::in the background::
she's writing graduate school essays and i'm contemplating how ridiculous my statistics homework is. i spend hours calculating the mean, median, mode and midpoint of strings of up to 42 1-5 digit numbers (averages. i get it already. 42 numbers? that's what programs like excel are for, not me and a ten dollar calculator). i started this post thinking of comparing myself to my friends who i admire as writers (yes, you and you, of course), and even my "inner game of writing" teacher at uci. but then i want to slap my hormonal self in the face to snap out of the ridiculous notion that i've chosen the wrong profession. at least i was brave enough to share my free-writing piece with the class this past wednesday. some weren't. and it makes me hurt from their lack of confidence.
could it really be possible? think about it. could it really be possibly to write a perfect first draft? i mean, half the time i blog without barely a second read-through. if i do, it's days later and i blush at my misspellings and grammatical faux pas. chalk it up to artistic temper, or whatever. but it's me. and i've got a voice. and this whole process is about exploration.
"write what you like to read" mrs. demarco-barrett says in class. and suddenly, as intriguing as literary journalism sounds, how sweetly it rolls off the tongue, i realize that might not be what i want. magazine writing is somewhat appealing because of its nature: concise articles, limited word count, little time to bore the reader. but then i imagine what magazine out there is suitable for my tastes, and i realize i barely read my "real simple" subscription. i thumb through it to admire the textures and the layout, but other than that WHO HAS TIME? with the exception of being in the bathroom or at the salon (where i enjoy choice publications such as "people" or "us"), my schedule doesn't allow for such luxuries.
so, now what. i'm in flux. and flustered. did i mention hormonal? i'm a writer. i am a writer. that's what this blog is home to: my words. and i fully intend to use them. but now, what major to pursue exactly?
could it really be possible? think about it. could it really be possibly to write a perfect first draft? i mean, half the time i blog without barely a second read-through. if i do, it's days later and i blush at my misspellings and grammatical faux pas. chalk it up to artistic temper, or whatever. but it's me. and i've got a voice. and this whole process is about exploration.
"write what you like to read" mrs. demarco-barrett says in class. and suddenly, as intriguing as literary journalism sounds, how sweetly it rolls off the tongue, i realize that might not be what i want. magazine writing is somewhat appealing because of its nature: concise articles, limited word count, little time to bore the reader. but then i imagine what magazine out there is suitable for my tastes, and i realize i barely read my "real simple" subscription. i thumb through it to admire the textures and the layout, but other than that WHO HAS TIME? with the exception of being in the bathroom or at the salon (where i enjoy choice publications such as "people" or "us"), my schedule doesn't allow for such luxuries.
so, now what. i'm in flux. and flustered. did i mention hormonal? i'm a writer. i am a writer. that's what this blog is home to: my words. and i fully intend to use them. but now, what major to pursue exactly?
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