CAMP NANO IS IN JULY I LIED oh well might as well write next month, or at least spend the month working on filling out that character creation form.
I did some writing today. I got a book a few years ago called "The Little Red Writing Book" which is about, well, writing, and had some exercises in there to do. After getting halfway through the second chapter I started to wonder if the book really would help me get better at writing, but I kinda liked what I wrote today, and so I thought I'd put it here.
First exercise: Take a walk. Come back home and write what you encountered. Try to write so that your sentences feel the way the walking felt.
(Disclaimer: I am shit at writing descriptive stuff. Dialogue is more my alley. Excessive amounts of dialogue)
The walk began a half hour after a thunderstorm had sailed through. The realty sign boasted that the lot was 22.43 acres, and waterfront to boot. Blocked off by a tiny red chain, our only option to see the lot was to walk. So we did.
It quickly became clear that walking was the wiser choice. The road, invaded by the nature that surrounded it, had become bumpy, uneven, even soft from the rain. Edged by tire tracks nonetheless, the centre had become a tiny river carved from the spring runoff. In other places, baby trees with soft needles reached to the sky, relishing in the room for growth.
The road curved invitingly; we wanted to see what was around the bend. For five minutes we walked until we reached the cabin, disappointingly lackluster considering the $2.7 million price tag. The water was accessible only by a steep grassy path down a rocky slope, an adventure for another time. Yet despite our height, I could still smell the lake, carried up the mountain on the breeze.
The return journey was muggy, the sun having returned to suck the water from everything around us. It was the kind of heat we weren't accustomed to; our hometown was desperately dry. Dry heat doesn't seep into one's face the same way heat does after a good rain.
That was as far as I got. I didn't really like the bit at the end, it's not super relevant, and I'd probably cut it out if I were going to edit it. But it's not like this is a piece of writing into which I poured my soul. I sat down and wrote it in probably 15 minutes. Lucky for me dad and I decided to go on that walk. I forgot to describe the giant, out-of-place rock, though, and the deer, and the density of the trees. Dammit.
Second exercise: What do you get anxious about when you write? Looking like a fool; making some egregrious mistake of grammar or fact or argument; getting yourself sued; causing problems for your family? Make a personal list. Sometimes giving names to the things that trouble us can strip them of their power.
That my writing is bad. That there are people out there who write a million times better than I ever could. That people won't like my story, or the way I wrote it, that they will say it is bad.
That I haven't done enough to improve my writing, and by this alone, I am not a real writer.
I worry that I am getting proud of something terrible, that people will question my judgement because I think something I wrote is good when in actuality, it's terrible.
That my writing isn't good, that it never moves people, that something I write will never stick with them, become their favourite.
That when I say I am good at writing, I'm lying.
It's made all the worse when I don't get a good grade on something like an essay. I hold that up as proof that I'm lying when I say I'm good at writing. At this point, writing is about the only thing I feel confident in saying I'm good at.
But when I was 12 and wrote "Nations", when I was 14 and wrote "Camp Lame-o", I was proud of those stories. They were crappy and I was proud anyway. maybe there was a certain kind of wisdom in that- or at least a certain kind of joy.
I realize how repetitive and bad this is now, of course, but again, I wrote this in like 15 minutes. It's still true, though. It never used to bother me that I might not be good, because everyone said I was, and my writing was of great quality... when I was 10, and 12, and 14, for the age I was at. Except now I'm an adult, and I'm expected to write like one- and I have no idea what I'm doing.
There was one time when I was considering entering a CBC writing contest. You had to write a short story- something I don't enjoy- about a particular theme, and there were past examples of winners on the site. Reading those past examples convinced me that I had no chance of winning. I can't write like that, with hidden meanings and people being dramatic and stuff meaning things, I can't do that. I don't know how. I don't know how to be that obtuse. I don't get it. I didn't like the stuff that was up there, either. Like, it was well written, and interesting, but I didn't like it. Maybe because it felt inaccessible to me, maybe because it intimidated me, I don't know.
Was that the first time I'd felt that my writing wasn't any good? Hardly. But it still stuck with me. That was probably also the same year I had to quit nano for school, and the same year I stopped writing. That's when all this doubt crept in and set up camp. And try as I might, I can't get back what I had once.
