Why? WHY?!
October 17, 2004
Ok, so this exam is due tomorrow at some point, and I'm not really done with it. According to my meticulously planned schedule (pronounce shed-u-well) I am supposed to be revising now. But, I am at work. Not revising. And? When I go home I will also not be revising. I will still be writing. Who knows if I will even have time to revise. Will I ever learn?
I swear though, if there was ever a time when I can say I did not waste time, this would be that time. I have been working intensely since Thursday morning, with maybe a nap an hour before it's time to break fast each day, and then going back to work right after dinner is over.
Gaar.
This whole thing has got me thinking though. About how I think I've had an eight-year-long case of writer's block. Before my junior year (in high school) English class I used to write with ease, grace, and really, if I can be honest, I was a damn good writer. Much better than my peers. I can say that now, in retrospect, and also because everyone I knew in high school says that to me now, when I say I can't write. But,, I struggle now with every word. Even though in general I champion content over form in most of the arts, I realize now that with regards to my own writing I really do emphasize form (I'm talking when I write academically people). If it don't sound good to me then I'm bothered, and it really slows me down. This is really coming to a head with this comprehensive. I spent so much time the first day I started writing thinking of how to make it sound right, that Saturday morning rolled around and I had only answered a small part of the first question.
I have since sped things up, but like I said it really got me to thinking about my junior year in high school when writer's block took over my brain.
I remember the paper. It was on Beowulf. I remember the grade. It was a D. My first D. Ever. (sidenote: Maybe this is why I really don't like all that old English shit?) The teacher--who was the BEST ENGLISH TEACHER EVER--let me rewrite the paper, but I only managed to pull my grade up slightly. Suddenly, my magical, writerly touch was gone, and I found myself really struggling to express myself.
I hadn't really thought about it until this weekend. How for a long time now I have been struggling with my writing. I used to write poems (which admittedly were not very good), but I used to write. A LOT. And I used to write short stories (which were, eh, okay), and I used to think about one day writing a novel. I wanted to be like Gordon Korman and write my first novel when I was 17. Or however old he was.
Anyway, now, it just always feels like there is a vice on my head, and I can't seem to get the words out as fast as my thoughts come, and in the order that I want. I think this diary is helping me to sort of ease out of that a little, but I really do get blocked when I move from an informal forum like this one, to a more formal one.
Ok, so, this whole thing also got me thinking about my junior year English teacher who really was the best English teacher ever. I was lucky to have a quite a few really good teachers in high school, especially English teachers, but Mary Mendelsohn takes the cake. She really taught me to think about literature, and to challenge what established theory (and most teachers before) had taught me to believe was good literature and what was bad (anyone who has heard me rant against Shakespeare, has Mary to blame. Or thank. Whichever)*. And she taught me to extend that to all parts of my life. She was. So cool. With her poofy, wirey, white head of hair, and her worldly eyes.
You know, she's part of the reason I ended up at Penn. She had attended Penn at some point in her life, though she'd never completed any studies there. And she had been part of Penn's scottish dance troupe (yes, apparently there was one). And though she left after my junior year she left a recommendation letter for me with the advisor. For Bryn Mawr. She really, really wanted me to go there, and for her sake I seriously considered it. And I did apply, and get in, but ultimately I set my sights on Bryn Mawr's co-ed neighbor.
Anyway, yay for Ma Mendel (As we fondly called her. Not to her face). I wonder where she is now.
* Not that she taught us to hate Shakespear, not at all. Just that she taught us to question his revered, canonical status in the realm of world literature.