Wish Me Well

Today something's going to happen.

I know this not because I have a feeling about it, or because I've had some kind of glimpse into the future.

It's because I'm going to make it happen.

I don't know what's going to happen after this thing happens. I can't predict what people are going to do or make them do what I want them to do. I can only share what I have to say and hope for the best.

I say all I can do is hope for the best because I don't really know what the best would be. And I probably won't know it when it happens either, because I won't have had the other things happen that could have happened, so therefore I won't have anything to compare the thing that does happen against. If that makes sense?

It occurs to me that I don't make sense a lot of the time. Especially not in talking, but sometimes in my writing too. Actually, that only ever happens when I'm trying to skirt around something. If I actually say how I'm feeling in context to what's happening, I can make people understand. But telling involves so much.

But it doesn't matter. I'm in the best position I have been to be able to get this out in the open. Once I put this out there, I'm not going to have any secrets anymore. This is my big secret, the thing that has spawned countless writings. I hope I don't lose my ability to write. That would really suck.

I can't think too hard about what I'm going to do. Because I've thought too long and too hard already. And I think that I've prepared the person who I need to tell this to as well as I can.

I've been trying to figure out how to tell them. What seemed like a good idea last night doesn't anymore. I'm just going to be honest, and open, and probably wing it as it comes. That might not be the best idea, but I can't keep thinking about it. I need to do it. I need to do it. I could keep waiting. But no, I don't want that to be an option anymore.

I don't know what I want. But I know that this needs to be done. Everything that happens afterward will happen, it's unknown to me, and that's one of the things that is now pressing me to do it. I've realized that I really have no idea how it's going to go down.

I was going to say so why not do it. But that is not the question I am asking. There are reasons to not. But there are reasons to as well. And I can't keep listening to the why nots. I have to listen to the why tos.

I'm going to tell him.

~Dale B.

Opinionless

It recently occurred to me that I have no opinions about anything anymore.

Today I woke up with an intense sense of self that I haven't had in a long time. And I realized that I was doing some things that I should perhaps not being doing.

But my conscious is so eroded by this point that don't know what is right and what is wrong. Nothing feels right and nothing feels wrong.. I'm not really feeling much at all right now, yet I feel more like myself that I have in a while.

I'm trying to working through these issues in my mind but I honestly don't know what to do, what to say to make them improve and disintegrate as needed. I'm just confused; no, that's not even it, I'm just at a loss for what to do. Every direction has advantages and disadvantages, so then I think I might as well do nothing? But that's not doing anything either.

Ha. It's funny, that's what my article for Advanced Comp was supposed to be about. Taking action, doing something. That's like the only opinion I feel I can adequately express right now. Because now I hate what I wrote for that, so I'm trying to find a new issue and develop an opinion about it but I can't develop an opinion about anything, because they're all too complex. I can't just choose a side, because I see the views of both sides and can sympathize with both, note the pluses and minuses of both, much like my current life situation.

Stupid life is now interfering with my schoolwork.

I need to find an issue I care about that can actually have an opinion on. Because I didn't really care about legalizing drugs, but it was an opinion that seemed worth pursuing. Then I looked at the population of now 7 billion and thought, hey, how can that be fixed? But like, it doesn't necessarily need to be fixed, or regulated, and there are so many solutions, what's the right one? I don't want to choose one because the others have merit too.

I guess I'm at the point where I just feel like it is to each their own; everyone has their own opinions on issues, so I'm not going to try and have an opinion that will clash with theirs. I'm all about making people happy. I think I've just pressed it to the point where I can't hold any opinions for myself.

I guess I'll just have to look a little harder into my core to see if I have any shred of opinion left in me.

~Dale B.

**Revision:
I figured out what my article is going to be about. It's something I've always believed in and promoted in myself: the power of the human mind. It seems like everyone is on some kind of medication these days for various diagnosed mental disorders. But were they to strengthen their mind, I feel that many of these medications would become unnecessary. I just think that too many people don't put the effort into strengthening their minds, and so become reliant on the medication, rather than trying to find strength in themselves.

Na na na na na NANOWRIMO!

So..close.. to being..finished..

