Sometimes I sit in class and find myself asking: "What the hell are they saying?"
These thoughts have become an epidemic. I'm not sure if it's just burnout of the "academic jargon" used when they talk about writing or true ignorance on my part. I say "they" because I can't speak this way. I don't speak this way. I enjoy the stories and essays I read and then we have to talk about them and I find myself going through mini breakups.
What are we doing here--that's what I really want to know. I'm learning, just not in the traditional sense. I suppose it's seeping in somehow (I hope); it's got to be. My conscious self shuts down. Hopefully someone else inside my head is paying attention.
I'm in the process of writing a short story (due tomorrow), and I'm beating my head against the desk. I just spent the past two hours restructuring it because in class we talked about beginning in the middle of things and not starting from the beginning. I panicked. Does starting at the beginning of a story = boring? Is what I had initially okay? It's difficult to talk about writing when you're in the processes of a project. I want to change every little detail. Is my beginning strong enough? My ending? Are there enough metaphors? It's tiring. Writing is hard this way--I miss when it was easy.
I've yet to start on my thesis, but I wrote the following today. Maybe it will spark some primal need to create:
When I first saw him, Saturn was standing profile, his silhouette dipping and swelling like rolling black hills. I imagined running a little red Hot Wheel convertible down the middle of his face. Down a curving forehead, swept up a bubble nose, a quick dip and then over the bumps of his lips. A straight passage down his torso then up the mountain of his belly, swollen with organs that just won't work properly. He held the curve of a pink hula hoop at the small of his back--he was mid-twist, having spotted me in the back of the car, refusing to move.
Why are starts the hardest? I need to get into a better mood.