Just keep writing, just keep writing

“The only way to be a better writer is to keep writing.” Since coming to the South, I’ve claimed to practice writing more and more, and it just hasn’t happened with the frequency I intended. I blame time, my job, my need to “relax.” And frankly, that’s all crap. I’ve decided to take time out of each day and write for an extended period of time. I have time to do yoga, to browse the web, to Stumble, to cook, but not to write? And when I claim that my future career will involve writing, that my only real marketable skill (besides my mild temperament) is my writing abilities, how can I back that up if I don’t hone it?

There were two events which led me to this conclusion. First, I watched the entire series of Freaks and Geeks this past week. To begin, I suggest that everyone indulge in 18 episodes of one of the best television series ever produced. There’s an episode in which one of the “freaks,” Nick, expresses his desire to be a famous drummer, that drums are his passion. His friend Lindsay asks him why he doesn’t practice more. Simply put, Nick is always high.

Now, I’m not always high, but that’s how I feel. Being high was Nick’s excuse. Being busy is mine. And just like every other skill we develop, writing takes practice. Since coming to the South, I’ve felt my writing skills slowly deteriorate.

Secondly, NPR is having a short-story competition. The rules are simple: under 600 words, write a story in which a character cries and a character laughs (it can be the same character). Now, although my story will probably be compared to stories from REAL writers who practice their skill, I’ve decided to put something down on paper and see what happens. I’d love some feedback on the story I’m writing, so if you have any free time to read 600 words, let me know. And I’m not looking for praise, I’m looking for brutal honesty.

One potential hitch: The competition is being judged by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a MacArthur Fellow, Nigerian immigrant, and all-around badass writer. She’s given the competition a bit of advice: “Sometimes the best fiction comes out from a very light touch.” And she’s definitely right. My writing, and my emotions no doubt, is often too big and obvious. I criticize movies and books that incessantly beat you over the head with symbolism and cliched analogies (see: Black Swan and the color scheme. I get it. Black and white. Move on, Darren Aronofsky.).

But in my preliminary drafts of stories to enter, my writing feels painfully unoriginal. My inspiration has come mostly from my experiences in Arkansas, from the things I’ve learned about my students and about myself. But the last thing I want to do is write about myself — it would come off as angsty, unambitious, and ultimately uninteresting — so I’ve decided to focus on my students. And when experiences in the Delta slap you right in the face (as I’ve chronicled here and here in my blogs), it’s hard to write stories with a “light touch.”

And now that I’ve done my writing for the day, it’s off to lesson planning.

Just keep writing, just keep writing

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