Meh, we're reaching the home stretch of these blog posts, since I tend to double post every few weeks.

Which is good, because I need to have time for Nanowrimo.

Oh yeah, in case you didn't know...

NANOWRIMO IS TOMORROWWWWWW!

Ahem. Sorry for the outburst.

But really, I'm so excited for Nanowrimo. I had heard of it before but didn't really know that much about it before joining the Professional Writing major this year. And then I actually made the mistake of thinking that October was actually November.. yeah, I was a little confuzzled at the start of this semester.

But now it's really happening tomorrow and I am beyond excited, as I said. I've been wanting to flesh out my idea since I came up with it, and it's been so hard to resist. I just feel like writing, and I love that this gives me an excuse to do so and a deadline under which I can write consistently.

That's the best part, I think. Because I'm such a procrastinator (woah, was just about to write protagonist, can you tell I'm a little hyped up and ready for Nanowrimo yet?) I usually start projects and then just never get around to finishing them, because I have no pressure, no deadline to work under. Whereas with school work I can crack that junk out like it's nothing 'cause of all the deadlines. So this is just, like, awesome.

But as that is the case, my last couple blog posts might very well just be sections of my Nanowrimo novel. Because I've been wanting to post some original poems/fiction/creative nonfiction (aside from that one writing prompt post.. and I also think I posted one poem), so this fits quite nicely.

Also I wanted to mention that this week's assigned readings seem like they're going to be especially helpful in writing my Nanowrimo novel. Very interesting stuff. Especially the bit about Hikmet.. I never even knew this guy existed. His poems are just beautiful; I'd definitely recommend looking him up.

It's funny how I continue to find beauty and meaning and a sort of comfort in the poems and writings of great writers. Because they always seems to perfectly articulate what I'm feeling in words, where I fail in this pursuit. Gives me hope that I can one day inspire others as they've inspired me. Even if I can't quite articulate one emotion, I can still articulate others that perhaps other people cannot, and therefore can help them to better understand themselves, as I have come to better understand myself.

One can only hope.

~Dale B.

Sorry In Advanced. Heated Post.

Wow. Yeah.

So just as a warning, I feel as though this blog post is about to be a rant.

Although if you read my blog frequently, you would know that already, since it’s pretty rare that I post twice a week, let alone one day right after the other, and even more out of the ordinary, on a Wednesday night.

So consider yourself forewarned.

All I want to do is write, and write with my own voice. When I wrote for Voices, the section of the Reading Eagle Newspaper written exclusively by teens, I loved the kind of articles that I could write straight from my own thoughts, without needing to do any undesired research.

Don’t get me wrong, I like research a lot, except when I do it, I don’t really think of it as research. When I like research, it’s when I’m looking something up for the benefit of my own knowledge, because I am genuinely interested in the topic. So it’s more like fun than work.

Call me lazy if you want, that’s just how I like to write—no strings attached, no need to cite sources and add quotes.

So whenever I try to do that in college—write about a topic I like and don’t necessarily need research for beyond the little that might help me to understand myself and my thoughts a little better—I get screwed over. I always get a horrible grade on it.

I mean, ok. I can sort of see how in some situations, I could have fulfilled the assignment better with another topic, and more academic research. But the writing itself would not have been as good, as purely my voice and style. Now, the professor may be happy with what I’d write as long as it perfectly fits the parameters of the project, but I wouldn’t. I want to write, in every class, with my voice. I don’t want to write to conform, to just give them what they think fulfills the assignment. I want to give them something different.

I want to write along my stream of consciousness and be satisfied that I’ve gotten my point across at least to myself; every paper that I’ve written like this has helped me get to better know myself, and helped me to work through my problems by putting them on paper. I used the assignment to get myself to write down my thoughts, as I wouldn’t take it upon myself to just sit down and write them otherwise, because I simply just wouldn’t take the time out of my schedule.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so attached to these papers, so angry that others don’t see the value that I see in them; because they’ve helped me, not them. They just want me to do the assignment, while I want to be healed in my pain. I used this as an outlet for myself, rather than just doing what they wanted.

I guess I shouldn’t do this anymore. But I can’t help but take advantage of anything that enables me to be able to get out my pain, past transgressions, and errant thoughts and work through them.

