Making the Impossible a Possibility

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Cut and Paste

I feel that every writer has a certain insecurity, a varying level of distrust in self confidence. We cannot comprehend that our writing can be something great, if we give our work the time to blossom and grow, cultivate it into something more than that first draft.

I walked into the workshop today, proud to have fifteen pages of typed work in my hands. I beamed as my friends glanced at the thick pile of paper in my hands, smooth glossy ink catching the light. Then Michael walked in. Our professor said,

“Today, we are going to take the pieces we wrote and cut them up. Reassemble them into fragments of our lives. Cultivate it into our own autobiography, center it around a certain theme.”

He tossed a pair of safety scissors at us, a roll of tape, and tore off large sheets of newspaper.

“Begin. You have fifteen minutes of working time.”

Everyone immediately dove in, meticulously cutting up their work. Chunks of paragraphs strewn on the sheet of newsprint in front of them. I stared at my pile before me, dubious.

“Can we include fiction?” I asked meekly.

Eight pages of my work were comprised of stories that I had just come up with.

“Only if you’re the character involved or really connects to this theme. Remember, we are creating a portion of our autobiographies for our portfolio piece,” Michael replied.

I pushed those eight pages off to the side, saddened that they did not meet the criteria, and held the first sheet in my hand. I took the scissors, and made the first snips.

Surprisingly, I started to get even more involved in cutting up my pieces. I cut out mere sentences, not just chunks of paragraphs. I wanted to combine whole different pieces into one large thing, a piece that truly emphasized who I am as a writer, a reader, a daughter, a friend, a girl, a lover, a person.

After I really looked at what I had done, I began to notice a connection. This type of writing really reminded me of a stream of consciousness piece. But it’s so blase to use a cliche title. So then I realized that all of my pieces of my life take part in different locations, all connected together to form the map of my world. I decided to entitle it, “A Stream of Mobility.” I think it really personifies who I am. I am constantly in motion, whether it’s just my fingers typing or flipping pages, my mind in a whole different location, or busy with extracurricular activities or school or family and friends.

The end effect looks like this:

Technically, I think that you can read my whole piece of writing on this picture. I am planning on creating another page on this blog to post the writing that I am completing here at my camp. I hope these posts will help you learn right along with me!

Overall, in effect with this post, I wanted to emphasize how scared I was to try something new. To destroy my pieces, and create something entirely new out of them. Something that, in effect, became entirely better than the first drafts. I think that’s the hardest part about being a writer, parting with your stubborn ways for the good of the progression of the piece. I am learning to let go, and let the writing do the rest.

The Importance of Words

Currently, I am in the lovely state of Massachusetts, way up high in the Berkshire mountains. I am spending three weeks at an intensive summer writing camp at a well-known college in these parts. The food is wonderful, the writers are friendly, the professors are supporters of  “free thinking,” the dorms are live-able, and the nature is unbelievably beautiful. Think the tallest trees, the grassiest, rolling hills, and just picturesque mountain scene.

I have already learned a few valuable things already. First of all is a little bit of advice for writer’s block that I learned from my professor.

If you are writing a piece and get stuck with writer’s block, continue to repeat writing the last word you jotted down. As your brain processes that consistency, it will begin to think of brand new, exciting ideas, and suddenly you have something wonderful! I’ve tried that strategy already, believe me, and although it sounds silly, it’s worked every time.

I also have a lovely musing to share with you, which was stated by a boy in my writing class by the name of Alex. He said something along the lines of this:

“People are always scared of silence. They think it’s emptiness, some formidable, crazily loud thing. But what if, just like how in the art world white is a mixture of all colors, in the world of language, silence is a mixture of all words, so that you are truly enveloped in a blanketed sound of all of the things the world has to say?”

And on that note, I will leave you with one of my entries, which was to explain what we think of one word: WORDS.

Words are one of the best essences to describe oneself with, of course, whether in song or speech or writing. Some words are preferable to your own being, like (for me) symphony, chartreuse, tranquility. Some words also appear distasteful, like grange or squelch. But, overall, words are one of the easiest ways to connect people, because no matter the language, the tone of your speech or writing or the way you emphasize certain words expresses the feelings invoked within the person.

But words can be overrated. Why do you need to speak, to read, to write to convey a point? Isn’t it just as strong to look at a serene landscape and appreciate the value of it? Do you really need words for people to understand its beauty?

People say words are like photographs. They capture a specific tone, a windowpane’s glance into one instance, one remembered moment. But what about appreciation of the simplicity of the photographs themselves? For isn’t it true that any media of art in general allows people to connect through their cultures? Why can’t we leave the unsaid in the silence, and for once feel the liberty to just express oneself through instruments or clothing or watercolors? I do not feel it is about the importance of words, but it is about understanding the power of expression as a whole. ~S.I.H.

I hope you enjoyed my entry. Have a great day! 😀

Jobs.

So, I’ve been kinda following along with the Post-A-Day challenges WordPress set up for this year’s brave bloggers. As any of you that have been following me know, I attempted the Post-A-Day challenge.

I knew that it wouldn’t work out.

But I’ve been trying to follow some of the topic posts that have been popping up on my Twitter feed. Some of them are just absurd to me, like today’s topic of teleportation. I guess that is what keeps bloggers interested in keeping up with the challenge, but I would just feel really awkward about writing about that. Then again, this blog has nothing to do with that sort of nonsense. What I really want to write about is the dream job.

I could really write about anything for this. If you have gathered any sort of insight on my person, it is obvious that I’d love to be a writer. I want to work with words and sit and type out glorious stories with heroines and the struggle to tough it out with everyday problems, as well as those that seem impossible. I still do not know if I will even be able to become an author, for I obviously am a writer. Anyone can be a Writer, as long as they have the will to continue doing what they love. An author, and yet even further a successful author, is quite a different  species altogether.

I also am striving to be a teacher. I am currently debating between French and English. French, because I love the language and culture and want to try to perfect my view of the entirety of French as much as I possibly can. And English, because I adore reading and love writing and would love to share all that I hope for and learn with eager, as well as not-so-eager children.

But then to the topic of the dream job. If I were to be completely selfish, I would wish to be a best selling author, similar to that of the wonderful J.K. Rowling. But in all honesty, my dream job would be something dealing with community service.

I would love to spend five to ten years in Africa, working with the children there and talking with the people. I would love to help in Latin America, or Europe, or Asia, or anywhere else where I could learn about other cultures while helping others.

I do not think  that will be possible with the career I am trying to achieve, but there are many ways I can hope to affect those who are working in my place with those dream jobs. I have the uttermost deepest and strongest respect for those compassionate and understanding individuals.

So that, my dear readers, would be my ultimate dream job.