"About Night" by Dennis Schmitz

I really like this poem. I think it's about mankind invading on nature, and how that effects us (not just the environment) in a negative way. Looking back on the poem, I notice that the first line is indented--which makes me wonder why. I mean, the first line already has emphasis--it's the first line! So, why? What's the point here, Mr Schmitz. Actually, now that I continue to look at this, it is kind of annoying me. It just seems unnecessary. Anyway--I liked the poem, I have to keep that in mind. One thing that I really enjoyed was the fact that it seems like this poem goes completely against the model we were talking about in class. Rather than starting out concrete and working its way toward abstraction, this poem begins with a metaphor, which is reiterated in the concluding line. For this reason, the poem seems circular rather than like a stream of words. I like this because it really makes sense. It is whole--one unit, one cohesive thought. We, like owls in the night, know our paths without even having to look, but this can be frusterating. We get bored--restless. So, we need something else. That something else can be nature. But how can we appreciate nature when we see it diluted all around us--"the short-pants hikers queue / for the last Point Reyes bus, / chatting Gortex & freeze-dried stews"? We smell it, corrupted: "the thrift-store smell of old eucalyptus." It's so sad. I knew this before, but this poem really seems to bring this issue into a new light. I'm sure that's what Schmitz was going for. I wonder if this is the kind of thing that some people would say isn't a poem becuase it almost has a political feel to it.

"The Man Inside the Chipmunk Suit" by Thomas Lux (327)

The very first thing I noticed about this poem, other than the intriguing title, is the fact that the title must be read as the first line of the poem. This is a really effective technique to pull the reader in and make us keep reading. The easy style of the poem continutes to keep our attention by describing a scene that we have all seen: a person in a cartoon suit. But then, Lux makes a point that I hadn't thought about before: this person probably wasn't wishing all of their life to be the 4'11", 3-D incarnate of Chester Chipmunk. I love the lines:

There are no small parts,
only small actors,
his high school drama teach said
and then said That didn't come out
the way I meant.

Awww! I wasn't expecting this poem to be sad! I guess I was fooled into thinking it would be funny because of the title--which it is, just a little, but not on the thematic stuff. Why was this poem written? Is this just the result of a poet's trip to Disney World? A writer must constantly be on the lookout for new angles. I wonder if the fact that the narrator leaves out the chipmunk actor's name is a clue to us that this is all simply imagined. Does he actually know this guy, or are these simply creative surmises?

"The Letter" by Linda Gress (313)

The title of this poem makes it clear that its content is like that of a letter. The words are short, unimaginitive, and the verse is really conversational--just as the title implies. After reading this poem, the reader (or at least I was) struck with the fact that the speaker has gone through some sort of traumatic event or time in her life and is now recooperating. She takes life one day at a time. "I am not feeling strong yet, but I am taking / good care of myself," the poem starts off making this fact explicit. What strikes me is that this isn't, in fact, a letter--it is a poem. Which at first made me think about the fact that this poem was writting with a specific audience in mind--a person who knows and cares for the narrator, but who is somewhere far away--but then I was thinking that it might be deeper than that. The writer says, "Perhaps poetry replaces something / in me that others receive more naturally." Maybe this isn't a letter to some long lost relation, but rather a letter to herself in which she reflects on her life as it is now. I wan't expecting to find anything very deep in this poem, but I think I like that interpretation. I think that the language and style of the poem reflect the content of the poem very well. After reading it, I really want to know what the narrator has been through. I want to know what she means by "dreaming of Lorca." I also want to know if this "half a beer" which is the final image of her poem, is more signifcant than it seems. Why half? Why is this beer important?