This is where I should cut in with some anecdote about how I'm still trying and it'll be fine, but honestly I'm just not up for that kind of positivity today. Thinking about this makes me sad. Thinking that I gave up something I loved so much- something that brought me so much joy, something that gave me an identity- for school makes me so unbelievably sad. There aren't a lot of things I regret in life, but that is one of them.
That's also tied up with the fact that when I was in high school, I spent so much of my time working and studying that that became the entirety of who I was, my entire identity was "IB student" and nothing else. And now I come to university, and people have all these hobbies and interests and the question "What do you do for fun?" is far more tied up in what I gave up in high school than I'd like to admit. I used to have an answer to that question. It's like other people spent high school, y'know, doing school but also having fun, and finding out things they enjoyed, and spending time developing a personality. Sometimes I just feel like yeah, maybe I developed better study habits and ways to deal with stress, but god, I'm so boring. What do I do for fun? Nothing. I sit around in my room on the internet. There's your answer.
I know I'm trying, but I feel like I shouldn't have to be. I just want to be interesting. I just want to be able to say I'm good at something and know that I can prove it. I just want to have stuff to do that isn't schoolwork. I'm great at doing homework (ha! there's one thing). That's about it.
I dunno. It does feel good to want to write something, to have even some sloppy things to be able to share and not feel self conscious about (like, those are rough drafts. If I were to hand them in for anything, I'd edit the shit out of both of them at least 3 times). Also, at this point everyone who knew that I once liked to write has basically stopped asking how my writing is going, because they all know it isn't, so I can stop explaining myself all the damn time.
yer pal,
swegan
P.S. oh and hey, writing friends- because I know both of you (Omnia and Redbeard, that is) read this blog- try the writing exercises, if you want. Just make sure to tell me how it goes, because you are both excellent at writing and I'd want to read what you wrote.
Showing posts with label writing projects. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing projects. Show all posts
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Plan of action
I'm doing Camp nano next month. I decided this like two days ago, and it's probably a bad decision, but god, I need something to throw myself into.
I'm still trying to evict this guy from my head (last night he was featured in a dream in which he was in my kitchen in a bathrobe cooking cream of wheat, but doing it incorrectly, and so I was arguing with him about the correct way to make cream of wheat. I woke up very confused), and I have noticed that he is pleasantly absent when I am doing things like lab work, or helping Freckles deal with her history paper, or when I'm on a skype call with Ptarckas (and I'm hoping that the problems there will get resolved through leaving the back of my mind to think about them, if that makes any sense), or when I'm talking with friends about literally anything else. Those times are the best. Having this guy in my head makes me miserable, because that's how crushes do. THEY CRUSH YOU.
Hence, the need for a distraction. This is how I have gotten over all other obsessions in my life (and, let's be real, what is a crush if not an obsession, amiriteladies (at least on some level)), using some "out of sight, out of mind" shit (which has worked WONDERS because since I have moved home, I haven't seen him, and that has helped a lot).
I am actually very excited about my nano novel, though. I'm taking a character from Camp Lame-o (because I have like 0 originality and I am done caring about that), and I'm trying to find out more about her via a family tragedy steeped in a little mystery. She's one of my favourite characters that I've ever written- confident, headstrong, and business savvy. She's smart and she's powerful and she knows how to get what she wants, and how to make people listen (and yes, I have been trying very very hard not to write a Mary Sue). She also has a wonderful/horrible habit if playing matchmaker with all her friends (and she is never wrong about the pairings), but she does it out of a weird sort of concern and love for them.
I'm just really excited to get to write something with her at the helm, navigating the waters of grief or some poetic shit like that (I am not good at poetry). Plus, I don't often write sad things. Probably it will have too much happy in it to really be sad because at my core I am like a ball of sunshine and positivity even if on the outside I am grumpy and opinionated and constantly bothering people with my Social Justice Opinions On Literally Everything All The Time
Anyway. Expect frustrated writer updates as I attempt to write a ridiculous amount of words in 30 days for the... somethingth time. It's fun, I swear!
yer pal,
swegan :)
I'm still trying to evict this guy from my head (last night he was featured in a dream in which he was in my kitchen in a bathrobe cooking cream of wheat, but doing it incorrectly, and so I was arguing with him about the correct way to make cream of wheat. I woke up very confused), and I have noticed that he is pleasantly absent when I am doing things like lab work, or helping Freckles deal with her history paper, or when I'm on a skype call with Ptarckas (and I'm hoping that the problems there will get resolved through leaving the back of my mind to think about them, if that makes any sense), or when I'm talking with friends about literally anything else. Those times are the best. Having this guy in my head makes me miserable, because that's how crushes do. THEY CRUSH YOU.
