| Current mood: |  busy |
| Current music: | pennyroyal tea by nirvana |
...
i tried to detach myself from writing for a while, tried to curtail the finger choreography on keyboard, tried to stop myself from translating my life to lines. a literary version of cool-off, making way for space, assessing the relationship between the grand craft and the little timid wannabe. there wasn't much to assess except that i found out lately that oftentimes i am scared to write - a monster fear that preempts any creation, that spoils a bit of imagination- and that i couldn't write on paper anymore. scrawlings would appear from the sheet but they didn't say much, not if you count and appreciate the flower doodles and smileys galore on the margins.
now back to this deliberate distance. after a week of not touching anything that would hint word manufacture, i decided to jump back, notwithstanding my initial vow to keep it for two weeks more. which had me finding out that going back to writing is very much like meeting your long-lost friend. the excitement is there, the thrill of what's it like to integrate yourself back to his circle again, which is balanced by the anxiety that maybe, he wouldn't be the same friend you left before. that he'd grown cold, and he wouldn't take your hand no matter how many times you shoved it to his face, after which he'd just throw you a look that shouts: "you shouldn't have left me in the first place."
so now you have me here in front of the PC, in what would have been my typical writing time, and i have no idea how it would turn out, this coming back for the respite. much like i don't know how to start this diagnostic essay we have to do for creative writing 100, which i have to submit approximately two hours from now. we were asked to walk around the acad oval, a circuit totalling to 2.2 kilometers, and write something about the experience. sure, i walked and immersed myself in the moment, the thoughts wandered while my steps went on, but no "aha!" as to how the essay would go.
oh, and i almost forgot that i have to start my yearbook writeup for my soul sis. masscomm-style, the gradcom quipped. then the scariest of em all, the deadline for national writers workshop on the 28th. ha. like i could actually dig from underground some guts that would undo my smallness among the throng of english literati. i have yet to figure out if i'd pass something for the screening. if i'd be able to take another round of rejection.
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