"Interval with Erato" by Scott Cairns

Oh, boy! This poem has it all: sex (even if it gets a bit explicit at times), humor, Greek myhtology, and an interesting take on poets "employing the second person address." Jeez! Anyway, I liked it. I only found out after my first reading of the poem (which was a little bit weird) that Erato is the "Muse of lyric poetry, especially love and erotic poetry," according to Wikipedia (which I realize isn't the most wonderful source, but I'll trust it to give me a general understanding of the Muses). Apparently, she was the one who charmed everyone with the sight of her and her name is a derivitive from Eros (which I could have told you), meaning Lovely. Okay, so I'm glad I looked that up because the poem makes a lot more sense now. Yeah. So, other than the fact that this poem was extremely engaging with its vivid sexual imagery, it had some other really great things going for it. For one thing, this Scott Cairns guy really knows how to place a line break. He totally uses the idea of line breaks creating emphasis to the fullest advantage. Actually, it's not just line breaks--it's stanzas, too. This whole poem is so creative. It seems so complete. I mean, it's everything, I guess. He's discussing poetry in a lyrical poem with the muse of lyrical and erotic poetry while fooling around. It's awesome! I wish I had thought of it. It's funny, because this makes me wonder how common this type of subject material (more the Muses than sex) is today. I mean, poetry has been around forever. When people started talking to each other they started to create poetry. So, a big part of that tradition has been the Greek epic poets. I think it's awesome that Cairns wrote a (very!)modern poem that actually features one of the great literary traditions (although updated): the summoning of a Muse. Everyone does it--or at least, everyone did it. Maybe it could make a comeback. I don't even think it matters that no one (that I am aware of) still believes in the inhabitants of Olympus. The whole idea of a muse on your side is absolutely enchanting. We need to bring it back. Oh yeah, I'm going Homer-style.

What the hell am I talking about? It could be that it is 4:15 am. Oh! Happy Birthday, Sonya, whenever you read this! I saw it was your birthday on Facebook. See, it's good for some things! Like letting a sleep deprived Erin wish you a happy birthday in the middle of talking about a poem in which the poet has sex with a Muse....

Okkkkkaaaayyyyyyy... That was weird. I need to actually do this assignment. Am I done? Ummmm....liked the poem. made me think about the history of poetry, so thats good. gave the whole greek mythology thing a modern spin. nice. awesome line breaks. cool how there's dialoge, but it's in italics rather than quotes--it's just pretty that way. my questions:
can we bring this back?
did he mean to make me think about bringing this back?
did he have performance anxiety?
thats not a real question.
how will i ever get the guts to actually write about something like this?

"Rooster" by Jim Harrison (314)

What first attracted me to this poem as I flipped through my anthology was the "beefy" text--in other words, the lines of "Rooster" are long and seem, to me, more like prose than lines of verse. Then I glanced at the first line which reads: "I have to kill the rooster tomorrow. He's being an asshole," so, of course, I had to continue reading the poem. So, I guess we have here a very effective, grabbing introduction. This is absolutely vital, because otherwise I'm not very inclined to read something--and I think most people feel the same way. After this first catching line, Harrison goes on to narrate a sort of dramatic monologue about why the rooster must die because he is harassing the chickens, and after all, he's really pretty much useless. He goes on for many lines (which are written in very prose-ish verse) reflecting on the many possible ways to get rid of this "asshole" rooster--from making rooster soup to:

Should I wait for a full wintery moon, take him to the top of the
hill after dropping three hits of mescaline and strangle him?
Should I set him free for a fox meal? They're coming back now
after the mange nearly wiped them out.

I think this is very effective because it is funny. One of my favorite aspects to this poem is the fact that the prose is (or, rather, the lines of verse are) very conversational. I noticed that this piece has a dedication: "to Pat Ryan," which makes me wonder about the relationship between the poet and this person. I also wonder how effective it is to dedicate a poem--like if reading that this poem is intended for a specific person will turn some readers off, or make them think that they won't be able to understand the poem's significance since we don't actually know either one of these two people.

After reading this poem twice, I'm still not actually positive as to what the poem really means, but I'm thinking that the ending should give me some information, so I will look there again. The narrator says, "I will tell him he / doesn't matter and he will wag his head, strut, perhaps crow." Does this mean that the rooster will act in a way to signify that the narrator himself doesn't matter? I guess that makes sense--that the whole point of the poem, in explaining that the rooster doesn't really matter, the narrator is actually using it as some sort of wacky metaphor for his own insignificance in the world. What do you think?

Yikes!

Yikes! Those five poem posts are due tomorrow? I was for some reason thinking that they were all (all 20) just due at the end of the semester...which is why I have 1 creative nonfiction post, and NOTHING else. Oh well. I'm on it.