Hence, the need for a distraction. This is how I have gotten over all other obsessions in my life (and, let's be real, what is a crush if not an obsession, amiriteladies (at least on some level)), using some "out of sight, out of mind" shit (which has worked WONDERS because since I have moved home, I haven't seen him, and that has helped a lot).
I am actually very excited about my nano novel, though. I'm taking a character from Camp Lame-o (because I have like 0 originality and I am done caring about that), and I'm trying to find out more about her via a family tragedy steeped in a little mystery. She's one of my favourite characters that I've ever written- confident, headstrong, and business savvy. She's smart and she's powerful and she knows how to get what she wants, and how to make people listen (and yes, I have been trying very very hard not to write a Mary Sue). She also has a wonderful/horrible habit if playing matchmaker with all her friends (and she is never wrong about the pairings), but she does it out of a weird sort of concern and love for them.
I'm just really excited to get to write something with her at the helm, navigating the waters of grief or some poetic shit like that (I am not good at poetry). Plus, I don't often write sad things. Probably it will have too much happy in it to really be sad because at my core I am like a ball of sunshine and positivity even if on the outside I am grumpy and opinionated and constantly bothering people with my Social Justice Opinions On Literally Everything All The Time
Anyway. Expect frustrated writer updates as I attempt to write a ridiculous amount of words in 30 days for the... somethingth time. It's fun, I swear!
yer pal,
swegan :)
Thursday, April 23, 2015
I DECIDED TO READ AGAIN HOLY SHIT
The last time I just sat around and read a book was February break, when I got through the first three books in the Maze Runner series and got so pissed off by how the third one ended that I was too mad to read the last one. It has been sitting on my bedside table ever since, and today I decided to try and read it, and holy fuck it is intense (although I don't know what I was expecting from a book with the title The Kill Order, so...)
My other plan for today was to write three different blog entries, but I can't really remember what two of them were now. I was looking at a bunch of stuff about education reform the other day, and it got me thinking about how perhaps the way I chose to spend my last two years of high school was less of a good idea than I've made it out to be. But that deserves its own post.
Reading this book reminded me strongly of my own writing. Not in terms of the content- I don't tend to write a lot of post-apocalyptic stuff- but just in the way it was written. I always look at my own writing like this and think it's cheesy and bad and poorly written. But then I realized, this is just how YA is written. Since I've adamantly refused to grow up and read books for adults, I've read a lot of YA. Consequently, it's kind of all I really know how to write.
I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, certainly. YA is a lot of fun to write. It's breezy, especially the way I write it. This is partly the reason for trying to write something a little less YA-ish than I normally do in November- I'm trying to branch out. I don't know. More so than that I'm just trying to write again, but I guess learning to write other things can be a side effect.
Most of the time in the past I just wanted people to like my writing. I just wanted them to find it funny, and figured that that must mean it was good. And there isn't anything wrong with that, either. But at the same time, I wish I had the ability to write things that were powerful, and moving, the kind of stuff that people keep thinking about long after they've read it, you know? The kind of stuff that moves them. I'm not saying it's impossible to develop that ability, just that I've never tried. Everything I write comes out so.... cheesy.
I feel like part of this is the fact that I can't write real poetry. All the poems I write are horribly literal. My experience with poetry is that if I can't really understand what's going on, it must be real poetry. Which is why poetry pisses me off a little bit- quit being so vague, you asshole, and just tell us what you mean. Poetry is all flowery language that dances around the point and never quite gets to it. It's awful. This probably also explains, though, why I like Robert Frost so much: I can easily just read the surface of his poems and get an understanding of what's going on; I don't have to do an English class analysis of symbolism and imagery to get the point.