It’s how I stay sane.

~Dale B.

**Revision:
Yeah, also. I really hate that I can't explain my reasons for various decisions in papers, as is often the case in my life with my decisions in general. I mean realistically I could talk to my professors about what I was trying to do with a certain word choice or metaphor, but I've done that in the past, and I know that I would argue every point. Everyone sees things differently. I don't want to be that girl who tries to explain and argue about why she made every little decision again; it's just makes me seem annoying, and I'm getting the impression that my professors already see me like that, despite my efforts. I don't need to be that girl.

Bbbbbad to the Bone...

Ah.

So I'm experiencing a bit of confuzzlement lately.

Well ok, not lately. As of the past two days or so.

And I have a bit of a discussion in mind.

The premise involves focusing (after the fact) on what bad things could possibly happen, and what good, fun things did happen.

It's kind of strange how after you do something "bad" with supposed consequences, your mind, after the initial like ecstasy of rebellion, decides to start considering everything that could potentially go wrong now that you've done the thing. Like, who could find out, if you'll be hurt or get in trouble later on down the line. And it just seems to grow worse as time goes back after the incident.

Is it worth considering these? On the one hand, you've already done the thing, so you can't really change it, so considering any potential consequences isn't really going to help them to not happen.

On the other hand, considering those consequences could help you to deal with them should they arise later. Or could prevent you from committing the same supposed bad thing at a later time.

On the other OTHER hand, you could potentially be stressing yourself out over nothing, and creating ill-effects on your health.

See what I mean? Too complex. Perhaps better to not think of it at all, except that would be making the decision to not think of it. Bleh.

Then there's the fact of considering the consequences before you take the action. And also how these considerations can potentially fly out the window in the moment, and if that is the fault of the person being distracted, or making some subconscious decision to just not consider the consequences in the moment. Can the person then be blamed for their actions? Have they still made a choice? (ah, all I could think of was Freewill when I wrote that)

So many ethical choices, in individual thoughts, decisions, considerations. As in writing, especially creative non-fiction. I'm noting this more and more as I gather interviews and worry about how I'm going to be portraying the people I know in writing. Even though I feel I know them, I know that my view is often very skewed, and that they may feel differently about themselves than I see them.

Jeez, creative non-fiction. How come you make me ask so many questions??

I only have so much time to think about these issues in one school week.

It's a shame, really.

~Dale B.

Life is like a..wah?

So for some reason I've been particularly philosophical lately.

It might be because I'm actually taking and enjoying classes for my major this semester.

It may be because I finally got really into studying and actually thinking about what I'm learning a few weeks ago.

It may be because I keep watching these movies where there are all these life or death scenarios.

It might even be because I finally stopped caring about what people think so much.

But mostly I think it's because of my biology class.

Yeah, seemingly the most insignificant of all those I listed, huh? I thought so too. Apparently I didn't think as much as I do now (or just didn't pay a lot of attention) when I took my high school bio class. Because everything I've been learning (after I started actually paying attention again, of course) is extremely fascinating. It occurred to me (in a wave of amazement) the other day that I was once something similar to the tiny cells that I can view under my microscope. Talk about revelations.

And strangely enough, it feels like in learning about evolution and the growth of cells, I'm questioning my religion or something. Like, as a Christian, my whole life there seemed to be this stigma like evolution is definitely not what happened, and God made everyone individual and special. But in learning about this stuff in college, I'm realizing that I never really understood evolution before…but it makes sense. (on the other hand, the creationist view also has some good points...but both also have some inconsistencies. Something to think about) Also, the whole cell development process, like there are an infinite number of ways we can turn out, but it's partially based on the chromosomes we inherit from our parents, so it's sort of predetermined at least partly how we'll turn out; which I guess could fit into Christianity’s beliefs of everyone being created uniquely but also that God knows how he wants you to be, so has made you the child of certain parents, etc...

^Woah, yeah, the above delving into discussion boggled my mind a bit… there are just too many discussion points. See what I mean? It's making me think so much. But I really don't even have time to think about any of it, which is just awful. Thank God for other soul-searching, knowledge seeking, caffeine-guzzling college students like me who can have midnight discussions like I had last Monday. Although the next day was kind of a struggle (i.e. zombie-caffeinated haze).

