minutiae
Behold, my latest work of creative writing.
~Wherein It Is Cold And We Do Not Know Each Other Well~
"Hey there Micah," Dara greeted him as he slid into the car, bundled up against the Nebraska cold.
"How are you?" I asked.
"Fair," he responded. "And you?"
"Fair," I answered back with a smile.
"Did we have an assignment in group tonight?" Dara wondered aloud as she pulled out.
"I don't think so," he said.
"Mmm. I hope not."
We ride in silence, watching the lights on O Street.
The end. That is the entire text of a freewriting exercise we had to do yesterday in class, in which we recalled a conversation we had involving at least two other people. We also had to include at least six lines of dialogue. So, I did so, exactly that and no more. It was all to teach us how to use punctuation in writing dialogue. *headthump* Apparently - we had trouble with that on our last papers? I don't know. But good grief. "Make sure you put a comma inside your quotes at the end, unless of course there's an exclamation point or a question mark." SERIOUSLY.
It was actually a rather confounding assignment. I leave conversations with only a general emotional sense of what was said; actual words and phrases, much less nouns and facts, slip from my brain. So reconstructing dialogue, especially concerning myself and two other talkers (I tend to associate only one-on-one, being poor in groups; or singling someone out in a group). So I had to dredge through my memory, and concoct something from splicings of what I think was approximately said. Overall class time today was half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes, after we'd gotten into groups to read our pieces and assert that yes, we have mastered those squiggly frustrating things, the ever-elusive marks of punctuation. It makes me want to go out and break every rule I know. (And correct the teacher. No, don't tell them to use adverbs in dialogue tags ("he said mournfully"), don't tell them to use words like "grumbled" in place of "he said." However, he did say that it adds spice, or something, so if he counts variations there as a sign of effort, of a working brain, I will gladly step aside.)
*endrant*
Choir was so refreshing this evening. It still frustrates me, in a sense, because I keep wishing I wasn't in a big group. I don't want to "blend." I also don't want to stick out, because that is against protocol. I also don't want to be too confident or even assured trying out for solos or lead vocals, because I so don't want to be seen as stuck-up, or intimidating. Maybe this is a girl thing. Do guys worry about this? They just seem to do their thing. Us women, we're analyzing each other and sussing out each other's character qualities. Is she full of herself, assuming she's going to get this? Does she have self-esteem issues? I can barely hear her. And yet they always choose her. I'd better look supportive and encouraging; she's struggling! And on and on. Do I want the spotlight to myself? :S Would I really hate getting what I want?
I like writing because it speaks for itself. It is something outside of me, divorced from the bodily person other people can know and see. Writing is a "thing" I can present; my voice, my interpretation of sheet music, is not. Your face is part of it, your demeanor. Maybe I just lack confidence, but I still want something more. Not a bad thing, I suppose. And I even think I would know of a remedy, but... I lack the willpower to do it.
I looove one song. ("Amazing Love.") I don't have to 'try' to sound as if I am into it; I don't really care about belting it out (not that it lends itself to it); I identify with the words. It's a kind of story-song.
I was asked to read the "first few lines" of a poem in class today, one that I volunteered as a poem of the bunch I admired. So I read, but she didn't stop me. I continued, pausing again, but still she didn't stop me. The professor said afterward that my reading was so nice she didn't want to stop me.
I love reading things aloud, but this especially (Pound's "Portrait D'une Femme"), because it strikes something within me. For some reason, it connects to some part of my interior life, this jangling collection of words. Reaching the last line is like slipping down from a swing. You are settled safely home.
I felt like that singing "Amazing Love" tonight.
