Getting back to my first love

Writing has always been an outlet for me. Ever since I could hold a pen, I’ve been scribbling nonsensical wiggling lines across any surface I could reach that would retain ink. My imagination won me many award growing up. It always amazed my teachers that I was able to grasp poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction so well. Then life’s adult stresses set in and my writing juices dried up. Sophomore and Junior year of HS, I didn’t write anything unless it was for school (which includes my phenomenal score on the HS writing test). I was able to get enough mojo back my senior year to place in the top three of the celebration of writer’s for the 7th time and then pass AP Literature and British Literature with A’s before the well ran dry again. In college, my major was Early childhood education, so I was doing plenty of writing… except lesson plans are boring and literally painful to write (especially when you have to re-write a 10 page lesson plan three times because you’re professor is a heinous wench!). College was stressful. After I stopped trying to make people who are morally against me, like me; after a long painful year; and after I changed my major; I decided to get back to my first love.

 

I took a creative writing class and I immediately hated everyone in the class including the teacher (I’m a snob when it comes to certain subjects). The professor was a weird little man who liked quirky sex stories, and the class was mostly pretentious sophomores who thought they knew everything about life and weren’t even drinking age *rolls eyes*. In my opinion writer’s are awkward, or weird, have a past, an over active imagination, or are crazy as hell. Only three people in the class fit that description and I was one of them. The first day of class, I got there early and claimed my seat. Then I wrote about how I get writer’s block. The class started and I forgot all about it. We are required to do daily free-writes, write several poems, creative non-fiction, and a short story. My poems were last minute and thrown together, my short story was a a cheesy love at first sight novel, and my creative non-fiction was GOLD! It was a conversation between two people, one liking the other, and asking if the person was gay. The class missed the entire point of the piece. I didn’t write for a while after that, I was so confused. How could they not get it? I came to the conclusion to stop trying to write for others, it makes me unhappy. The only way I will be able to get happiness from writing again, is to do it simply for the means of lessening the weight of my soul. I think it’s working because I’m able to find comfort in writing again.

 

 

My creative writing class stifled my creativity because they are uncomfortable with androgny

I took a creative writing class my senior year of college and I wanted to curse (almost) everyone in the class out. The class was a workshop styled class meaning that we would write our work outside of class and then bring it in to share and get our classmates’ opinions on how we could improve it. Except it didn’t quite work that way. I write to express myself, to force people outside of their comfort zone, and to be silly. I wrote a free write that was supposed to depict how people dance around the subject of being gay, how society has come to think it is appropriate to ask someone their sexual orientation (mostly if their gay), how people are forced to “choose” if they want to be feminine or masculine, and many other things wrong with the judgmental way we look at one another. I also threw in some vagina metaphors, my silly humor, and a little attitude, but that was just to break the ice. Here’s my first draft:

Are You Gay?

Are you gay?

Who me?

Yes, you. Are you gay?

Yes, yes I am.

Happy as can be.

No. Are you gay like homosexual?

Only on my left side between the hours of 1:45 p.m. – 2:15 p.m.

Ok, seriously. Are you gay?

What makes you ask?

You have very androgynous disposition.

Please elaborate.

You’re not very feminine.

Well thank you, that wasn’t offensive.

I didn’t mean it like that.

Well since I didn’t get it how you meant it could you please explain?

               Ok let’s see.

It’s simple, how am I not feminine?

               You’re just so… so … quirky and weird. Everybody loves you.

And that makes me not feminine?

               No, I just… you tend to attract both sexes and I just wanted to know if-

Oh I see, because I’m comfortable in my sexuality and I don’t act like the “typical” female, you want to categorize me as gay?

               No, I was just saying that-

That because I can wear a frilly dress one day and baggy shorts the next that I must be into women?

               I didn’t meant to-

Yea, I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend me or come off in any type of way, but you did. I’m not gay. I don’t like girls in a sexual way and I never have. I also don’t believe that I should have to dress or play a certain part to make people comfortable or give them license to put me in a box. I don’t do boxes, I like being who I am without societies restrictions telling me to go with the grain. I don’t do normal and I don’t do status quos. Please don’t ask me questions you don’t know how to ask, or questions you’re not ready to hear the answer to.

               I just thought you were pretty and wanted to know if you wanted to hang out some time.

Oh.

I wrote this in one take, I reread it to edit and I just corrected the spelling errors. I love it the way it was because it was raw, and how I really felt when I was asked this question. I proudly distributed my work to my class and took my seat. After reading it aloud, I got the laughs I wanted to come in at the end and then waited for the feedback.

“Is it a guy or a girl asking?”

“Is she gay?”

“I think it needs a better setting, like where are they able to have this conversation?”

“I don’t like the way this is written”

“Did this really happen to you?”

“I think you should have better established gender roles”

“I love how the metaphor box is used to re-establish that the person doesn’t like ‘vagina’ that was a nice touch”

“Is this a script? If this is a script it should have the character’s names beside it.”