Yeah… where was I going with all that? Oh yeah, thinking philosophically. Yeah, I think that's the main reason, although the others certainly contributed as well. Like the whole movie thing, I actually sat down to watch Transformers 3 and midway started having these incredibly philosophical thoughts... which to be perfectly honest I can't even remember now. But it was deep. And it was spawned from a movie about transforming robots that end up saving to world. Go figure.

Also, I had a nightmare last night for the first time in like forever. It involved a guy who had robotic snake-like claws strongly resembling those that try to attack Carly in the car in Transformers 3. Also, I just made this connection now after writing about Transformers…

Hmm.

~Dale B.

Wait, what?

Kay, changing it up. We need to post our responses to a writing prompt. The prompt will follow what I wrote so that I don't give anything away...

You – you’re always there for me. Always have been, always will be. You are that one thing I can’t let go of, shouldn’t let go of, probably won’t ever let go of. I could probably let you go if I needed to, though. If I just never saw you again, if someone took you away and I had no way of getting you back—yeah, that’s probably the only way I’d ever let you go. You’re irreplaceable.

I’ve got friends that look like you, but they’re not the same. They’re not quite that same shade of snowy white, they aren’t there for me whenever I need them like you. They aren’t the one I ache for when I’m away from you for even just one day.

You are the one that brings me pleasant dreams in the night; without you by my side, I’m not home, I’m not safe or secure. You are home; you are comfort and my strength.

Your touch is like the wind, like a rabbit’s whiskers against my own cheek. You’re as light as the wind, too, and smell as sweet. Oh, your scent—like the seasons changing, like the shift from sunlight to rain, like I’m encompassed in sweetness. That’s what pulls me in, what makes me want to stay, what gives me the strength to leave so that I can come back to you again. That scent is the jolt I need when I’m sleep-deprived, the freshness when I’m overwhelmed, the handkerchief to catch my unattributed tears.

When She hurt you, I couldn’t stand it. She digs her claws into anyone and anything She can get at. I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. She just continued, oblivious to my frantic attempts to save you. When I finally managed to pull Her away, to yank Her from your still self, She still didn’t let go. Your flesh is stretched and ripped, torn in Her attempt to hold on, to keep control of you, to keep her prize. You are marred, riddled with holes, disfigured. You’re translucent; I can practically see through you. I do look right through you, at that traitorous one who made you this way. Poor you. Poor, poor you.

But I still love you. I rationalize that you’re ok, and you’ll make it through. I tend to your wounds, fixing them as best I can, and ignoring the ones I can’t make better. Are you in pain, do your scars hurt? You make me feel so much better when I’m hurting, yet I can’t return the favor.

You’re getting older now, but you still look the same to me. Probably because I’ve know you my whole life. Looking back, I remember when you were young and new. Free of scars, with a beautiful, shiny white ribbon around your neck. It was like you were a snowflake—alighting on my window, fighting off my fears. Then you lost your ribbon. No, not lost—it was cut right from your neck. They rationalized that it was falling off anyway, that I could keep it for you once it was off—but they lied.

You were my comfort in the storm, still are. You were my escape route if danger should ever find me. Now I’ve grown, but you’ve stayed mostly the same. I have new comfort, new escapes, a new life. I don’t need you, but I still want you. I promise I’ll always be there for you, if you promise the same for me.

I love you, Blankie.

Ah. And now I am experiencing slight embarrassment. Anyway, here is the prompt:

Write a love letter to an inanimate object that you cannot live without. Do NOT identify it by name right away - if you must, save the ID for the end of the letter - let the suspense about what "it" is build. Be specific, detailed, and include a story about why this object is so important to you and how it has changed your life (if that is the case). Feel free to be funny. :)

Well, funny I was not. Sappy? Very much so. Eh, hope it was enjoyable to read anyway.

~Dale B.

Tag, You're It!

I wonder if anyone actually enjoys these blogs or not.

When I sit down to the write them, I usually don't have more than a slight idea of what I want to talk about; I just follow my stream of consciousness where ever it goes, because it, first of all, fills space, second, is easy to write, and third, is a good writing practice, at least in my opinion. So basically, it makes for an easy-to-write blog.