Shitty First Drafts, Perfectionism, & Polaroids

(BbB 21-43)

I really do understand the beauty of shitty first drafts--really I do--but apparently my problem lies more within the idea of perfectionism than anything else. I really thought this was just me. I'm pretty much a perfectionist when it comes to anything--and then when I fail, which I inevitably do (constantly) it is physically painful--like: school, relationships, cooking dinner...So, because of this, I thought that it was really more of a "me" problem than a "writer" problem. As Lamott says, "Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up" (28). Uh, yeah. I totally get that. But then she says, "Clutter is wonderfull fertile ground--you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip" (28-29). She's got a really nice point here. I guess I had just been reading this book, up until now, just kinda nodding my head. It all makes sense. But then I try to write something, like for a class, and I do this whole crazy person perfectionist thing. Actually, that's why I missed class last Thursday. I had been freaking out since Wednesday about school in general, about being behind, about feeling like I just can't get ahead, and about feeling like I just wanted to give up this whole thing because that's easier than having to be the most wonderful person on the planet. I've got this problem where I can't just get a good grade--no, that's not enough. An "A" is only something to be proud of if I am the highest grade in the class, if I am the teacher's favorite. Ummm...why am I talking about this? Oh, yes, "perfectionism." I guess I am saying that I have a problem. I was mediocre all throughout gradeschool, so I guess I just am trying to make up for it now. What I am saying is that it is difficult for me to get past this whole I-have-to-be-the-best thing, but I guess I am going to have to. Lamott says, "Perfectionism, on the other hand, will only drive you mad" (31). Yeah, I'm going to have to work on that.

"Dream Broker" by Charles Simic

Right away Simic grabs us and pulls us in. "You may find yourself," he says, "with my help / Taking small apprehensive steps / In a cabal of side streets," and immediately we lean in (341). Where are you taking me? we ask, hesitant, yet willing to continue. This is a really great way to begin a poem--buy addressing the reader directly. And then he keeps us involved through the entire poem through the use of the second person, the "you." This is a difficult thing to do when it comes to any writing, and many people using it, afraid they will sound bossy. But, obviously we can see from Simic's poem, it can be very effective. This is not the only technique that Simic uses to keep us involved, however. The concrete details and vivid imagery paint bold pictures in our minds, making it absolutely impossible to ignore Simic's words. And then, at the end of the poem, after we have spent all of this time with him--taking our small, apprehensive steps after his shadow, he plunges in his dagger--calles us "chump"--and twists: "It got dark... / But nobody else came along." Clearly Simic is a very talented writer, because by this time, he has effectively hooked us, reeled us in, and smacked us against the boat where we wriggle under his gaze, ghasping for air. Nice.

"AIDS" by Bob Hicok

Wow, this is a really powerful poem. Here is a wonderful example of how a poem can tell you everything in the title. But I guess it wasn't everything. We know the poem is about AIDS, but we don't know that the author, or I guess I should say, the narrator, isn't close with his parents. We don't know from the title that he has been loved, has held the hand of someone "whose weaknesses" he'd "never betrayed" (316). But, without the title, we could only guess. Some of my favorite lines in this poem have to do with the stars--beautiful imagery that is juxtaposed with the unhappy, unsuportave family of a dying man. Lines such as "We looked at the stars come out / in bunches, in leaps and swirls, / and I could say nothing" (316). How is the world so beautiful but so cold at the same time?

"Take this Journey with Me" by Jaime McNair

Even if Jaime says she was confused, thinking her poem had to be at least 750 words, I think she has an interesting piece here. I mean, this is certainly an interesting take on the idea of prose poetry—a mixture of the two. I think this could be cool to really run with that. It’s interesting that the prose lines serve as a sort of introduction to her lines of verse. I think that fine-tuning these lines, so that they are still prose rather than verse, but still just as tight and meticulously worded would have a huge effect on the poem as a whole. It would be a whole new version of experimental poetry to have tight poetic prose as an introduction to some very abstract lines of verse. It would be like setting it up for some abstract painting that is vivid, but without the explanation would leave viewers (or, in this case, readers) saying, “What?” I don’t even think Jaime would have to change her title, because to say, “Take this Journey with Me” tells readers to trust her voice—to just let go and experience life from the narrator’s point of view for a minute.

As the poem is, Jaime has some very solid images that she is working with here. For example, we get a very real picture of childhood fancy with the lines:

The pond bore no fish
Yet we made the fishing poles anyway
The bamboo for the pole
We searched for worms all day
Paperclips for hooks

There are no fish, yet children have fun “fishing” anyway. I remember this feeling. I remember having little projects during the summer time that were absolutely ridiculous. Digging a moat through our “fort” under the porch for “running water” (which ended up becoming a mosquito breeding ground…), chopping down trees, building things, finding things…all of this I remember. The bamboo poles are real. They taste like summer while I read about them. I love this passage.

