I`IV`MMXI

"Writing is a social act. It's communal; shared. You're all validated here. You're all writers, congratulations. But to sit behind your computer typing away with the intention of keeping it all to yourself while claiming to be a solitary creative genius is irresponsible. You are responsible to your writing. You are responsible for how you are received. Think of your reader as someone who has never met you. Although you are writing for you before anyone else, you are still writing for someone else."*-- My verse instructor, Will, said this today, (rapidly alongside exaggerated hand gestures).

{which is funny, because I wrote this down in its entirety in my notebook so I could share it}

This is something I've only thought about marginally and momentarily. But after he preached about it for a good half hour, it stuck with me all day. Because it made sense: Why write it down otherwise? Why claim to be a writer? Why write creatively at all? There has to be some subconscious desire to share the things that are being made tangible. A private paper journal will eventually be read by another. Either you'll forget it on the bus (as I have many times), or your snaky room mate will dig it out from under your mattress after you leave to return the late Blockbuster movies, or will inevitably be thumbed through after your funeral by your cousin Jo-Jo. I tend to throw everything out there I create for people to consume and have only taken minimal caution or responsibility for what I was presenting. Which is to say, my purpose has always been fairly self-centered; a search for validation rather than a sheer act of sharing. The finished product has the potential to be something entirely more charged, refined and purposeful if the writer removes their self from their self and fully acknowledges the audience while hashing it out. If you know how to do this, please teach me how.

Which I suppose can be applied to every day life. Your social life, your work life, your love life. Be mindful. Be purposeful. Be considerate.

This in turn brings me to what my American Lit prof said "You can take corn and either make Fritos or polenta."

Resolution no. 2 for 2011: Make polenta from here on out.

*sliiiightly paraphrased.

I`III`MMXI

I'm generally opposed to being in the Udistrict at night, even on campus. But it is undeniably when it's most alluring. First day of the quarter as a senior went remarkably well. Both my craft of prose prof & my American Lit prof are incredibly entertaining and engaging. And my class rooms, while demanding of a trek across campus, are warmly lit and plentiful with windows. I feel really good about not needing to dig desperately for motivation to come to class, to listen, to write and to enjoy it- for once. Which is sad, because UW is really great school and I should have felt as enchanted with it as I am now for the entire time I've been attending. I guess once you become disillusioned with one aspect of your life, it slowly begins to creep into rest until it's all one big ugly gray area. Change your ways while you're young, I suppose. Since I used my brain for the first time today in weeks, I'm going to bed early like an old woman. Coffee shall propel me into a graduation gown, I tell you. Good night.

I`II`MMXI

My usual arrival into the New Year is much like that of a teenager, fumbling around in the dark with another naked form for the first time; eager, nervous, and generally disappointing in retrospect. My plan of attack this year, however, is to not be so zealous, be a bit more purposeful with my movements, keep the lights on-- so to speak. Over all else, my main ambition is to learn how to not take unreasonable things too seriously, and finding and focusing on what's really worth laboring over. (Especially my writing, wish me luck with that one).

My mom has always said 'Be careful how you spend New Years Eve, it mirrors how the rest of the year will pan out'--in so many words. And she seems to have been right so far. I spent the two Dec 31sts (before the last) miserable, trying to pretend to be happy about where I was and who I was with. And the following days after felt nothing short of miserably forced. This NYE, I stood with a new great friend, our arms around each other, a glass of champagne in each of our hands, cheering unabashedly in a perfect little townie bar. Which is to say things should unfold in the next 365 rather nicely, I think.

one resolution of many: correct my faulty grammar skills.