Just wanted to explain that as much to myself as anyone who is actually following this blog. Because apparently some other people in my class use their blogs to flesh out their in-class writing assignments and are super-creative and well structured, whereas I'm just like, eh, lemme just blog the way I think a blog is supposed to be.

Anyway, just wanted to mix things up slightly and talk about the novel I'd like to write for Nanowrimo, since October is supposed to be the planning month. By the way, Nanowrimo stands for National Novel Writing Month--it takes places during the month of November, and the idea is to try and write a 50,000 word novel within the month. Kay, here goes:

So my idea is essentially a giant game of tag. Props to Will Houlette for sparking this idea when he tagged me in class and the following recollected conversation took place:

Will: Tag, you're it. No tag-backs.

Me: Well that's not fair, now it's going to be awkward for me to tag anybody.

Will: No it won't. Everybody knows how to play tag.

*cue cogs turning*

So I started to think about what an excellent novel that would make--every chapter would take place from a different person's point of view, the point of view of the person who has been tagged. As soon as they tagged someone else, a new chapter would start and the view would shift to the new person who has been tagged.

So then I started thinking about what kind of characters I could have, and since I'm taking this creative nonfiction class, I kind of really wanted to use my actual friends (and not-quite friends) as characters. I want to flesh out their characters as I have observed them and I think I could make for some really excellent points of view. My notes on characters (with their original names changed, obviously) and who they tag/are tagged by are as follows:

Ina tagged originally by Will.

Kailyn tags Liam

Liam tags Kendra

Russo tags Lena over facebook, gets tagged by

Winston

Nona tags Cloud

Luke tags Nona

Jude

Lena gets tagged over facebook by Russo, tags Luke

Kendra Russo

And it just occurred to me that I forget which names I assigned to which actual people, because I failed to make a list, once again trusting my memory only to have it utterly fail me. Ugh, and I also forget the details of the tagging that I wanted. Same thing happened with a previous story I tried to write.. I had the details in my mind, then failed to write them down, trusting my memory, then left the subject for a while, only to forget my brainstorming. Gah.

Anyway. My only concern is that I'm going to try and present my characters as honestly as possible as I see them, and unfortunately I am an extremely critical and analytical person so I see all their flaws and faults, I want to present those--but I'm afraid that they'll see this novel at some point or ask to read it, and then hate me forever for presenting them in such an honest light; because I do know that many of things I intend to highlight are things that these people choose to ignore or hide.

I guess a solution to this might be to let them read what I've written before adding it to the novel and see what they think, maybe gaining some of their trust in the process rather than just having them randomly stumble upon it someday and get offended. Suggestions are very much appreciated as to how to deal with this situation.

Additional notes: Some chapters will be long, and others may be a paragraph short. Some characters may be people I've made up, or composite characters. This is going to be a mix of creative nonfiction and fiction (isn't most fiction like that at least in some way?). I'm also going to be a character, if I can do it objectively enough. The game will start (well not really start, as I'm going to propose that this is really a never-ending game, with no beginning or end -- this is just where my characters happened to come into the game, and spread it among their friends. Funnily enough, this plays into how my own friends, although from different backgrounds and social groups, are all interconnected in one way or another) with Will, and end with Nona's tagging of Cloud. The game will span across distances, through the internet and via traveling from one place to the next, through chance encounters and long relationships, through light taps and vigorous punches. Oh, and there are no tag-backs.

That's all I've got for now. I'm kind of hesitant to post this onto the web, because I don't really want anyone to steal my idea. But I'll go ahead and trust the World Wide Web for now.

Can't wait for 12:01 on November 1!

~Dale B. 

Life, As I Now Know It

This class, like all my English classes, has inevitably made me think.

And for that matter, changed my thinking.

For some reason, it seems that I keep reading or hearing in my classes that in order to be a good writer, one has to keep their eyes and ears wide open and keep themselves open. I think that, without really thinking about it, I have done this.

