When to Fall Asleep on the Bus, and Other Observations

Looking back through a month's worth of entries, I'm pleasantly surprised to find information that could end up in a story. The girl with blue hair I see while getting on the bus every morning has recently dyed the blue part purple. On Welcome Back Day, my lunch table quite literally broke in half. The sound of a mongoose, I've discovered, is the cross between a mechanical bird chirp and a sprinkler. 

My journal is a place for little revelations, where I try to make sense of everything that's going on in this chaotic senior life. My favorite discovery: ఒళ్ళు మండిపోయింది (ollu mandipoindi -- Telugu for "extremely angry") literally means "limbs burning," which is an accurate expression for how one feels when they're angry. I've found that the best sleep on the bus comes in the two minutes between the Elementary School and the Middle School. Although I haven't quite discovered yet whether my dog merely likes the fish in my room or is waiting for a chance to eat it.

However, if there's one thing I'd change about the way I currently journal, it's the Drawing. I'm not sure how significant it is, and I'm confused about what I should draw - should it be a depiction of one my observations? Apart from that, I wish that instead of 7 things we did today, 5 things we saw, and 1 thing we heard, we only have to write down the important, interesting things. Currently, when I'm writing in my journal, I worry I have nothing interesting to say. Every entry begins with a variation of "finished homework for ________," or "studied for test in ______ next class."

That being said, journaling has become a habit, and I've become more attuned to the world around me. Whenever I hear something interesting, I think, that should go in my journal, and I write it down immediately. (I like the Heard section the best, since they are snippets of conversation I can use in my own writing to make it more realistic).

As an introvert, I'm already rather quiet. As a writer, doubly so. But because of the journal, I'm observing more, too. 

Hope and a Sense of Direction

The nights before Workshop are my favorite. I take time away from the complexity of calculus and the practicality of physics to just read. Even writing pockmarked by punctuation errors and riddled with plot holes helps me breathe slower, more deeply. I'm no longer rushing; the heaviness of my head is relieved.

The day my poem was to be workshopped, I was terrified. I knew it was cliche and inconsistent. The only thing I had going for me was the title, and I couldn't even pronounce that correctly. (I mean, seriously, tell me how long it takes you to say the word mauerbauertraurigkeit).

I've always enjoyed writing, but insecurities began in English 10, where I learned to analyze literature. I was feeling both disgusted by and sorry for Jay Gatsby when I realized that my writing was not as focused - in my own writing, I wasn't thinking about purpose. I admired, but simply could not understand how every word in a John Steinbeck or Harper Lee novel played a role. I began to worry that I would never be that good (I sure wanted to be).

As Prof Hemley writes in his book, writing isn't something that just happens. It, like any other skill, takes practice. AT Writing is step one for me. Workshop both exposes gaps in the purpose of my writing and helps me feel better about my own writing. 

Before Workshop, I wasn't very sure about how well the rest of the class and I would get along. Writing so often seems a solitary exercise, yet we all need people to tell us where to improve. I found workshopping a piece with (mostly) total strangers to be invaluable. I was worried about my classmates forming an instant opinion of me based on my work, but it turned out that their ability to spin my poem's faults into hilarity took away that nervousness entirely. Strangers are more of the demographic I am trying to reach as a writer - if my classmates don't understand what I'm doing, it's very likely my readers won't, either. That being said, it helps to have a good relationship with the people who critique my work. That way, I don't feel harsh or accusatory as a reader, and I know that the other readers aren't trying to be.

There were important lessons hidden among the innuendo and laughter: a metaphor that is no longer a metaphor has become a cliche. make your reader care about your characters. workshop the piece, not the craft. Workshop helped me gain more confidence, Now, I will make sure to know the purpose of my writing. For the first time since that devastating epiphany in English 10, I have hope, and a sense of direction.