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step 1: anger

16 October 2008

being in a slew of upper level english classes, i have had to deal with my writing process on a somewhat daily basis. it’s beyond me, really, in that the boy also now has to deal with my writing process, as he is frequently on the other end of the phone during my many rants about why won’t this paper WRITE ITSELF ? I MEAN REALLY! since my incredibly hard but very endearing sophomore year english teacher in high school, i have been able to somewhat…skate by. i apologize now who agonized in school, feel free to hate me now. BUT. it’s not that i didn’t put forth effort, it’s just that for many of my classes, english and non-english, i was able to write what they needed without doing numerous rewrites or editing and get an A.

this is notsomuch the case anymore. and this is true of all writing, usually beyond the drivel i put up here, but not always.

it’s been on my mind for awhile, wondering why WHY OH WHY my writing process is so painful. i think, i write, i walk away, curse, return to it, write more, throw the computer, complain to the boy, take a break (for a few days, weeks…) then return to it, more irritated and now running up against a deadline. i was convinced that something was wrong with me, perhaps i just cannot write, cannot seem to communicate effectually in any way.

and then, ira glass saved me.

for those not in the npr bubble, ira glass is the host of this american life, a radio program (and on podcast) that i have listened to for nearly a decade now. although he’s talking about his radio show, and storytelling, it actually pertains to any artistic pursuit, and certainly to having to produce coherent writing.  i also think he’s pretty brilliant at what he does. and he loves the television show the O.C.  this is what he says about it:

so, according to mr. glass, i’m not a bad writer, the problem is that i just have great taste. of course. oh, and that i just need to just keep writing more and more and more. and consume more alcohol in the process. he mentioned that, right? i’m pretty sure that is the comment that every professor wrote in some way on the four papers i got back this week with B’s scribbled in red pen on them. good thing i’m not trying to be a professional writer (lest you be confused that i have novelist aspirations.) now back to my paper about marxist critique, again, but with martinis this time.

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