Actually, each stanza is so much individualized that Jaime could really do a ton with each specific scene. I really want to know more about the second stanza—it feels like a piece by itself already. I mean, what is going on? Why does a child have to endure military-like punishments from her “new dad”? I want these questions answered, and this makes me wonder if the poem is covering too much material all at once. This could really be a series of poems. Oh—that could be really cool! A series of autobiographical experimental prose poems! Cool!

“Grateful” by Latisa R. Robinson

Reading Latisa’s poem, “Grateful,” I am struck with the fact that the form and the context of the poem are very appropriate for each other. I can really picture this poem printed out on yellowy textured paper in a frame. Both the shape and the context of “Grateful” seem very much like a prayer. This point is driven home, starting with the last stanza on the first page (stanza 8) with the emboldened text and the fact that the author directly addresses her higher power. I think it is effective to turn from talking about “Jesus” to actually calling out, “Jesus[,] I know you are able.” I think the rhyme scheme (with the second and fourth line of every stanza rhyming) is appropriate for the subject matter and the overall feel of the poem; however, sometimes I feel like it is a little bit forced. I also think that regularizing the meter, which I realize would most likely be very difficult, would help to tighten up the poem. I like that the author makes it clear that there is a change in direction in the last three stanzas of the poem by using bold text. I am wondering if there is another way to make this clear, though. Maybe a bigger gap? Or perhaps some sort of dividing marker—like sectioning the poem into two sections, marked with something like roman numerals, or just like an asterisk.

"Cold Saturday Thinking" by Meg Yeary

I think it’s interesting to talk about the beauty and originality of language in the form of a poem. I also really enjoy the title, “Cold Saturday Thinking,” because it puts the reader into the frame of mind to be open to what we hear. I know what cold Saturday thinking is for me, I understand what it’s like to just sit and be pensive; therefore I am interested to hear about what it means for someone else. Because the poem is very clear and explicit in meaning, I think it might be interesting to play with the shape of the poem on the page. One thing I noticed was the line in the third stanza which says simply, only, “a piece of art.” Because of this line, I think the writer has permission (from herself) to be visually creative with this piece. I’m thinking something very e. e. cummings.

“Three the Hard Way”

I really enjoyed reading “Three the Hard Way.” I think this is a really good poem. It is clear what the poem is about, but I think the language of the poem is not explicit. The author did a great job with hinting and suggesting what is going on without actually coming out and saying “this poem is about sex—specifically about a threesome.” We get it. One thing I really enjoy about this poem is the repetition of the two lines: “He breathes / She giggles.” This occurs at four different times throughout the poem and it serves to emphasize a regular pulse. The language and rhythm of the poem also reinforces the feel of a sexual act. The poem reaches intensity towards the bottom of the poem with the lines:

Twisted and tangled
His arm, my head
Her hand his leg

After this point, the rhythm slows again: “Thoughts fly by / Bouncing around,” thus mimicking a sexual encounter. I think this is a very effective technique because the actual feel of the poem really makes us connect with the content. My complaints and suggestions are few and far between. My first suggestion is to remove the first line, “You ready?” and just begin with the first set of “He breathes / She giggles.” My second suggestion is to regularize the punctuation in the poem. Although I like the form of the poem, I think tightening it up with punctuation would help to unify it. Overall, I really enjoy “Three the Hard Way,” and it feels pretty complete as it is.

My Poem

I don't know that I need to post this, but this is my poem...so far.

Me, Reflected
Erin E. Curley

Squashed in the glass door as it bangs closed
A blink of a look.
Is that—?
The faded jeans same shoes oversized sweatshirt shell
Hiding in this one-woman cave of cold sky gray fabric
Pink puffy skin around bloodshot eyes.
Roses—no, just the murky pond of
colorless flesh thin pale lips and the tangles
that stick out like briars.
Shuffle grab yank the glass behind
But she remains.

This is a description of a reflection of myself in a glass door as someone lets it slam closed in front of me. I was trying to capture the idea of just getting a glimpse of your own reflection when you're not expecting to see it--and you are annoyed and appalled by what you see. You're out without looking your best and you're wanting to ignore what you look like, which is totally possible when you don't have to accidentally see your reflection in a glass door. I don't usually have such a terrible self-image. This is really more of a moment in time. At least, that's what I was trying for.

Three Questions

Sonya, exactly how vital are these "three questions" that each of these works "raise for you"? I am having a difficult time coming up with questions and I have a lot more fun just reflecting on the works and my own reaction to them. Is that okay? Or are these three questions vital to my grade?

