Skip to main content

Little Bit o Writing Monday!


Here's my first homework assignment! Woo! We had to write about our experiences in writing.

“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.” Ray Bradbury. When I was little, the other kids could barely keep up with the intricate stories going through my head. That’s why they never played Barbie’s with me. And that was ok.

In 1st grade I remember the first day, I was scolded for starting all my sentences with and. Apparently only published authors were allowed to do that. When I was nine, my grandma told me there were no good books coming out lately. That night I went and wrote a love story for her about two antelopes that fell in love over the rainbow. Not trying to brag or anything, but it was a pretty rousing drama full of politically correct antelope mating calls.

I told my third grade teacher that I wanted to be an author when I grew up. She encouraged me to enter a writing contest. With high expectations, I entered my little antelope story and it’s sequels. Waited. Waited. Waited some more. No answer. Six long months later, a letter in the mail arrived with my name on it, saying that my piece had been accepted into the anthology of short stories. I won’t even bother trying to describe my excitement that day. It would take too long.

But ever since that day, I continued writing, determined to be an author. Every time I finished something that I thought was the best piece of work that could ever be written, I’d email it to all my friends and wait for their replies. Wait for them to tell me how brilliant I was. Those replies came. It took me a little bit to realize that they weren’t even reading what I was sending them. I was crushed to say the least. My dream seemed so far away.

Just recently, I realized that it isn’t about what others think, at least not all the time. I write for me. Me. I put those characters and their unique stories down. It doesn’t matter that a book with almost the same plot was published a month ago. Because they’re my stories, and they need to be told.

I love creative writing. Not so much of a fan of research and critical writing. It’s kind of my weak point. Writing is how I communicate though. The words may not always be in my mouth, but as soon as my fingers hit the keys, I can uncover them.

So basically I suck at seminars.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Racism, stereotypes, and plain ole judging

Being in a class dedicated to the idea of migration has really kept the idea of racism on the brain. In elementary school, the idea of racism was so defined to me, thinking people are better than others based solely on the color of their skin. It wasn't until middle school after reading many books that I realized racism wasn't jut as issue of black versus white, rather it applies to all cultures. In high school I was actually shocked to here racist statements from people I loved. All the sudden this issue became personal somewhat. (My favorite statement was from a little girl who said, it should be illegal for Mexicans to have babies. I guess I can't have kids then.)  But it wasn't until last week when we did an activity in my public health class that I realized that I myself was being racist as well. Now, this is something I am not proud of. I'm very embarrassed actually and that activity was humbling. Why am I writing about this? Because, it's som...

Toxic Masculinity

It seems like forever ago that they released that Gilette ad about toxic masculinity. I watched as people I'd grown up with freaked out about it, saying that it said that men need to be like women, and that it condemned masculinity altogether, along with other things. I crafted post after post to write on my social media, but in the end didn't bother writing anything. I didn't feel like arguing with people. But I had to share my thoughts somewhere, so here they are.  To me, toxic masculinity is exactly what it says-- ideals of masculinity that are toxic. It's telling your son that he needs to suck it up and not cry. That he can get away with more than girls because 'boys will be boys.' The idea that he can't read or watch certain media because it's "for girls." At the same time, girls are asked to watch things that are "for boys" all of the time. It's the idea that men need to repress their feelings. That they can't be sc...

Little Bit o Writing Monday

The beginning of my short story for class.  When Dora's son tugged on her pants leg, the last thing she expected was to see him holding a tooth. A tooth that clearly did not belong to him. She was no dentist, but she was smart enough to know the colossal thing couldn't have come from Mark's mouth. “Mark, where did you find that?” Dora scolded. “In the backyard.” “Show me where,” Dora commanded. Excited, Mark ran out to the backyard, Dora following on his heels. He led her over to the back of the yard, to the particular corner that couldn't be seen from the kitchen window. There, her other two children were gathered around a hole in the ground. Hole was an understatement though, they'd obviously been working on this, pit, for quite sometime. If there had been no tooth, Dora would have sat the kids down and explained how digging holes this deep was dangerous because of all the water, electric, and who knows what else lines were under the ...