Besides, i'm already using my essay voice. Can you tell?
Composing an essay in Anschutz library during school hours is about as appropriate as praying in the middle of a mall. It’s hard to think about anything of any meaning or substance while you’re surrounded by people pounding out meaningless papers or copying answers to math exams off the internet. It’s so hard to concentrate I can’t even seem to keep your/you’re straight, as I just had to correct the sentence previous. This is supposed to be academia, this is supposed to be the fertile crescent of learning, but instead it’s about as reverent as a strip mall. Seriously, dude, stop reading internet comics, I’m trying to write the next Best American Essay entry here.
But, I guess it that’s how it’s going to be, I might as well check my facebook first.
Even in the most optimal of conditions in the library there’s still no way to get any actual creative writing done. I’ve staked out probably the best computer in the entire building - a back corner one where I can subtly turn the computer screen away from the wandering eyes of the guy next to me writing a crappy sociology paper (I hope you read this, bro. Your arguments are weak, even if they are for a 100-level class). And this corner computer is in a room off of the main area, away from all the people sneaking out of the always-crowded food court and into the main floor of the library to wreck any sense of library ambiance.
There is no way this is going to work. I am going to be forced to waste the remaining 1.5 hours of my break staring off into space, or, if I’m lucky, falling asleep leaned up against a wall in some hallway.
But this has to work. I’ve warmed myself up and everything. Because writing, it’s enough like a sport to warrant the analogy - there’s definitely warming up, and there’s the often overlooked importance of practice. Writers don’t like the idea of practice probably because it takes away the feeling of art. Whatever: write in a journal, or blog, or on napkins that you’ll throw away later, you don’t have to call it practice as long as you do it.
I am going to make this happen. I am going to start a prospective essay for my workshop in two weeks, even if I have to kill the math cheaters in front of me to do it. This will happen. I am ready.
But, I guess it that’s how it’s going to be, I might as well check my facebook first.
Even in the most optimal of conditions in the library there’s still no way to get any actual creative writing done. I’ve staked out probably the best computer in the entire building - a back corner one where I can subtly turn the computer screen away from the wandering eyes of the guy next to me writing a crappy sociology paper (I hope you read this, bro. Your arguments are weak, even if they are for a 100-level class). And this corner computer is in a room off of the main area, away from all the people sneaking out of the always-crowded food court and into the main floor of the library to wreck any sense of library ambiance.
There is no way this is going to work. I am going to be forced to waste the remaining 1.5 hours of my break staring off into space, or, if I’m lucky, falling asleep leaned up against a wall in some hallway.
But this has to work. I’ve warmed myself up and everything. Because writing, it’s enough like a sport to warrant the analogy - there’s definitely warming up, and there’s the often overlooked importance of practice. Writers don’t like the idea of practice probably because it takes away the feeling of art. Whatever: write in a journal, or blog, or on napkins that you’ll throw away later, you don’t have to call it practice as long as you do it.
I am going to make this happen. I am going to start a prospective essay for my workshop in two weeks, even if I have to kill the math cheaters in front of me to do it. This will happen. I am ready.