Sunday, April 13, 2014

Struggles with Creative Writing

Music I listened to while writing this
I’m taking creative writing for the third time at the University of Guam.  My previous experiences of this class really summoned my desire to be an author.  The desire has always been there since I was nine; however, it has been dimming over the years after constant battles with stress and reality.  But my first two creative writing instructors helped show me to not feel ashamed of my desire—they helped me wake up to my dream. 

It was pleasant to write about things that I actually like rather than killing myself with technical essays on dry, irrelevant topics.  Though my poetry is simple and immature, it was nice to take a break from the serious stuff.  That’s what creative writing is mainly about—escaping analyses and critical essays to write what you like.  Don’t get me wrong—it can be nice to analyze things that interest you, such as T.V. shows or movies.  What I mean to say is, I find it enjoyable to invent a plot and characters—even with a small poem, I get a strong pleasure by constructing meter and form so it can flow perfectly for my ears.  My ears.   I write for me. 

My current situation is sort of different. 

The genre this semester is short fiction.  After a six months estrangement of creative writing (essays got in the way of my poetry and my free time wanted nothing to do with writing, because I had enough writing at school) I enthusiastically signed up for the class this semester.  I tried to prepare over the break by outlining some plot ideas and characters —nothing too serious, just things to get me back into it.  I knew that most of my stuff wouldn’t be used in the class but I needed to get into creation mode.

On the first day I knew I was entering trouble when my teacher mentioned analyzing human struggles and whatnot.  This class was supposed to be my escape from reality and she immediately shoved the world right back into my face.  I know reality is unavoidable, but it’d be great to just forget about our own problems and make believe—because that’s what fiction is about, make believe.  I wasn’t planning on writing schmaltzy pieces about unrealistic beauty and profound love.  I intended to write funny pieces about things that interest me.  But my teacher wanted us to speak for the oppressed and give them a voice.  This challenge is important in literature—in all works really; however, I have no interest in this.  I get enough depressing stories in my other classes and this was supposed to be the class about me—me writing about things that I haven’t gotten the chance to write about in other classes.  Having no interest in what I’m writing makes my writing boring and that’s not creative writing. 

This creative writing’s genre is supposed to be fiction.  Yet my teacher has defined fiction as whatever is written on paper, because once an experience is on paper it is no longer the same experience—or something to that extent.   I wasn’t really paying attention; all I was hearing was red.  Her definition is pretty radical and disagreeable.  She admitted it herself.  And she still wants us to conform to her definition and this irritates me. 

But I will survive. 

She is a challenge that I know I’ll conquer.  I’ll make it through. 

This experience will make me a better writer because she is helping me do things that I would never do on my own.  And that’s what learning is about—the experience.

Although I thought I wrote for me, who I really write for is my audience.  My audience is my teacher and I’ll make her happy.

Girly Girl or Tom Boy Quiz

I know this quiz was pretty childish, but it was interesting.  My results prove that there is no such thing as a pure girly girl or tom boy.  A girl can look sweet in a pink prom dress while she's driving a motorcycle to a Star Wars convention.  Far fetched example, I know. Girls can't truly be categorized into two things.