A logical question to pose someone with multiple published novels at the age of 21 is why she would wish to take an Intro to Creative Writing class at all. My knee-jerk answers have been that this is a prerequisite for other Creative Writing courses that I want to take, I need the credits, I believe I still need plenty of assistance before I reach a level I want to be (regardless of where I am compared to my classmates), and that it's more fun than anything else I can see around here that will help get me to graduation. These are all true, but upon reflection there are some deeper things going on here. First, I am retaking this class to spite the universe for giving me a health-related catastrophe that forced me to withdraw last time. Second, I am struggling to get through the driest writing period I have had in six years, where I am writing more than most people do, yet all the while internally panicking about whether the well is running shallow.
It hasn't been writer's block, fortunately, because the last time I seriously had that it was the worst three months of my life. I've been able to eke out the little bits and one decent short story you will see in this compilation, though it's been like going from dancing to shambling in terms of ease. I'm also working on a one-act play for a different class. I even produced a few well-received pieces of one of my old guilty pleasures, fanfiction. So someone who doesn't know me well could look at my output and think that I am being productive.
I don't feel like I am, though, not compared to the real me. I was used to writing at least ten pages a week of unassigned original work for the sheer joy of it, constantly eager to get to the next book over the horizon, playing out scenes in my head every waking moment not occupied by immediate concerns. I don't know what happened. And when I try to talk about this, people usually say I've written plenty already, that it's okay to be low on inspiration for a while when I have done so much. Guess what? I've eaten three meals a day almost every day of my life, but eating nothing one sandwich every two days would leave me hungry and weak no matter how well-fed I was to start with.
Taking this course has been part of my attempt to fix this issue. If I was required to write, I thought, maybe I could tap into the source again by sheer brute force. Perhaps the prompts would awaken something. At least in the meantime I could refine my phrasing and improve my cliche elimination rate, get better at receiving criticism, possibly be helpful to others, and work on all the other little things while the big things elude me for a while.
I succeeded at the last, anyway. The short story is pretty good, especially after the editing help, and I think is worthy of sending out to be published. The journals were at least therapeutic. The exercises have their moments of charm, the occasional clever sentence. I am still feeling pretty empty and alone in my head. It reminds me of the end of The Amber Spyglass when the heroine can no longer magically use a certain oracular device, but instead has to learn how to read it slowly and painfully. I realize that this may sound ludicrous to many. I have a candle flame to light my darkness, still. I feel petty for it, but I long to have a forest fire again.
I totally and completely know how you are feeling. I have not really been able to do any creative writing since school started the last week of August. My world is completely unbalanced and the only cure would be to write, but I just can't find the time in my psychotic schedule. I simply cannot wait to graduate in eight and a half weeks just so I can get some writing time in.
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