But at the same time I wonder if part of powerful writing like that is that it never quite gets to the point? Or maybe it gets straight to it? I don't really know. Now I'm just thinking about how much poetry pisses me off, and how jealous I am of people who can both understand it and write it. But I'm trying to think of examples of writing like that that moved me, and why they did.
Really I think it all boils down to being able to suck people in. If I can get really into a book, become really concerned about what's going on, become invested in the story, it has a much larger effect on me than if I read the book, can't ever get into it, and just think "this is terribad" the whole time through- which has happened in a couple of YA things I've read.
I'm able to get sucked into some of the things I've written so far, which I would take as a good sign except for the fact that I wrote them so I don't think I'm allowed to judge. I know I'd have to cut a lot out of those stories, too, and that's so much work, especially considering that one of them is Camp Lame-o 3-- if I want to edit that one, I have to go back and fix the other two as well (might even just scrap number two altogether, since it was that bad, and just put the rockslide in the first one or something... but then I'd have to change some of the rules of that story universe, and ... or maybe that's what causes the nightmares... yes.... YES, AN IMBALANCE. Anyway). Plus, the way I edit best is with a real copy (i.e. not on a computer) and it is kind of hard to justify printing off an 80 page story. And I mean, in "a something" I'd have to probably cut out the bit about Sunflower and probably also the Alex thing... probably Nick would have to go too, since he turned out to be so colossally unimportant. Which means I'd have to add MORE adventures, and I mean, what else happens on a road trip besides driving and games of truth or dare? Plus I'd have to make Gabe into less of a potato of a character than he already was. God, he was so useless. DO SOMETHING. FEEL SOMETHING. BE SOMETHING. Augh. Also, Brian was kind of a plank of wood in that story, despite my best efforts. I'm really, really bad at character development, you guys.
Who knows, maybe I will do some editing one of these NaNos. In the meantime. I'll plan for the story I currently have in my head, and work on convincing Redbeard to do NaNo with me (DO IT, YOU TURD. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO).
yer pal,
swegan
My other plan for today was to write three different blog entries, but I can't really remember what two of them were now. I was looking at a bunch of stuff about education reform the other day, and it got me thinking about how perhaps the way I chose to spend my last two years of high school was less of a good idea than I've made it out to be. But that deserves its own post.
Reading this book reminded me strongly of my own writing. Not in terms of the content- I don't tend to write a lot of post-apocalyptic stuff- but just in the way it was written. I always look at my own writing like this and think it's cheesy and bad and poorly written. But then I realized, this is just how YA is written. Since I've adamantly refused to grow up and read books for adults, I've read a lot of YA. Consequently, it's kind of all I really know how to write.
I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, certainly. YA is a lot of fun to write. It's breezy, especially the way I write it. This is partly the reason for trying to write something a little less YA-ish than I normally do in November- I'm trying to branch out. I don't know. More so than that I'm just trying to write again, but I guess learning to write other things can be a side effect.
Most of the time in the past I just wanted people to like my writing. I just wanted them to find it funny, and figured that that must mean it was good. And there isn't anything wrong with that, either. But at the same time, I wish I had the ability to write things that were powerful, and moving, the kind of stuff that people keep thinking about long after they've read it, you know? The kind of stuff that moves them. I'm not saying it's impossible to develop that ability, just that I've never tried. Everything I write comes out so.... cheesy.
I feel like part of this is the fact that I can't write real poetry. All the poems I write are horribly literal. My experience with poetry is that if I can't really understand what's going on, it must be real poetry. Which is why poetry pisses me off a little bit- quit being so vague, you asshole, and just tell us what you mean. Poetry is all flowery language that dances around the point and never quite gets to it. It's awful. This probably also explains, though, why I like Robert Frost so much: I can easily just read the surface of his poems and get an understanding of what's going on; I don't have to do an English class analysis of symbolism and imagery to get the point.
But at the same time I wonder if part of powerful writing like that is that it never quite gets to the point? Or maybe it gets straight to it? I don't really know. Now I'm just thinking about how much poetry pisses me off, and how jealous I am of people who can both understand it and write it. But I'm trying to think of examples of writing like that that moved me, and why they did.