Dave Barry, "Borrrinnng" (18)

In this really short, creative nonfiction piece, Dave Barry explores the idea of what is boring--from people, to painful conversations, to lame hobbies. This "essay" is hilarious! Of course, I already knew I loved Dave Barry (you have to read his novel, Big Trouble) before reading this particular piece. I think that the first real attention-getter in this essay is the overheard airport conversation at the start of the piece. It's really effective--it pulls us in and makes us pay attention. Barry uses humor constantly throughout the piece to connect with the reader--which is great. He even addresses the reader directly, using the second person: "no offense, even YOU could be boring" (18). He uses humor and irony with the line, "(This is also true of religion, although you will not find me saying so in print.)"--clearly, he did just "say so in print" (19). Barry also has a very effective ending, driving his whole point home with cleverness and wit: "I have a few more points to make, but I'm sick of this topic" (19). Here, we've got some more good ol' fashioned irony. He's grown "bored" with talking about boring things. Nice.

I think it's funny that I wrote such a mind-numbingly dull post about such a funny essay. It was not intentional. I was just being boring.

"Halo"

I don't really know what to make out of this piece. I keep trying to find some deeper meaning but coming up short. My English major training has taught me that things are not (usually) what they seem. (I'm also not supposed to use the word "things" because it's not clear or very specific and makes me sound uneducated, but whatever...) I like it, but I'm just not sure what to do with it. One thing that I find interesting, that I only just noticed is the fact that it was written by a man--Michael McFee. I just kind of assumed that it was written by a woman because he captures the voice of Mary. This information adds an interesting dynamic to my understanding of the piece. For example, written by a man, in a woman's voice, the prose poem(?) depicts a man's jealousy. Strange. The ending of this piece really reminds me of the ending of a short story I once read, "Flowering Judas" by Katherine Anne Porter. It's this story about a woman, fighting for some cause (that I can't remember), and then at the end she has this vivid dream about a flowering Judas plant and eating these juicy plumb things...I guess it's just the whole woman narrator, tree, fig/Judas fruit, "burst"(ing) imagery, and Christ all together to form some sort of strange dream scene. Actually, now that I am really reflecting on it, it's wildly similar. Hmm. Interesting.

BbB 16-20

Okay, this is a very boring way for me to title my blogs; however, any other way of naming them has proven to be difficult for me to keep track of...yet another instance where creativity unfairly falls on the side and practicality reigns. Anyway.

I am apparently having a difficult time keeping up with my blogging, so now is the time for catch-up. I have, of course, already done my reading, so now I just have to look back over my highlighted sections. Here we go:

I think this whole "Short Assignments" chapter makes a lot of sense. I am more than just a little bit intimidated with the idea of calling myself a writer--or scarier yet, with actually starting projects. The results of these phobias are 1) lack of confidence and 2) lack of material. I really like Lamott's idea: "all I have to do is write down as much as I can see through a one-inch picture frame" (17). Writing isn't supposed to be scary, right? It's supposed to be rewarding. And fun. I have to remember that when all I can think about is a blinking cursor and a due-date. One tiny picture frame. Is that what the real writers do? One step at a time. One word. One sentence. One thought. Lamott quotes some person, E. L. Doctorow (whom I should probably actually look up insteard of just writing "some person," but that's okay...) who says, "Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make it the whole trip that way" (18). I have read about other writers pretty much saying the same thing: that you're pretty much along for the ride; that you have to let your characters do what they want to do; that it's really hard to just sit down and plan the whole thing. I hope that's true. I really like that idea. It's so hard to feel confident, though, when all you've ever written was a few short "creative nonfiction" essays. A novel is the goal. Some award-winning jewel of a novel that will have both critics and the general populous screaming my praise. But I guess I have to aim smaller. For now I just have to try for those little things.

My first glimpse at our anthology

I read both the intro to poetry and the intro to "experimental writing," and I have to say that reading all of that cheezy crap about poetry brought me immediately back to my "Intro to Literary Studies" class last spring. The experimental writing piece, and its following explaination, I found to be incredibly interesting. I think this probably stems from the fact that I do a lot of poem analysis because I am a literature major (writing minor), and I guess I just don't like thinking of poems as a child looking to his or her parent for attention. It seemed kind of pathetic. On the other hand entirely, I found a really interesting example and explanation of a prose poem, with which I have had very little experience (if any at all). I think that the experimental writing section of this anthology is going to be really cool to read. Good stuff. ( S0nya, Sorry I was bitchy about the poetry section...I'm sure it'll be fine...). Haha.

