...is harder than it looks. Especially when you're 41 and you've attended a half-dozen community colleges in order to reach this point.
Sigh. Oh well. I'm using my powers of psychotic persistence (hat tip to Jay Lake) to conquer this beast, just like I do for writing and publishing.
I don't anticipate majoring or minoring in creative writing. I do intend to focus on a writing-intensive major, but non-fiction, business-oriented, dayjob-type stuff. I need one of those: a dayjob.
Eta: I got in!!!
2011/04/25
2011/04/18
Coming Unstuck, Academically Speaking
So, I recruited a housemate to join me on a trek to my prospective Uni, and schlepped a pile of transcripts and associated paperwork to the counseling office on Friday.
We talked over my academic work, and I came away feeling like I have a good shot at actually becoming a student there this fall.
...
Which let loose a logjam inside me that I didn't quite know was there, holding in a lot of academic excitement and glee about being a college student again. We wandered around the library and student union and bookstore, and the whole time I felt this great glee-bubble swelling in my chest.
By the time I woke up and logged in the next morning, I was furiously investigating graduate programs so as to better know how to wind up there in a year or two. I can't stop thinking about it, now - about good grades and dean's lists and awesome opportunities that can be mine.
I have a short list of grad schools to apply to. I have never done that before, I've always just taken a guess at who I thought would accept me and applied to that one place. If everything goes according to plan in the next two weeks, a whole world of awesome is about to unlock for me. I'm so excited!
We talked over my academic work, and I came away feeling like I have a good shot at actually becoming a student there this fall.
...
Which let loose a logjam inside me that I didn't quite know was there, holding in a lot of academic excitement and glee about being a college student again. We wandered around the library and student union and bookstore, and the whole time I felt this great glee-bubble swelling in my chest.
By the time I woke up and logged in the next morning, I was furiously investigating graduate programs so as to better know how to wind up there in a year or two. I can't stop thinking about it, now - about good grades and dean's lists and awesome opportunities that can be mine.
I have a short list of grad schools to apply to. I have never done that before, I've always just taken a guess at who I thought would accept me and applied to that one place. If everything goes according to plan in the next two weeks, a whole world of awesome is about to unlock for me. I'm so excited!
2011/04/13
It's Not Just a Blank Page Thing
The fear of writing is a multi-layered, constant companion.
I guess that needs some explaining.
So I started a new story yesterday. I'm really excited about it, as it's one of those stories that pings something inside me - it's not just a plot I thought of or a character I created; it's a narrative that speaks to things I Believe and experiences I've had that shaped who I am.
I've forgotten where I found the maxim: "Write the story only you can write." I'm digging around Google looking for it, but anyway this is one of those stories, for me....
And I'm terrified. I know from experience that feeling a story doesn't mean I'm ready to write it, and that sometimes my skill level just isn't up to something my imagination asks for. I don't want to break this story.
Still, the mermaid story came to me before I was ready, and I had a ton of false starts before the real version came out. Those unsuccessful tries were frustrating, but they certainly didn't keep me from writing the successful one when the time came.
I guess that needs some explaining.
So I started a new story yesterday. I'm really excited about it, as it's one of those stories that pings something inside me - it's not just a plot I thought of or a character I created; it's a narrative that speaks to things I Believe and experiences I've had that shaped who I am.
I've forgotten where I found the maxim: "Write the story only you can write." I'm digging around Google looking for it, but anyway this is one of those stories, for me....
And I'm terrified. I know from experience that feeling a story doesn't mean I'm ready to write it, and that sometimes my skill level just isn't up to something my imagination asks for. I don't want to break this story.
Still, the mermaid story came to me before I was ready, and I had a ton of false starts before the real version came out. Those unsuccessful tries were frustrating, but they certainly didn't keep me from writing the successful one when the time came.
2011/04/12
Picking up the ball. Again.
Blogging is an exercise in starting. It doesn't seem to ever reach the kind of automatic stage, where I don't have to ask myself whether I'm going to blog today or not.
I asked myself that question today, and answered, "Yes."
This blog is going to document a lot of things about my creative life, and it won't be on a clockwork sort of schedule. I do hope I can conquer the part of my brain that likes to hide from things, and make it a more frequent part of my process.
I asked myself that question today, and answered, "Yes."
This blog is going to document a lot of things about my creative life, and it won't be on a clockwork sort of schedule. I do hope I can conquer the part of my brain that likes to hide from things, and make it a more frequent part of my process.
2011/01/27
Hi Honey I'm Home!
I wound up going to see my family after the new year - it was lovely and exciting to get to look into their eyes and tell them I love them, to hug my competent, grown up daughter and tell her how proud I am of her graduation, her first professional job.
The experience was also profoundly disorienting. I've been in California for two and a half years now; I'm a busy returning college student with lovely, excellent friends. As I sat in my father's living room with the once-trendy Moroccan gold paint I picked out for the walls, drinking coffee from the same cartoon mug I drank from as a teenager mumble years ago, I was struck by the sensation that my life here was a mirage, a vivid dream I had suddenly waked from.
No thank you, very much.
The experience was also profoundly disorienting. I've been in California for two and a half years now; I'm a busy returning college student with lovely, excellent friends. As I sat in my father's living room with the once-trendy Moroccan gold paint I picked out for the walls, drinking coffee from the same cartoon mug I drank from as a teenager mumble years ago, I was struck by the sensation that my life here was a mirage, a vivid dream I had suddenly waked from.
No thank you, very much.
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