The written word.

I went to school with the intention of taking several of writing classes at the University of Iowa.  They are, as you know, famous for their graduate program.  It was an assumption that the undergraduate program would be a powerful experience.  You are, afterall, being taught by the individuals who made it into the graduate program.  Despite the proximity to such academic and intellectual greatness, the undergraduate writing classes were …well, underwhelming.  I had one teacher who I thought helped sculpt me into the writer I want to become.  I am still in contact with him (albeit, more rarely these days) and he still gives me feedback on things I write.  I just wish that I could take a day and just write… write any and everything with the pure intention of just improving my skill.  But days are filled with work and tiredness and stress.  And the days I do get off, I feel like writing then becomes more like a job because all I want to do is not do anything.  The oxymorons of life.  All you want is time and then when you get it, you know not what to do with it and become angry that you have nothing to do.  But isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?  The freedom?  The no-restraints-have-nothing-planned-and-can-sleep-in-until-the-early-afternoon?

Any comments?

Recommendations: (Music.)

  1.  From Where I’m Standing by Schuyler Fisk
  2. The Fear You Won’t Fall by Joshua Radin
  3. Ottoman by Vampire Weekend

One thought on “The written word.

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