What I'm actually going to turn in for Creative Writing

Writing Pains
Emily Dabczynski

I have this thing where I feel like I can’t write very well. I’m not dreadfully confident about what I can do. I have an overwhelming love-hate relationship with words that has been known to drive me close to tears. Occasionally I become so involved in a paper that it’s the only thing I can think about. The topic and my vision for what is sure to be a masterpiece pounds relentlessly at my conscious until I set all else aside, pounding my creativity into a literary pulp.

But who likes pulp? The orange juice with pulp is always in stock at the grocery store. Why buy juice with pulp if you can buy juice without pulp?

Pulp.

Pulp.

It stops sounding like a word when you repeat it enough times.

I don’t feel like I can write well without someone giving me a topic. Like Saturday Night Live’s Linda Richman—“Chickpea. Neither a chick, nor a pea. Discuss.” How would you like to have that for a prompt? None of this introspective, uncomfortable stuff. Just write about the key ingredient in hummus and Burmese tofu. Now there's a. Oh, didn’t you know chickpeas were used in Burmese tofu? Neither did I, until I checked Wikipedia.

...

I’ve always been influenced by authors I’m reading. Imitation is supposedly the sincerest form of flattery, but in my case, I occasionally have wondered if it’s flat-out, unintentional plagiarism. Well of course it’s not actual plagiarism, but give a week for the immediate admiration to wear off and I might return to a piece thinking, Who in the world wrote this? Why is my name at the top of this page? This isn’t me.

It’s some kind of an idealized me, I think. It goes back to those insecurities about not being able to write. I’ve always been able to imitate fairly well. I give a great deal of credit to observation and imitation when it comes to any success I’ve had studying dance and acting. Plato hated theatre because he felt people should study real life instead of wasting time watching others portray real life. What does it say about me that I acquire performance skills by watching others in their portrayals of characters? To me, that somehow puts a whole new meaning on the Six Degrees of Separation.

It’s not surprising that I did relatively well on an assignment last year in which our class had to write a poetry in the styles of the time periods we were studying. We had to put ourselves in the Romantic Period, for instance, and create a piece in such a way that we might trick others into believing it was written by an obscure author during that time. I worked really hard on that piece. I got an A. I have a nagging feeling everyone in the class got full credit for effort, even if they sucked.

...

One of the main problems with my lack of confidence when it comes to writing is the irresistible attraction I have toward Hollywood. If I can’t be on the screen, I’d love to be on the writing staff of a wildly successful television series. Television might be my calling—you never know. The idea of writing years’ worth of material for an Emmy winning ensemble is so vastly more appealing than writing one lousy blockbuster. How many film series have actually been successful? The Land Before Time, while sweetened by years, and years, and years of nostalgia, doesn’t quite stack up to Star Wars.

Well, it might stack up to Attack of the Clones.

And I hardly need to mention Bridget Jones and her buddies who run that Daddy Daycare.

But think of all the brilliant television series’ that only gain popularity with each passing season. Heroes is currently the highest rated series of all time. The Simpsons has only bettered with age. Seinfeld-isms have made it into mainstream slang, used even by people who don’t know the origin of “man hands,” for example. I’m stunned that the creators and writers of Law & Order can keep the series running for 17 years, continue to develop new and interesting plots, and support a number of subsequent spin-off shows.

Then there are those writers who do it all, like the cast of The Office. The staff collaborates on every minute detail of every single episode, and at the end of the day, half of them get to appear as members of the cast to boot.

Sign me up for that gig. If I can latch onto any confidence, anyway.

...

I tried to be a spy once when I was ten years old. On the first page of a fresh new journal I vowed to write down everything I saw, just the way I saw it. I think my vow was the opening lines to Harriet the Spy, verbatim.

...

My biggest frustration is when I want so desperately for an idea to gel together. I had a paper all mapped out, fully researched, and I was so excited for it to come together as only my wildest dreams could produce. Evidently, truly it could only be produced in my wildest dreams.