Books

Love this quote:

"Because for some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paprer unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you."

Anne Lammot. Bird by Bird p. 15.

Persistance

(Bird by Bird 3-15)

If there is one thing I have noticed about Anne Lamott, it is that she is abundantly clear about the fact that writng does not come easily. That it takes persistance, dedication, and the ability to listen to yourself. I like this. Hearing this again and again makes me feel more able to do this. It makes me feel like I am not totally diluding myself when I think about being a writer. It makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I am not a complete loser, and that the whole idea of being a writer actually comes true when we just sit down and make it happen.

Broccoli

Finally, at 9:00 on the evening of the last day of our three-day weekend, I have read the assignment from last Thursday-- the chapter entitled "Broccoli" in Bird by Bird.

This was a really interesting chapter for me. For one thing, I connected almost immediately, as something struck me on the very first page: "When we listened to our intuition when we were small and then told the grown-ups what we believed to be true, we were often either corrected, ridiculed, or punished" (Lamott 110). How often does that happen? I mean, I have the same problem now, as an "adult." I percieve a problem with someone, like a parent or a friend, and they will attempt to cover it up. It doesn't happen all that often, but I can only imagine what it is like for children. Another passage I loved in this chapter came later: "Writing is about hypnotizing yourself into believing in yourself, getting some work done, then unhypnotizing yourself and going through the material coldly" (114). In my absolutely miniscule amount of time that I have actually spent wrinting seriously, I have noticed the same sort of thing. When I am alone in my room, sitting at the computer, trying to churn something out, I really do feel completely different than I ever have. It's funny though, because in the next chapter, I totally understand what it is like to be deep in thought about where someting is going and then have to be awakened into the world of the living by a phone call from mom or the yoweling of a hungry cat. "You get off the phone," Lamott says, "and your mind has become a frog brain that scientists have saturated with caffeine" (118). I have a difficult time coping with these interruptions. Lamott advises "Close your eyes. Breathe. Begin again." I really feel like this book is going to help me a lot.

Bird by Bird--Intro

I can't remember exactly what class it was, but I remember this book (Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird) being one of three that we were able to chose from a required reading list. I did not choose it. I chose Steven King's On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft--which I still have on my shelf. I can't recall what the third choice was, although I distinctly remember there being three...Anyway that's really not my point. Ever since I heard my classmates' adoring praise of this particular book, I have been interested in reading it, and now I get to. Actually, I couldn't ask for a better senario: HOPE paid for the cost of the book, and I get to get credit for reading something I had already planned to read.


So, here I am, all ready to talk about the introduction. Okay, for one thing, I absolutely love Lamott's language. I can always relate better to a work if I am comfortable with the style. Her use of humor really drew me in--making me relate to the narrator. I mean, who wasn't laughed at in middle school? Might as well go with it. However, it was more than just the style that I really found myself connecting with. I mean, the feelings she describes--about wanting to be a writer--were hitting me like punches to the side of the head. Her words are still rattling around in there:

Throughoout my childhood I believed that what I thought about was different from what other kids thought about. It was not necessarily more profound, but there was a struggle going on inside me to find some sort of creative or spiritual or aesthetic way of seeing the world and organizing it in my head...I luxuriated in books. Books were my refuge. (Lamott xx)

It's so weird. Every time I question my decisions--my major, my plans--every time I think to myself that I am headed nowhere, I think about this. I know that nothing else could make me happier. I look at my friends, all working toward their practical, career-oriented degrees, and I realize that I couldn't operate that way. I love Lamott's description of living her craft: "They will have days at the desk of frantic boredom, of angry hopelessness, of wanting to quit forever, and there will be days when it feels like they have caught and are riding a wave" (xxix). I already feel this--just in my undergraduate work. I know I am absolutely nothing. A tiny speck in a world of gleaming gems. But still I can't help but think that it is a worthwile life. I may not be good, but I get something out of writing. Sometimes it's physically painful to get something turned in on time, but it is totally worth it when I look back.

I have a feeling that this is going to become one of my favorite books. I will soon be starting an entirely new chapter of my life. I need something that is just for me. I need light at the end of the tunnel, something to strive for. I want to be a writer. I need help.