Really I think it all boils down to being able to suck people in. If I can get really into a book, become really concerned about what's going on, become invested in the story, it has a much larger effect on me than if I read the book, can't ever get into it, and just think "this is terribad" the whole time through- which has happened in a couple of YA things I've read.
I'm able to get sucked into some of the things I've written so far, which I would take as a good sign except for the fact that I wrote them so I don't think I'm allowed to judge. I know I'd have to cut a lot out of those stories, too, and that's so much work, especially considering that one of them is Camp Lame-o 3-- if I want to edit that one, I have to go back and fix the other two as well (might even just scrap number two altogether, since it was that bad, and just put the rockslide in the first one or something... but then I'd have to change some of the rules of that story universe, and ... or maybe that's what causes the nightmares... yes.... YES, AN IMBALANCE. Anyway). Plus, the way I edit best is with a real copy (i.e. not on a computer) and it is kind of hard to justify printing off an 80 page story. And I mean, in "a something" I'd have to probably cut out the bit about Sunflower and probably also the Alex thing... probably Nick would have to go too, since he turned out to be so colossally unimportant. Which means I'd have to add MORE adventures, and I mean, what else happens on a road trip besides driving and games of truth or dare? Plus I'd have to make Gabe into less of a potato of a character than he already was. God, he was so useless. DO SOMETHING. FEEL SOMETHING. BE SOMETHING. Augh. Also, Brian was kind of a plank of wood in that story, despite my best efforts. I'm really, really bad at character development, you guys.
Who knows, maybe I will do some editing one of these NaNos. In the meantime. I'll plan for the story I currently have in my head, and work on convincing Redbeard to do NaNo with me (DO IT, YOU TURD. YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO).
yer pal,
swegan
Sunday, April 19, 2015
I might actually write again
Probably not until November because that's when I wanna do this, but still.
I was told recently that it sounds like I'm not very good at character creation (as evidenced by the fact that my characters are so much like me they have actual conversations I have actually had wtf) and so I kind of decided that I would do something like that.
I have one character (from Camp Lame-o, obvi, because I can never ever create new characters because I am lame) (HAAAAAAAAA LAME-O) (sorry) that I really like, and I decided I wanted to know more about her. She has a last name now and everything, and also a troubled backstory which I don't know anything about yet. I just know that it's there and that because I want to see more of this character than just her can-do take-no-shit attitude (she built her own massive company from the ground up and regularly has the best advice to offer). So probably I'm going to throw something horrible at her that drags her away from her big shiny office in the city and back to where she grew up, to see how she handles it.
This makes me feel unbelievably cruel, and I know this character isn't real. I know I could just write something about her big shiny city life, but I want to get to know this character better. I want to know what happened to her. I want to know why she doesn't want to go home, I want to know what's waiting for her there.
I have also found a few songs that get me in the writing spirit. As usual, they are pop, and slightly random, but so far it's just two. There are a couple potential ones but one of them gets a bit too extreme for me just yet and I'm not sure if the other one entirely fits. As of right now, it's "One Last Time" by Ariana Grande and "Sledgehammer" by Fifth Harmony. I was listening to both of them for hours last night while trying to fill out this character creation form, which I am determined to fill out. I will think about this character's favourite music, favourite food, her mannerisms, her expressions, her fucking relationship with her parents, until she feels even more real to me than she does already.
I would say I'm "getting back in the game" but that makes me sound like a middle aged divorcee who is going out on dates again and that is so far from my reality.
yer pal,
swegan
I was told recently that it sounds like I'm not very good at character creation (as evidenced by the fact that my characters are so much like me they have actual conversations I have actually had wtf) and so I kind of decided that I would do something like that.
I have one character (from Camp Lame-o, obvi, because I can never ever create new characters because I am lame) (HAAAAAAAAA LAME-O) (sorry) that I really like, and I decided I wanted to know more about her. She has a last name now and everything, and also a troubled backstory which I don't know anything about yet. I just know that it's there and that because I want to see more of this character than just her can-do take-no-shit attitude (she built her own massive company from the ground up and regularly has the best advice to offer). So probably I'm going to throw something horrible at her that drags her away from her big shiny office in the city and back to where she grew up, to see how she handles it.