I mean, in the past I've tried to keep my mind open to things, to observe the beauty in life, but it seems like it's coming more naturally now. I used to be jealous of the kids in "Bridge to Terabithia" who could imagine so well that the creatures that only existed in their minds came to life. It occurred to me that I would never be able to have such an imagination, as I could not see past what was right in front of me.

That's changed, apparently. And it's been such an amazing change that it has resolved my previously biggest issue. I stopped being numb, stopped being trapped, and became open anew.

I don't want to be stupid and vapid. I don't want to be a certain way or act in a certain manner just because it will please someone or make them potentially like me more. I don't want to catch myself agreeing with something I don't really agree with, without even thinking about it.

I don't want to love something or someone that is bad for me, that is killing me because I can’t help but think that there still could be a future there.

And I don't anymore. It's so weird, this different frame of mind. Before I just wanted to do certain things that would allow me to grow closer to my issue, strengthen it and make it burn me even more. Now I want to task risks, enjoy life, push the limits of life. I don't care to consult my issue for making my own decisions, and my decisions aren't influenced by whether it would bring me even closer to my issue.

It's so strange that I can look at my issue now and think about how much easier life is without it, how much better life is and how much more open I am. I went from being cautious and close-minded, regretful and overly-analytical, unable to get away from the question of "what if?" and constant "someday..."'s, and now I see that "someday" will happen if it happens, but I'm not waiting around until then. I'm going to seek life out and see how far I can push it.

It’s also unusual, this newfound appreciation of life, and also the unquenchable need to push it to its limits. I'm so unafraid to die, or get hurt that it's strange. Yet I love my life and everything that constitutes it. Weird.

Maybe because before this issue, I wasn't really living for anything, just living. Then my issue became my life--I was living for it, to interact with it, to see it grow. And now that I've finally let it go, maybe I don't want to go back to just living. I want to go beyond living, and find something else that's worth living for, or die trying.

Maybe that’s it.

~Dale B.

On-Track in an Off-Track Kind of Life

Ah, it just occurred to me that I'm a third of the way done with these. Which is somewhat depressing..

This reminds me of the blogs I had to do like every day for Creative Writing class, but on a smaller scale. We didn't really have to write them every day, but we had to do like 50 of them over the class period. So I just wrote them every day.

But then I felt obligated to continue them after I’d passed the 50 mark because I've always been a teacher’s pet and for some reason I thought that would make me more likable, even though the teacher probably didn't even care. And besides, I've heard (and what writer hasn't) that you should write every day in order to be a good writer, so I sort of wanted to continue that..which is also why I tried to get back into writing my own blog in the summer.

Which lasted for about a week before I started slacking off. I had been inspired by seeing the movie "Julie and Julia" again, and then reading the actual blog. I wanted to inspire other people like I had been inspired.

I also wanted to mention that I got super pissed when my mom also told me I should be writing everyday if I want to be a good writer. Because, um, I already know that, but you know what, I'm not gonna write everyday and I'll still be a good writer. So there.

I'm such a teenage rebel.

Wow, so many paragraphs, and I didn't even mean to write anything on that which I did write about.. what I meant to talk about in this post was name meanings.

Because in that video we saw in class I was strangely struck by the woman who shared what her name meant.. because she suggested that her name sort of represented her. And it seems strange, but I've never really thought about it being like that.

Like, I've always known what my first name means...valley, or dweller in the valley. And I was like, oh, that's cool.. but I never really felt like that could be a translation of myself and my personality. Because I guess I always sort of assumed that I was named what I was named, and it doesn't really affect or is affected by my personality. But it kind of can be, I think.

So then I started thinking all philosophically about what "dweller in the valley" could mean in terms of myself. And I kind of feel like in my own situation, it's kind of emphasizing my mellow-ness and quietness, and the fact that people tend to come to me to talk about things, because I seem like someone who's safe to talk to.

So then my middle name, Alexandra--it apparently means protector of men. Which is kind of interesting, because I am very protective of my relationships with people, and protective of my friends in general. Also, I have a strong need in my soul to help people, and to make them feel good about themselves. It makes me feel like I exist in the world for a reason, in a way that none of the superficial things that go on everyday do. It makes me want to completely rid myself of those superficial things, though that's not always possible.

