One of the many books that accompanied my grade school projects...
Ok folks, here we go. My first blog post. I have spent all morning coming up with excuses as to why I couldn’t post this blog. Before giving you those excuses, however, perhaps I should share the reason as to why they exist to begin with: I am an aspiring writer… with a deep seeded fear of writing. I am sure you can see the problem with this. I can even see back to where it began, both my love for writing, and my anxiety.
All I have ever wanted to do is to be a writer. I have memories from elementary school of local authors visiting and speaking with our class about what it was like to write and illustrate books for children. I remember being captivated by the creative process, and felt as if they were speaking solely to me, giving me encouragement to go forth and write. From then on, every project or presentation I did, there was a neatly hand written and illustrated book to accompany it.
My favorite classes were reading and creative writing. Although I was not one of the best readers in class, and often stumbled over words as I anxiously read aloud, I took deep pride when my teacher would commend my ability to take it slow and sound out the words. I would sit in my seat, tall, proud, and slightly flushed from the rush of anxiety. In creative writing, however, I was a shining star. My teachers would compliment my use of vivid and colorful imagery, and encourage me to expand upon parts that felt a little bland. I never felt bad about these suggestions, but rather challenged and excited.
I continued to create my world through words, reaching hardly a challenge that I could not face, until 5th grade. It was the last few weeks of school, and our very last project was a school wide writing contest. I was ecstatic. I new without a shadow of a doubt that I would win first prize. I had been prepairing myself for this moment throughout my entire elementary education. First prize was mine.
The categories were split up between grades: First and Second grades had “Animals”, Third and Fourth had “Family”, and the Fifth and Sixth graders had “Inanimate objects”. My story came to me instantaneously. I began to write very diligently. There was not a distraction in the world that could tear my eyes from the paper in front of me. I finished my first draft in class the first day. We still had a week to work on it, and many students were still strugging with choosing a topic. I brought my paper to Mrs. Ames for feedback. She made minimal marks on the paper with her red pen and encouraged me to elaborate on certain parts of the story.
I excitedly spent the next four days, both in school and out working on the assignment and sucking up all of the praise that was sent my way. My father, my teachers and my peers had assured me that I was in good standing for first place. My story was about a frisbee who longed to travel the world, catching breezes and viewing the 7 wonders from soaring heights.
Unfortunately, for this sad, beaten little frisbee, he belonged to a large, slobbery Rottweiler, who either chewed him up, or forgot about him altogether. One day the dog picked him up and shook him so hard that he flew right over the nine foot fence and into a river that took him to a park, where he was discovered by two little boys who sent him flying through the air to another person who brought him home and then to a far away beach where he caught a wave that took him to distant shores, and so on. This was my best piece ever. I was more proud of this one paper than I had ever been in my entire 10 years of existance. I knew that when I won first place, I would certainly go on to be a published author, right then and there.
The day came to present our papers. We would be reading them in front of our peers, parents, teachers, and a team of judges that included two local authors, our lunch lady, Larry the janitar, and the principle of our school. I was nervous, but sure that I would win it. Fifth graders read before the sixth grade, proving ourselves to be formidable opponants to those one year ahead of us. I made eye contact with the judges to guage thier reaction as I recited my story almost by heart. They seemed impressed and smiled at my jokes and witty similes. I continued to watch them as the others read thier stories, convinced that they were not nearly as enthralled as they were by my own.
At the end, we took a break for snacks while the judges convened to tally up thier scores and choose a winner. I enjoyed my sugared cookies and fruit punch while classmates showered me with praise and admiration for my story. I took it all in and imagined myself as a famous author, with a bookstore full of my work. My dreams were coming true, at the tender age of ten.
The judges called us back to our seats and began with a speach about how we were all winners, and all great writers. They reiterated the criteria on which they were judging, and set the trophy for first place on the podeum. “And our first place winner is…” My heart raced as I sat on my knees in the front row, waiting for them to call my name. “Jodi! With her story about the dizzy earth!” I jumped up expectantly, only to sit back down quickly, and utterly embarrassed. I was in shock, how could they have chosen her story? The earth is technically a living organizm, not an inanimate object… it admittedly was a good story, but she should have been disqualified for not following the rules (“Don’t be a sore loser,” my father later told me on the ride home. “But I am sore dad, that hurt…” I shot back)
In the end, I won third place, behind an epileptic Earth and an American Flag. I didn’t write much anymore after that. I was afraid of being less than perfect, and worried about being judged by those who were more talented, knowledgable or skilled than me. I have spent the last 16 years jotting down ideas, writing outlines and empty stories, and procrastinating from what it is that I really want to do with my life. I have held onto fear of judgement, but find that the person judging me most harshly is myself.
Over the years I have become a master procrastinater to avoid doing what I really want to do. I come up with all kinds of excuses as to why I can not just sit down and write. Here are a few: It’s too hot, I should go to the beach, the house is a disaster, I will write after Im done cleaning and organizing, I should really update my status on facebook, I have no clean underwear, Im completely broke and cant go sit and write at Dobrah, so im not going to write at all, I should read more before I write, for inspiration, I should be working, I have nothing to write about, I dont like my writing, I do not have a very extensive vocabulary, or I just plain dont want to write right now.
The problem with these excuses is that they are exactly that. They hold absolutly no weight against my writing or my writing practice. If I took even just a half hour each morning to sit down and write, I would easily get into the groove of writing, and it would then improve exponentially.
A few days ago I was taking a walk with a friendly acuiantence named Sean. He told me that every day that I do not write, is another day lost from living my dream. I realized then, that many people have to work so hard to even get to the first step of being able to live thier dream. All I have to do is write. It is so readily available to me. I have all of the resources I could ever possibly need. All that I need to do is take action.
Once I parted ways with Sean, I came straight home and come to my wordpress site. I had set up the account in May while I was in Minneapolis, with every intention of blogging about my time there, and beginning my regular writing practice. I had two weeks off with days free while Alicia was away at work, and I still managed to distract myself from writing. I guess all that matters is the NOW. I am writing now, I am happy to be sitting in my 90 degree, stuffy appartment, drinking XXX Vitamin Water, and forcing myself to finish a blog before I even get up from my bed.
It has taken me three hours to write this. Humming and hawing over what to write next. But I didnt allow myself to go back and re-read or re-write any part of this blog (id be here for 8 hours then…) I am just going to post it, and allow it to be what it is. My first blog. I will hopefully come back months or years from now and read this, and think to myself “Wow, I am really glad I started. My, how I have improved.
Thank you Sean for your encouragement. That is exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.
