hum diddle dum
Last night, I wrote my creative writing project for english. It was supposed to be based on the novel, Lord of the Flies. I put this project off for about two weeks, since it had been assigned, until the night before it was due. I am usually not a person who practices the art of procrastination, but lately that has been my fetish. Writing used to bring me an unusual kind of happiness. I used to feel better after writing and expressing my feelings with words. I had lost that feeling for a significant amout of time. It made me sad that i no longer felt compelled to write. Something that once brought me so much relief, suddenly became a chore.
However, last night when i was writing this little story, i found my muse, i guess you could say. I started typing and the ideas seeed to just flow out of my head. I go wrapped up into my own story. It was the sort of feeling that one gets when they're really into a book and they would do anything but put it down. I LOVED that feeling. I finished my paper, and felt such a weight lifted off my shoulder. It wasn't that i was extremely proud of the story itself, or that it was a big project that i had fnally completed, it was that i could write again. I could do it, and i could enjoy it again.
This morning my mom told me about one of her clients that had a daughter who was a jounalist. The daughter is currently in Buddahpest (sp?) writing about realistate. Though the subject of realistate journalism sounds a bit dry to me, according to her mom, she's extremely happy. The girl majored in creative writing in college, but once she got out she realized there wasnt any money in her field, so she went into journalism.
Now, after the previous night i had, this story kind of inspired me. It just kind of gave me hope that if this is really what i want to do, there's no reason why i cant go out and get it done. If i want to work for a big magazine as a writer or editor, or whatever i want to do for that matter, i CAN do it.
God, i love these days of idealism.
However, last night when i was writing this little story, i found my muse, i guess you could say. I started typing and the ideas seeed to just flow out of my head. I go wrapped up into my own story. It was the sort of feeling that one gets when they're really into a book and they would do anything but put it down. I LOVED that feeling. I finished my paper, and felt such a weight lifted off my shoulder. It wasn't that i was extremely proud of the story itself, or that it was a big project that i had fnally completed, it was that i could write again. I could do it, and i could enjoy it again.
This morning my mom told me about one of her clients that had a daughter who was a jounalist. The daughter is currently in Buddahpest (sp?) writing about realistate. Though the subject of realistate journalism sounds a bit dry to me, according to her mom, she's extremely happy. The girl majored in creative writing in college, but once she got out she realized there wasnt any money in her field, so she went into journalism.
Now, after the previous night i had, this story kind of inspired me. It just kind of gave me hope that if this is really what i want to do, there's no reason why i cant go out and get it done. If i want to work for a big magazine as a writer or editor, or whatever i want to do for that matter, i CAN do it.
God, i love these days of idealism.