Wednesday, April 1, 2009

An Original Written Piece

I thought what may be fun, since I think in prose more than poetry, is to take the Poem-A-Day prompts to write a blurb in my blog. So today is origin.

My origin as a writer. I was an early reader with my mother encouraging me to sound-out the earthly fringed words of National Geographic books. As I got older I wanted to do my own thing so I started my own newspaper for the neighborhood kids. Using reams of computer paper my dad had stolen from work, I would write and rewrite (not even a mimeograph machine) synopses of TV shows (Happy Days and Charlie’s Angels), my original works and copied Peanuts cartoons (I was addicted to them.) No one took my writing seriously, including me, and the paper faltered after only 3 issues.

By high school with my best friend, I had found the power of the letter, specifically as an outlet for words, as well as art. Even though we only lived a few miles away and spent countless hours on the phone each day, our creativity never allowed a dull moment as we penned letters back and forth with stories of our imaginary lives as rock-n-roll princesses. In these double-sided pages filled with marker drawings and Rolling Stone photos, we drew on our lusts for The Who, Spandau Ballet, James Dean and the Police. I still have these letters saved for posterity, as well as the journals where I confessed my teenage angst.

Tedious tasks like book reports never stopped me, as I convinced my teachers throughout high school of my writing genius and instead of writing traditional book reports or term papers, I wrote my own stories. I even got away with writing epic poems about works such as 1984 and Animal Farm. This would later come back to bite me in the butt.

In my teens, I was allowed to play with this side of me entering numerous poetry contests and winning a few awards along the way. My creative writing teacher didn’t believe I had too much to offer, but her drab Getty Lee hair and wardrobe left me cold for what she called originality. I convinced my father to send me to a two-week workshop at a local college in my junior year. This was my first time living away from home and also experiencing a more mature form of literature (sex). I wrote openly for class some of the things I only shared in my postal confessions and was not chastised, but instead revered by teachers and classmates alike for my wit, intrigue and honesty.

This is when I finally felt like a writer and plugged myself into the yearbook and newspaper staffs at school my senior year. I continued on with letters, but life got in the way with boyfriends, dances and Friday night football games. I wanted to fit in as an average kid, missing my own charm of pen and paper. I was told I was too smart since I used big words and this continued on into my late 20s. It hurt me to not have an outlet, and when I did express myself I was distracted by being too different.

The ease that my high school English teachers allowed me to flow through their classrooms put me in remedial English in college. My entrance test wasn’t written in proper form with a subject sentence through a close. My freeform wasn’t appreciated, though my teacher saw I knew what I was capable off and even asked if I wanted a pass. I declined letting this be the time to hone my skills and learn more about the rules of grammar, as well as the creativity. This suited my personality and helped me grasp the intricate workings of my language making me appreciate it even more.

I spent my time writing for the college paper critiquing music and journaling in my own books. By this time, I was alone in my quest for writing companionship and delving deeper into my lust of men. The poets and authors of my younger days just weren’t flesh and blood enough to suit my tastes as I delved into other valleys.

Upon graduation and after, I explored my own style and wrote everything from horror to expressive fiction to erotica. Work and life got in the way and every time I set about to write the “Great American Novel” the weight of such an endeavor stung my sensibilities and I shut down. I took on the task of becoming a marketing writer for fashion and jewelry and loved the chance it gave me to learn and to express myself to more than a million readers.

Now I am here, writing by day about technology and using my creative talents to change the world, one computer at a time. By night, I currently am taking the time to share with you my musings in said blog. MissChris inspired me to write this blog, again prompting wandering compositions all these years later. My hopes and dreams of the novelist persona aren’t dashed, just put aside as I discover more about myself and you about me.

1 comment:

misschris said...

I'm just getting caught up on all your posts. I really like the poetry you've been writing. I didn't find the first poem sappy at all--I liked it.

This post was fun to read.