This makes me feel unbelievably cruel, and I know this character isn't real. I know I could just write something about her big shiny city life, but I want to get to know this character better. I want to know what happened to her. I want to know why she doesn't want to go home, I want to know what's waiting for her there.
I have also found a few songs that get me in the writing spirit. As usual, they are pop, and slightly random, but so far it's just two. There are a couple potential ones but one of them gets a bit too extreme for me just yet and I'm not sure if the other one entirely fits. As of right now, it's "One Last Time" by Ariana Grande and "Sledgehammer" by Fifth Harmony. I was listening to both of them for hours last night while trying to fill out this character creation form, which I am determined to fill out. I will think about this character's favourite music, favourite food, her mannerisms, her expressions, her fucking relationship with her parents, until she feels even more real to me than she does already.
I would say I'm "getting back in the game" but that makes me sound like a middle aged divorcee who is going out on dates again and that is so far from my reality.
yer pal,
swegan
Monday, November 11, 2013
NOVELLING FRUSTRATION
AARON FOR FUCKS' SAKE
NO
HUGH AND KEVIN WERE RIGHT
YOU ARE TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH EMMA WHY CAN'T YOU SEEEEEEE EE SHE CALLED YOU AT THREE THIRTY TO SHOW yOU THE NORTHERN LIGHTS JUST KISS HER ALREADY FUCKING SHIT AARON STOP BEING SUCH A LITTLE SHIT
HUGH
HUGH I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR DEAL IS
PLS CALL THE WAITRESS BACK SHE THINKS YOU ARE CUTE
EMMA PLS REALIZE THAT AARON TOTES BELIEVES IN YOU AND SUPPORTS YOU AND ALSO THAT YOU ARE SUPER BRILLIANT AND CAN DO ANYTHING
JEFF AND STACEY
FUCK YOU GUYS
NO SERIOUSLY
JUST GET IT OVER WITH LIKE OMFG EVERYONE KNOWS IT JUST BE TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD
Art-Anna... you are literally my favourite right now. Keep being amazing.
SERIOUSLY THOUGH AARON
SERIOUSLY
yer pal,
swegan
I have so many more words to write before I catch up, ughhhhhhhh.
NO
HUGH AND KEVIN WERE RIGHT
YOU ARE TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH EMMA WHY CAN'T YOU SEEEEEEE EE SHE CALLED YOU AT THREE THIRTY TO SHOW yOU THE NORTHERN LIGHTS JUST KISS HER ALREADY FUCKING SHIT AARON STOP BEING SUCH A LITTLE SHIT
HUGH
HUGH I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR DEAL IS
PLS CALL THE WAITRESS BACK SHE THINKS YOU ARE CUTE
EMMA PLS REALIZE THAT AARON TOTES BELIEVES IN YOU AND SUPPORTS YOU AND ALSO THAT YOU ARE SUPER BRILLIANT AND CAN DO ANYTHING
JEFF AND STACEY
FUCK YOU GUYS
NO SERIOUSLY
JUST GET IT OVER WITH LIKE OMFG EVERYONE KNOWS IT JUST BE TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD
Art-Anna... you are literally my favourite right now. Keep being amazing.
SERIOUSLY THOUGH AARON
SERIOUSLY
yer pal,
swegan
I have so many more words to write before I catch up, ughhhhhhhh.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
k but my philosophy prof though
he is... he's just so eccentric. (btw i've given up on the shift key, excepting brackets).
he shows up to class on time, like all my other profs, but he only ever brings a little clipboard. at the start of every class he pulls out this watch face- it's brown with gold on the edges where the wrist band is supposed to go- and sets it down on the desk, looking at it to confirm the time. he sets up his notes, and begins.
his voice is all quiet and fidgety at first- he sounds nervous and unsure of himself. he gets a bit louder as class goes on, but he still stumbles over words and sentences, talking in a voice that is loud enough to hear at the front and hopefully at the back. he's constantly doing things with his hands- folding them together, stroking his moustache and that weird little soul-patch thing under his lip as he considers what we're saying. every time one of us gets off track, he reels it back in, trying to smile and make it an agreeable thing. his glasses are very round, like he's from the 60s. all in all, he looks like a combination of a monk and a pirate and the entirety of the middle ages. that's the best way i can think of to describe him. if you think of what a philosophy prof ought to look and act like, he fits the bill. he is a quintessential philosophy prof.