It was going to be about the 1919 Boston Molasses Flood in which a tank of molasses on the North End exploded, sending 2.3 million gallons of hot, sticky molasses careening down the street at a whopping 35 miles-per-hour. The wave was at least 15 feet high. It sounds ridiculous and unfathomable, which is why so many think their leg is being pulled when they first hear about it. Giggles are stifled, though, when they go on to learn that 21 people died, including a 9-year old boy whose body was found four days later and was so unrecognizable that his own father was forced to identify him by his red sweater. Jaws drop when they hear of the minimum of 150 more that were injured. One man, pinned beneath a pool table in a collapsed building, was transformed from a healthy, middle-aged father to a crippled old man in a single afternoon. His dark brown hair bleached white in the few hours he was trapped, and his broken back would never heal so that he could stand upright ever again. Dozens of horses would be so enmeshed in the congealing liquid that rescue workers simply shot them to put them out of their misery. $1 million worth of damage--$100 million, by today’s standards—was reeked on the area, and vestiges of molasses were found throughout the entire city for years to come.

It’s kind of the perfect shocking event to base a paper on. The story is highly intriguing, one of those footnotes in history you read about and wonder how you never heard of it before. I had it perfectly planned out write—mosaic structure, with a combination of narrative, quotes from the thousands of pages of court testimony, and even a recipe for these molasses spice cookies my grandma used to make. The juxtaposition of a horrifying tragedy and a sweet cookie recipe was going to be fantastically effective.

The act of reaching creative perfection was a whole separate story altogether, however. There wasn’t much research to labor over, considering only one good book has been written about the flood. The difficulty was fitting all the pieces together the way I envisioned. So much information in only 8 pages!

Hours and hours later, I was positively, maddeningly stumped, but I was so excited about the possibilities that could come from this topic that I was unwilling to even consider another—another angle, another subject. Sure, professional writers regularly take years to finish what they begin, but an 8-page unit final was surely not worth the amount of self-loathing that was weighing on me, physical and oppressive in my chest.

...

“Late at night, my mind would come alive with voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world. I gave myself up to it, longing for transformation.” So says Josephine March, my self-proclaimed fictional alter-ego. I long for it too. How I do.

...

It’s strange how people can take for granted the natural talents they have. My sister is of those people who are just good at everything she tries, so when she works, even just a little bit, she’s extra-good at it. She’ll probably be an Grammy-winning jazz trombone player and singer, a successful business owner, a sports therapist, a bestselling novelist, and the star of a Broadway musical, all before she turns 30. I’ve got talents of my own, to be sure, but not the way my proverbial green-eyes would prefer.

And we’re prone to wanting what we don’t have. There would be no need to want a thing if it was already ours. That’s where the pain creeps in—the pure, unadulterated aching for perfection in whatever we chase after. I yearn for a true love affair with words. I crave the ability to mold and shape sentences in such a way that I might express the inexpressible. I covet masterful authority of the English language, and envy those who have the incomparable capacity to whip and beat an idea into linguistic submission. I don’t want to face frustration and disappointment in doing a thing I so desperately want to love.

George Bernard Shaw said, “Words are only postage stamps delivering the object you wish to unwrap.” I think he means to be positive, maybe even encouraging.

Funny. I’m not encouraged.

Hausaufgaben Zeitplan

Tuesday
-Creative non-fiction piece
-Deutsch Arbeitsbuch pgs. 1-9
-Family History packet chapter 4

Wednesday
-Creative non-fiction piece-- finish
-Reviews for creative writing peers
-Creative writing assignment #3
-Deutsch Arbeitsbuch pgs. 10-12
-ELang chapter 4
-World of Dance

Thursday
-Reviews for creative writing peers
-Family History computer lab at 1:30pm
-Deutsch Tagbuch
-Watch The Office

Friday
-See Across the Universe

Saturday
-Family History assignment
-Family History reading
-ELang chapter 3
-Deutsch CD-Rom

Sunday
-Wish I was at Disney World

Gay Boyfriend

As if you haven't had enough youtube spamming from me lately, here's another gem.

