Coming Out of the Cupboard

Hey kids, I know it's been a while since I last posted.  Hope you didn't get too impatient.

I am a little (okay, very) saddened by the fact that everyone is going to be leaving today/tomorrow.  Perhaps I should explain to you how this term works...  Alright.  My school offers two semesters (Fall and Spring) and two Summer Terms.  The first Summer Term, from the beginning of May to the end of June, is split up into two blocks.  Block 1 is the first month (May), Block 2 is the second month (June).  They offer block classes, as well as whole-term classes.  Unfortunately, I didn't know that until I got here.  I signed up for two whole-term classes and one Block 1 class, which I just finished.

So anyway, everyone else took Block 1 classes, so they're all going home.  Yesterday and today were all of the finals.  I think that almost all of my friends are leaving, which means the next two weeks will be a MAJOR bummer.  At least it's only two weeks.

In two weeks?  I'm looking forward to a chance to finally relax.  I was walking home after my final about an hour ago and passed a house with a pool.  The minute I smelled that chlorine I got the impulse to run into their backyard and dive in.  One of the many things I'm looking forward to this summer is swimming.

For now, I'm going to sit in my room and do homework.  Might seem boring, but it'll pay off when I can go home with 3 A's under my belt and nothing else to worry about for two months.

Yesterday, for the first time since I got Zelle, I had mail!  It was fabulous.  A letter from my mum and a letter from my old roommate.  They were both short and sweet and I was grateful, because it made me remember that I'm not a satellite in orbit, but I'm actually down on earth with people who remember who I am.  I've been stressing lately about going home, because I'm afraid that a year away will be more distance than my friends and I can cross.  I guess I've just reached a point in my life where things aren't as stable as they used to be.  Homes and people are coming and going, and it's all okay.

Another thing that's been coming and going for most of my life is... Hm, how do I put this?

Writing, I guess.  Interest in and the ability to.  It's a constant, meaning it's never gone for long, but I do go through periods where I'm just too busy to think about writing.

Y'know, I'm really sorry that I keep bringing this up.  I don't mean to burden you with topics that you don't give a hoot about.  I just wish people weren't so surprised when they find out that I like to write.  It was my best kept secret in high school.  It's less of a surprise now that I'm in college, because all they have to do is ask what my major is and they can and should infer that I enjoy reading and writing.

Still, sometimes I wish that I could be more open about it, or at least more active in pursuing it.  I wish that I didn't have to gab about it in a blog because I had lots of friends who were interested in it too.

Oh boy, this is coming out all wrong.  I LOVE my friends, every last one of them.  Even the ones that hate writing and reading (yes, I do have a few friends that are so inclined).  I don't want you to think that this is me wishing that I could replace them or change them.

No, this is me wishing that I knew how to enjoy it with other people, especially the people that like me well enough to be okay with that.  Writing isn't exactly the easiest thing to share.  It's a very solitary thing, so you can't physically do it with other people, and you can't carry it around with you and share it like you could a guitar or a harmonica.  To a large extent, it's mostly unteachable.  I think that's the way it is with any creative venture; you can teach the mechanics, but the student need to possess something, that artistic flair or oomph, in order to really excel.

So, what do you do with it, then?  As my writing experience has taught me, it goes something like this.

Set up in your room, close the door.  Plug into soft, simple music for guaranteed insulation from the outside world.  Write until your wrists hurt or you get hungry or you have to use the toilet.  Keep on until your words stop making sense and you need to sleep.  Sleep.

Day two, read over what has been written and resist the urge to completely revise or, even more drastic, completely scrap.  Ignore the crud that has already written, erase the last few nonsensical words written at 3am, then continue with stopping.  Interruption often means death to whatever idea you were trying to follow, especially when said interruption includes walking away from the desk.

After doing this for a long long time, or maybe a not so long time, get restless.  Doubt everything that has been written thus far.  Have the sudden desire to share your hitherto "secret" project with anyone who will listen.   Chicken out at first, then stop writing and approach the nearest relative/friend/sympathetic ear.  Chicken out again, walk right past them and sit down, writing self-consciously in hopes that they will see you and ask what you are doing.

If they ask, eagerly show them while playing at modesty.  "It's really not good...  You probably won't like it.  You don't have to read it."  They will become curious and persist, much to your delight.  They read the first few lines, look up, say "that's very good!" and put it back down again.  Or, they read the first few sentences, stop, look up.  Try to hide the expectancy on your face.  Then they'll say "am I supposed to read all of this?", to which you will reply in a mumble, "no, of course not".  Think, you're supposed to want to read it.


If they don't ask, finally gather up the courage to ask them to read it.  They will either delay you until their task is complete, glance at it disinterestedly, or stop what they are doing and take what you have written with a patient smile.  If the first or third, they will read the first few lines and say "that's very good!", or read the first few sentences and then ask "am I supposed to read all of this?", to which you will reply in your head no, you're supposed to want to.  If the second, they will mumble something incomprehensible and then return to their task.

Dejected, return to your desk.  Stare at what you have written, then open to a blank Word document or a blank page and start over.  Write for a few minutes, scrap it, then close the computer window/notebook and leave the room.  Return to the project a few days/weeks/months later, having forgotten the previous incident, and start with renewed vigor.  Rinse and repeat.

This is my life.  Many, many people must be wondering why I keep coming back to it if it causes me so much grief and I haven't seemed to accomplish much.  I couldn't answer that.  I just do.  I was born with a masochistic pull towards writing, what can I say?

I wish I could break the cycle, though.  I've had a few times where the cycle has been broken, and those were the most profitable times in my very short writing career.  Support makes all of the difference.

This is not me attacking my friends and family for not supporting me, either.  This is me wishing that I could be more open about writing, so that my family and friends could at least understand how important it is to me.  Even if they don't understand the masochistic pull, the profitless hours of staring at the screen, or even the appeal of reading or writing something, at least they could understand that I enjoy it.

Well, friends and family, this is me.  My name is Dain and I am a writer.  It's an inherent trait, and I'm sorry if you've been under the misconception that it's only a hobby, and a pointless one at that.  I'm very sorry if you think that reading is pointless (although, if you're reading this blog then I assume that you don't).  I know that I can be socially awkward sometimes, but it's probably just a side-effect of locking myself in the cupboard so that I can write without being disturbed.  I wish that I didn't have the terrible characteristic of being unable to describe the way that I feel about certain things, especially when they are strong feelings.  I wish that hadn't stopped me from sharing how I feel about writing.

At any rate, this is me.  I'm coming out of the cupboard.  Love me or leave me, but I will always be a writer, even when my hands fall off from writing typing so much.  This is my biggest secret, but it's not a secret anymore.  Want to make me happy?  Ask me about writing.  Want to make me ecstatic?  Break the cycle.  Ask to read something I've written.  Even if you don't like it, I'll still be ecstatic that you asked.  Even if you do, tell me why.

Just know that if I've disappeared for a few days, I've probably just locked myself in the cupboard again.  I'll come out...  Eventually.  :)