And finally my last name, the iconic "Bond"-- "a householder or tiller of the soil." Which I guess makes sense in the sense that my father's family were farmers and very hard-working, and my parents have always instilled in me a sense of needing to work for what I want or need. From an early age, I was never given any free money. I've always paid for things myself with whatever I might have saved up.

Of course, the things I deem as trying and hard-worked tasks are often not quite so in my parents eyes, but that's another story. I feel like the classic teenager, but honestly, we grew up in two different worlds. There’s a whole new, different, and equally difficult (in different ways) set of standards to live up to today.

So that was my adventure in discovering my identity through my name.

Now it seems to me that everyone should find some self-identity in their own names, if they never have before.

Go to it.

~Dale B.

I was going to name this "An Assortment of [insert subject of blog here]", but then I realized that I complete forgot what I had written

I am going into this with only the slightest inkling of what I want to talk about.

This should be interesting.

Although that's kind of what I do with a lot of my writing. I don't really plan that far in advance unless I get a good idea and try to expand on it (try being the operative word).

Also, I just noticed that I wrote "talk" about rather than "write" about. I guess that shows how heavily I place importance on my writing, because it is my clearest voice to speak with. I can refine it, pour my soul into it, think on it long into the night, thesaurus-ize it until I'm satisfied with it. Or show my pure procrastination and laziness by not touching it at all. Whatever I write, it is who I am and what I am feeling or want to be feeling at the time.

Ok, insightful point number one hit. Whoo.

But I need to write about something more clearly connected to class. Hmm..

Ok, got something. But that's depressing. If people are actually reading this blog they're seriously going to think I'm heavily depressed because all I talk about are depressing things about my life and how I need to fix myself. But that's not what I'm really trying to say, I'm just trying to discover things about myself more fully. And the depressing stuff is better expressed on paper then dwelled on in my mind.

Ok, here we go.

So we were in class, and talking about our first project and I brought up the fact that mine's kind of written and been revised a few times already but I don't know if I want to share it. No, I do know I want to share it, I just don't want certain people to read it. Wait, no, I do want everyone to read it, but I'm kind of afraid of how they'll react, what they'll think, if they'll understand the references. Because if certain people recognize the references, I could be screwed, or in bliss. Ugh, decisions suck.

So I really like what I've written. But I'm really kind of worried about it. I don't particularly want to say it out loud either. Well, actually, I probably would, I just want to polish it a bit first.

Oh wow, so I'm kind of concluding that this isn't so hard after all.

But, oh yeah. I'm kind of feel like I'm not doing the same research as everyone else. It was so easy to write up my project, but it's very hard to edit and choose what to omit and include and make letter-like and keep creative-fiction-y. So maybe that counts? I'm doing research into my soul. Oh..I just had a thought of some other side of the story I could have gotten when I realized that this isn't my journalism class, and I'm not writing up an article trying to be fair. This is my story from my point of view, and I will show it from my point of view. Screw being fair.

This is probably an extremely random blog post and I apologize. I could probably go on and on some more but I won't.

Wishing you the best,
~Dale B.

Drained of Emotion

You know what I noticed the other day in class?

I'm so screwed up.

Like, everyone was reading their beautifully written letters to loved ones and getting all emotional and everything and I had the strangest sensation.

I could tell what they were reading was sad.

I felt somewhat emotional.

But no tears came to my eyes.

It was really strange. And then it happened again this weekend. Something that I should have been sad or emotional about happened super abruptly to me, but here my eyes were, again, dry as a bone.

And I was in a position where it looked really bad that I wasn’t upset about it, which was even worse..

I also noticed something. I say I felt somewhat emotional because I recognized that I should be emotional and I normally would have got emotional because I'm an emotion person..but mostly I felt pretty numb.

Which leads me to question if my methods (i.e., not thinking about it and just essentially going numb) of dealing with a certain problem over the summer was the best plan. And if it screwed me up for good.

I was quite concerned about this, and had intended to write earlier about it, which probably would have been a completely un-objective pity party for myself. But then my best friend came up this weekend.

See, my best friend used to go to Kutztown, but decided that since they were cutting her major, she would transfer to West Chester. An hour (at least) away. So I hadn't seen her in three weeks.