“I found it hard to follow along”

“It was cute, and funny. I liked that”

I was furious, they missed the entire point of the piece and none of their feedback was resourceful to me (except the guy who get the box reference). I almost felt like they looked at it, was immediately uncomfortable and found any asinine thing they could to pick it apart. Everything they said was so surface level, my ears began burning at 450 degrees, I couldn’t take it anymore. Then the professor chimed in “you should try more structure” WHAT?! You want me to have MORE structure in a creative writing class? Goodbye your opinion no longer matters. In my response I decided to tell them what the point of the piece was and some of them looked petrified when they realized how NONE of their comments mattered. Some weren’t fazed at all. I left the class straddling the abyss. I went home propped my feet up on coffee table and ransacked my brain trying to see how they didn’t get it. I revised my paper to get an A, but I still like the original. It got across the point I was trying to make in the best way. Here’s the revision is you care.

A conversation between two acquaintances after a P.E. class junior year of college

Are you gay?

Who me?

Yes, are you gay

Yes, Yes I am… Happy as can be

No. Are you gay like homosexual gay?

Oh… yea my gay hours are my left between 1:45 p.m. and 2:15 p.m.

Ok, but seriously are you gay?

What makes you ask?

Well you have a very androgynous disposition

Please elaborate/

You’re not always that feminine.

Well thank you, that wasn’t offensive at all.

I didn’t mean it like that

Well since I didn’t get it how you meant it could you please explain?

Ok let’s see.-

It’s simple, how am I not feminine?

You’re just so quirky, but cute, and a little weird, but everybody loves you.

And that makes me not feminine?

No, I just … you tend to attract both sexes and I just wanted to know if-

Oh I see, because I’m comfortable in my sexuality and I don’t act like the typical female, you want to categorize me as gay?

No, I was just saying that-

That because I can wear a frilly dress one day and baggy shorts the next that I must be into women?

I didn’t mean to-

Yea, I’m sure you didn’t mean to offend me or come off in any type of way, but you did. I’m not gay. I don’t like girls in a sexual way and I never have. I also don’t believe that I should have to dress or play a certain part to make people comfortable or give them license to put me in a box. I don’t do boxes, I like being who I am without society’s restrictions telling me to go with the grain. I don’t do normal and I don’t do status quos. Please don’t ask me questions you don’t know how to ask, or questions you’re not ready to hear the answer to.

I just thought you were pretty and wanted to know if you wanted to hang out sometimes, but I wasn’t going to ask if you liked girls.

Oh

We all straddle the abyss

People hate when I use this as a reference to their confusion but I couldn’t care less. These five words resound in me so loudly that the mega factory in my brain takes a hiatus and I can become content with the baffling world that surrounds me. I often feel alone and misunderstood. In recent years, I’ve been made to understand that I am not alone in feeling alone. Apparently, I’m supposed to take solace in the fact that others feel alone, except I don’t. I feel like when other people feel alone, I can come out of how I’m feeling to comfort, console, and make them feel less alone. They seldom return the favor (and by seldom I mean never). It’s like going to help someone clean their house when your house isn’t even clean, it’s ludicrous. Disney movies clouded my mine to think that people actually cared. In the midst of my alone, I realized that I feel out of touch because people don’t care anymore. Everyone is so selfish with so many ulterior motives that genuine people get cast away. The selfishness has eaten so much away at people that they feel as though everyone has the same motives they do and genuine people cannot be trusted. These days the only thing genuine is the debt crisis, the gaping hole in the ozone layer and me (if you are we are as well we are kindred souls). Life sometimes is too much for me, so I turn my brain off, sit in front of the computer watching old TV shows and straddle an abyss that has been working over time to consume me. It began to retreat once I started looking it in its eyes.

Image

“We all straddle the abyss.If we never look down, how can we know who we are?” – Helen Hunt in A Good Woman

 

Vendetta!

I have a vendetta against split ends.

Every time I see a hair shaft begin to sever itself into separate entities, I obtain a sharp object (more than often scissors, but I’ve been know to use a other things) and take off at least an inch to insure no spilt ends have been spared. Call me crazy, but I ABHOR split ends, I loathe them with every once of my being. They’re like dead weight and they make no improvement to the state of healthy hair. I’d rather have 3 inches of fully healthy, shiny, vibrant tresses than 36 inches of dead dry, crispy strands. Plainly put, it is against my religion to be here or anywhere for split ends. I merely cannot… ever! At least when you prune a garden, you can use the shards for compost, you can’t use the dead hair for much of anything! It’s not visually appealing, it sounds crunchy, it feels Sahara desert dry, I’m pretty sure it would taste and smell bad to. Dead, split, hair/ends is in no ways shape or form stimulating to any sense so it should be eradicated as soon as humanly possible…. that is all.