up for Intramural badminton
13. Sign up for Big Friend/Little Friend?
14. Become a superhero so that all the above tasks can be successfully completed.
1. Study for a German test on Friday
2. Begin researching/writing my 10+ page Understanding Writing research paper
3. Write a paper for Icelandic Sagas (4 pages, due next Friday)
4. Write a paper for Honors: Traditions in Human Thought (5 pages, due next Friday)
5. Figure out topics for the above 3 papers
6. Give blood tomorrow
7. Work tonight, tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday
8. Do laundry
9. Get my Mac fixed once and for all
10. Study for American Literature Midterm next Friday
11. Finish reading Atonement (pleasure)
12. Sign up for Intramural badminton
13. Sign up for Big Friend/Little Friend?
14. Become a superhero so that all the above tasks can be successfully completed.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Like a City Upon a Hill
I know, I know-I've done it again. A couple of long, dramatic posts in a row, and then I didn't get back to you with the resolution!
By now, though, it seems kind of silly to explain to you how amazing Orientation was, what a good time I had with my group, and how I look forward to bumping into them around campus and seeing what they get involved in and how their freshman year goes.
Nah.
That's old news by now.
The new news is that I had my first day of classes today.
All of them were amazing.
I'm especially excited about my Icelandic Sagas Honors class. There are only about 13 people in it, so it's going to be a great discussion class. It's also interdisciplinary, so it's taught from an English-y perspective by an English professor, and a science-y perspective by a science professor.
I'll admit that there was a point when I almost had a meltdown thinking about all the studying I'm going to have to do this semester. I'm taking 17 credits for goodness' sake! Plus three jobs! What was I thinking, you guys? Why didn't you stop me?
Oh, well. All of my classes are going to be interesting and thought-provoking, and all of my jobs are educational (as well as financially reassuring).
I think it's worth it to be super busy if I can do all the things I want to do.
I'm also cutting down on my activities this year; I'm mainly focusing on MCSA (student government) and intramurals.
Okay...I should get back to my American Lit. reading now. It's an essay/sermon by John Winthrop, and let me tell you that while I love the guy to pieces, his writings are an absolute pain to read. I wonder if his fellow Puritans struggled as well?
By now, though, it seems kind of silly to explain to you how amazing Orientation was, what a good time I had with my group, and how I look forward to bumping into them around campus and seeing what they get involved in and how their freshman year goes.
Nah.
That's old news by now.
The new news is that I had my first day of classes today.
All of them were amazing.
I'm especially excited about my Icelandic Sagas Honors class. There are only about 13 people in it, so it's going to be a great discussion class. It's also interdisciplinary, so it's taught from an English-y perspective by an English professor, and a science-y perspective by a science professor.
I'll admit that there was a point when I almost had a meltdown thinking about all the studying I'm going to have to do this semester. I'm taking 17 credits for goodness' sake! Plus three jobs! What was I thinking, you guys? Why didn't you stop me?
Oh, well. All of my classes are going to be interesting and thought-provoking, and all of my jobs are educational (as well as financially reassuring).
I think it's worth it to be super busy if I can do all the things I want to do.
I'm also cutting down on my activities this year; I'm mainly focusing on MCSA (student government) and intramurals.
Okay...I should get back to my American Lit. reading now. It's an essay/sermon by John Winthrop, and let me tell you that while I love the guy to pieces, his writings are an absolute pain to read. I wonder if his fellow Puritans struggled as well?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Mid August Slump
I think I'm in a slump. A horrible, stressful, don't-feel-like-writing-for-no-apparent-reason slump. And I need to get out fast.
Not only because my August firstlinefiction story is due in a little over two weeks, but because I don't especially like myself when I'm not writing. No, it's worse than that. I don't even feel like myself.
Finishing Going Bovine last night only contributed to my overall slumpiness. Not because it was a bad book, but because it was so completely wonderful that I felt my own talents shrivel in comparison.
I know I'm being stupid. I shouldn't be comparing myself to Libba Bray, or even to F. Scott Fitzgerald for that matter. I should be happy that I have something to bring to the table that is completely unique, and I should devote my energy to becoming a better writer, not to becoming a different writer.