So naturally we had a girl's day, and talked about what was going on with us. And I mentioned the numbness, as she had known about this issue I was having and how I dealt with it. And I was surprised and comforted to find out that she had felt the same way at one point.

So maybe I'm not screwed up after all. Except the problem itself seems to have come back, so all that effort to go numb may have been wasted. Ah, well, I know the easy solution, I'm just too much of a coward to take it.

Sigh. Back into the old rut.

~Dale B.

To Write is to be Whole

It occurred to me not particularly long ago that I think too much.

Well, maybe not too much, but a lot. Like, A LOT.

And of course I only feed this by reading anything I can get my hands on. I love nothing more than reading random articles on Wikipedia, which leads me to other articles, websites, and information. And I wonder why people label me as a nerd. Pft.

Anyway. It also occurred to me that all this thinking might not be normal. I know plenty of people who just don't think about things other than the daily occurrences of their daily lives. Or at least, I assume they don't, from what I've observed (See what I mean? Who goes around "observing" people?? Me, apparently).

Which leads me to an article I found one day, about "highly sensitive" people. In other words, people who feel too much, think too much about things, take too long to recover from stupid things. In other words, people like me.

So, because I think too much (have I mentioned that enough?) I, of course, spend much of my time thinking about how to "fix" myself; how to basically become better (yeah, I'm a perfectionist too). Anyway, I discovered something.

Now I'm someone who believes that everything happens for a reason. And I've come to the conclusion that whatever caused me to become this highly sensitive person coincided perfectly with me growing up with a love for reading, and then, later, writing. Because without being such a sensitive, thinking creature, I don't think there would have been any way that I would have been able to write with such fervor and about the subjects I do. I wouldn't be able to see the depth of things that I do see, and wouldn't be able to share them with the world.

Because the things that I say in writing are things that I can't accurately process in my own mind. There's too much going on up there, but they're good, deep things, and when I can focus on just one of those things through writing, I can make sense of it, and make sense of myself.

So I thank God for writing, for my over-processed brain, and for the fact that I am complete with both.

Just some thoughts.

~Dale B.

Rapid-Fire Writing

So we had this assignment in class the other day.

We were to write under the premise that we wake up one morning and we are something else, anything else.

Ready, set, WRITE.

What surprised me was how fast I actually got into the writing. I'm not the kind of person that can just sit down and write--actually, I don't think anyone really is. I need some STRUCTURE, a couple of GUIDELINES.

I knew this about myself, but still, an idea popped into my head pretty much instantly, and I just started to write. It was strange to me, the idea that I could sit down with one tiny sliver of inspiration, without my own set of deadlines and page lengths and be able ot produce something that, whatever length, could potentially get published. Woah. Was it supposed to be this easy?

And on top of that, I was writing at night, which was even better, because I actually felt awake. I know, backwards, huh? But that's just me. Inspiration from the night, when the light sinks out of sight...ok, enough of that.

Anyway, besides the general weirdness of this whole writing thing (which I had been doing for years, but never quite like this), there was something else I noticed.

When people shared in class, they had written concise, engaging, brilliant paragraphs, whereas I had written pages. And while my story was ongoing, everyone else's had nice clean endings. So it occurred to me that I have learned to elaborate far too well.

See, I had this enrichment teacher once. He had this thing about ELABORATING. When I started out in his class, I, too, could write concise little paragraphs. But a few class projects later, my papers were getting longer and longer, and more detailed. I once actually had an English teacher in high school tell me that I just had too many details in one sentence. Of course, this was the same teacher that refused to give me an "A" until everything was AP style-perfect, so that when I came to college, I was momentarily still lost in the world of the three-point thesis and five paragraph essay. So I tend to now question what she told me then. Still, I feel as though I've been ruined. But, hey, if it helps me to make a two page paper four, I'm fine with my little habit.

So these were the things I noticed in class the other day. Oh, and that, strangely, everyone had the same format of revealing little by little what they had turned into, creating a puzzle for the reader. It was quite interesting. Maybe the premise suggested that this is what should be done, but it wasn't really a conscious decision on my part, anyway.

Ok, I think that's all.

Until next class (or until I find something else to question),
~Dale B.