today at the end of class, he said we were done and we'd go on tomorrow- i looked down for one second to close my clipboard after tucking my pens in the crease. when i look back up, he's gone- no sign that he was even there in the first place aside from the fact that he left the projector on, evidently too nervous about teaching the class to remember to turn it off.
i walked a specific path once i left the building where my class was. i had been walking maybe two minutes when i came upon him later on the path, smoking a cigarette in a jacket i didn't see him bring in. the only thing i could think was, how the hell did he get here so fast? he left a minute before i did and walked the same path. it didn't make any sense.
tonight in english, we listened to a story from a book i can't seem to remember the name of, something about maladies... i really enjoyed the story, i think it was called "A Temporary Affliction" and even though it sort of got your hopes up and then brutally crushed them, it was really good. i found i liked listening to it, getting lost in the story and the words and putting myself in the shoes of the characters, and it just really made me feel like writing, and then today i was so confused by my philosophy prof and his odd behaviour (he's a good prof, don't get me wrong, but i was just flummoxed that he darted out so quickly and he seems incredibly nervous all the time and he just looks like such a philosophy prof, which is odd) so i decided to write about it.
i'm glad i took philosophy, though. from what i hear psychology is another huge lecture class, and lucy's in economics and it just looks so horrible. i am determined to avoid economics and physics at all costs (i mean, aside from astrophysics... because i already signed up for that and i'm now really worried about it) because those are just not my thing and i am not interested in either of them.
anyway, i should get to bed- it's been a long, exhausting, stressful day. tomorrow will be better, i hope.
yer pal,
swegan :S
he shows up to class on time, like all my other profs, but he only ever brings a little clipboard. at the start of every class he pulls out this watch face- it's brown with gold on the edges where the wrist band is supposed to go- and sets it down on the desk, looking at it to confirm the time. he sets up his notes, and begins.
his voice is all quiet and fidgety at first- he sounds nervous and unsure of himself. he gets a bit louder as class goes on, but he still stumbles over words and sentences, talking in a voice that is loud enough to hear at the front and hopefully at the back. he's constantly doing things with his hands- folding them together, stroking his moustache and that weird little soul-patch thing under his lip as he considers what we're saying. every time one of us gets off track, he reels it back in, trying to smile and make it an agreeable thing. his glasses are very round, like he's from the 60s. all in all, he looks like a combination of a monk and a pirate and the entirety of the middle ages. that's the best way i can think of to describe him. if you think of what a philosophy prof ought to look and act like, he fits the bill. he is a quintessential philosophy prof.
today at the end of class, he said we were done and we'd go on tomorrow- i looked down for one second to close my clipboard after tucking my pens in the crease. when i look back up, he's gone- no sign that he was even there in the first place aside from the fact that he left the projector on, evidently too nervous about teaching the class to remember to turn it off.
i walked a specific path once i left the building where my class was. i had been walking maybe two minutes when i came upon him later on the path, smoking a cigarette in a jacket i didn't see him bring in. the only thing i could think was, how the hell did he get here so fast? he left a minute before i did and walked the same path. it didn't make any sense.
tonight in english, we listened to a story from a book i can't seem to remember the name of, something about maladies... i really enjoyed the story, i think it was called "A Temporary Affliction" and even though it sort of got your hopes up and then brutally crushed them, it was really good. i found i liked listening to it, getting lost in the story and the words and putting myself in the shoes of the characters, and it just really made me feel like writing, and then today i was so confused by my philosophy prof and his odd behaviour (he's a good prof, don't get me wrong, but i was just flummoxed that he darted out so quickly and he seems incredibly nervous all the time and he just looks like such a philosophy prof, which is odd) so i decided to write about it.
i'm glad i took philosophy, though. from what i hear psychology is another huge lecture class, and lucy's in economics and it just looks so horrible. i am determined to avoid economics and physics at all costs (i mean, aside from astrophysics... because i already signed up for that and i'm now really worried about it) because those are just not my thing and i am not interested in either of them.
anyway, i should get to bed- it's been a long, exhausting, stressful day. tomorrow will be better, i hope.
yer pal,
swegan :S
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)