Plus, in all fairness (even though this is kind of a skunky card to play), I am only 19. I'm young and I still have three more years of school left. I have time yet to morph and figure out how I'm going to approach this whole book-writing thing.
In the meantime...
While I wait for the tides to turn and the slump to slowly straighten out, I'll be sitting here on my bed. This Side of Paradise will be open in my hands, and I'll be thinking of things and not writing them down.
Not only because my August firstlinefiction story is due in a little over two weeks, but because I don't especially like myself when I'm not writing. No, it's worse than that. I don't even feel like myself.
Finishing Going Bovine last night only contributed to my overall slumpiness. Not because it was a bad book, but because it was so completely wonderful that I felt my own talents shrivel in comparison.
I know I'm being stupid. I shouldn't be comparing myself to Libba Bray, or even to F. Scott Fitzgerald for that matter. I should be happy that I have something to bring to the table that is completely unique, and I should devote my energy to becoming a better writer, not to becoming a different writer.
Plus, in all fairness (even though this is kind of a skunky card to play), I am only 19. I'm young and I still have three more years of school left. I have time yet to morph and figure out how I'm going to approach this whole book-writing thing.
In the meantime...
While I wait for the tides to turn and the slump to slowly straighten out, I'll be sitting here on my bed. This Side of Paradise will be open in my hands, and I'll be thinking of things and not writing them down.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Talking to F. Scott Fitzgerald (and praying he won't answer back)
I had a bad night last night. It was one of those nights where I suddenly began doubting my abilities as a writer. I was reading these F. Scott quotes online, and he was talking about writing and how it should be done and who should do it. It really upset me, actually, and I reread the story I was working on extremely critically and considered just giving up on it. I remember at one point I rolled my eyes towards the heavens (and F. Scott, I assumed) and said quietly, "What do you know? I know you were a great writer, and that as a result you obviously know quite a lot about your craft, but what right do you have to define my career, or even my state of mind concerning my career?" After that I rolled over and read my book until I fell asleep.
The lesson here? Well, there are a few.
1. Talking out loud at 1 a.m. to long dead authors is probably the first sign of madness.
2. No one (dead or alive) should be able to make you feel a certain way about yourself and your abilities. It's perfectly natural to have influences, but in the end it should just be you and your talent standing alone and confidant.
There's my nightly revelation. Let's move on to some morning talk. Early, early morning talk, that is.
Tomorrow Tim and I are driving down to Morris to help incoming freshman register for classes. We're doing it as part of our OGL (orientation group leader) duties.
I'm excited for this. Not only will it be nice to see Tim again, but it will be extremely nice to be back in Morris. I miss it there. I really, really do.
What aren't I excited for? Waking up at 3:40 a.m. in order to be at the school where we're meeting at 5:20 a.m. in order to be in Morris at 9:00 a.m. But it'll all be worth it, I think.
Do you know why you shouldn't assume?
Because it makes an ass out of you and me (look at the word).
Excuse the profanity (my first in this blog, perhaps?), but I recently figured out this saying, and I wanted to clarify for anyone else who's missed the boat on it. Clever, isn't it?
The lesson here? Well, there are a few.
1. Talking out loud at 1 a.m. to long dead authors is probably the first sign of madness.
2. No one (dead or alive) should be able to make you feel a certain way about yourself and your abilities. It's perfectly natural to have influences, but in the end it should just be you and your talent standing alone and confidant.
There's my nightly revelation. Let's move on to some morning talk. Early, early morning talk, that is.
Tomorrow Tim and I are driving down to Morris to help incoming freshman register for classes. We're doing it as part of our OGL (orientation group leader) duties.
I'm excited for this. Not only will it be nice to see Tim again, but it will be extremely nice to be back in Morris. I miss it there. I really, really do.
What aren't I excited for? Waking up at 3:40 a.m. in order to be at the school where we're meeting at 5:20 a.m. in order to be in Morris at 9:00 a.m. But it'll all be worth it, I think.
Do you know why you shouldn't assume?
Because it makes an ass out of you and me (look at the word).
Excuse the profanity (my first in this blog, perhaps?), but I recently figured out this saying, and I wanted to clarify for anyone else who's missed the boat on it. Clever, isn't it?
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