by morganwolf » Thu Oct 20, 2005 10:23 pm
What a lovely note! I am glad someone here mentioned that their creativity is being blocked by these weird energies. Needless to say, I have the same problem. Writing used to come easy for me. Some of my best, most prolific writing years were 1997-2000 (pre-GWB).<br><br>I think I've said here before that I just finished my BA in anthropology. I'm in my early 50s, so finishing college was a huge milestone - the end of a very long journey for me. Although I went to college to write, I ended up on the anthro track, because it seemed to hold more of a career potential than creative writing.<br><br>Halfway through the major, I was feeling unfulfilled. Then, 9/11 happened. See, before the Towers fell, in that very same September, I was making plans to switch my major to creative writing. It never came to pass. In the aftermath of that blue-skied September day, such a choice seemed impractical, even foolish. Needless to say, I stuck with the 'devil I knew' and took a half-hearted degree in cultural anthro. I have always regretted that act of resignation: that I did not take Frost's 'road less traveled by'. I wanted to stick with what felt safe. What a foolish and cowardly thing!<br><br>I tried to salvage my dream by minoring in writing and rhetoric (which is not the same as creative writing). I'm not a fiction writer, screenwriter, or poet. Rather, I have a flair for creative non-fiction writing. In particular, the memoir (Angela's Ashes, anyone?). In my last couple of years, I took so many writing classes that I ended up majoring in my minor, if you know what I mean. In fact, my major advisor was miffed because I blew off a couple of research opportunities so I could work in the Writing Center. There, I launched a journal for student writing associates, who worked as tutors in the Center, to publish their own work.<br><br>Ultimately, what I accomplished in the Writing Center meant more to me than any of the anthropology opportunities that I was told were mine for that taking. (I had some seriously good contacts but threw it all away - to the collective chagrin of the anthro faculty, who had counted on me to be the next president's fellow.) I let my grades slip, and finally took my degree without honors. In answer to their perplexed questions, I said the only thing I could say: all I want to do is write.<br><br>Now, I have a chance to submit a portfolio to the same college, where my work is already known and appreciated, to become an MA candidate in writing, rhetoric, and the media arts. Something is holding me back. I am not sure what, except this terrible sense of what's the point? I can barely write anything now.<br><br>One problem is that I work too much. I'm exhausted. Perhaps that's part of it. In order to create, you need energy, quiet, and the time to be introspective. I'm sure that some of my anger/despair is due to that sense of time passing and my inability to move forward. Because I am afraid of something intangible. Things that I have no control over.<br><br>Manxkat - I smoke pot now, too. It's just a little hard to get around here. I don't travel in those circles anymore, so it's difficult. But on those rare occasions that I can smoke, I feel tremendous relief. Only then, when the world stops (was that a Carlos Castaneda thing? stopping the world?) do I feel the stirrings of my soul. I have begun referring to marijuana as 'the Holy Herb' and I really believe it has curative and restorative powers.<br><br>Once again, thanks for listening. I feel better. All cried out, that's for sure. <p></p><i></i>