David Blaine's Street Magic

Planet Unicorn Heyyy

Oh don't worry. There are four more episodes. Watch them. And then make this theme song your ringtone.

I saw this last night

How much do I love The Rocket Summer? Enough to demand my small/growing list of readers stop everything they're doing and download everything this man has ever written/played. You won't regret it. Then, next time he's in town, you can pay almost $30 and sit through two crappy bands to see him, and feel completely justified having done so.

The Drowsy Chaperone-- on tour!

Okay, so I lovelovelove the music from this show. I've been dying to see it, and based on everyone's recommendations, I've got good reason to be dying to see it. My mom is dear friends with an actor named Cliff Bemis, most widely recognized for his long-running gig as Cliff the IHOP Man on old IHOP commercials. Cliff wrote Mom a little while ago to tell her he'd been cast as Mr. Feldzeig in the touring company of The Drowsy Chaperone a few months back, and they officially start performances in Toronto next Wednesday (an auspicious day, as it is my birthday:D ).


So yay. The show is coming to Salt Lake City sometime next summer, I think. This is exciting, particularly because the touring cast is so good (assuming they stick around that long): Robert Dorfmanvas Underling, Georgia Engel as Mrs. Tottendale, and Bob Martin reprising his role as Man In Chair for the Toronto performances.

After that, Bob Martin will be replaced by another Canadian actor, Jonathan Crombie, who replaced him on Broadway for a short while this past winter. And I'm FREAKING OUT like a little girl who's had one too many cupcakes. Why is this significant, you ask? Why should I be all up in arms about an obscure actor named Jonathan Crombie? See, this is Jonathan Crombie:


And how much do I love that Gilbert Blythe? There are few words, friends. Few words.

Songs I Love

Go add them to your playlist. Immediately.

You Can't Hide Beautiful -- Aaron Lines
Evermore -- Alison Krauss
I'm Free -- Amber
Another Little Hole -- Aqualung
She's Only Happy in the Sun -- Ben Harper
Come On -- Ben Jelen
Ache for You -- Ben Lee
Calling You -- Celine Dion
Bubbly -- Colbie Caillat
In Your Eyes -- Darren Hayes
Out of My Hands -- Dave Matthews Band
Dancing -- Elisa
Candlelight -- Imogen Heap
Come Here Boy -- Imogen Heap
Speeding Cars -- Imogen Heap
I Miss You -- Incubus
Lonesome Road -- James Taylor
No Stopping Us (Acoustic) -- Jason Mraz
Dreaming with a Broken Heart -- John Mayer
Stop This Train -- John Mayer
Now or Never -- Josh Groban
So She Dances -- Josh Groban
The Fear You Won't Fall -- Joshua Radin
The Mummer's Dance -- Loreen McKennitt
Sorry -- Maria Mena
I Can Only Imagine -- Mercy Me
Unforgettable -- Nat King Cole (as performed by Megan Mullally and Sean Hayes)
My Skin -- Natalie Merchant
Beautiful -- Nick Lachey
God Bless the Broken Road -- Rascal Flatts
Parachute -- Sean Lennon
Free -- Shawn McDonald
Gravity -- Shawn McDonald
Out of My League -- Stephen Speaks
Never Knew -- The Rocket Summer
The Best of Me (Acoustic) -- The Starting Line
Writing to Reach You -- Travis

Ultimate 21st Birthday Wish List

This is going to be the most selfish post ever. Well, I guess it can be argued that every post I make is selfish, but today I'm going to focus solely on things I want. Stuff. I'm going Material Girl on your A.

Things I Want But Don't Have The Money (Yet) To Purchase For Myself

• A personal trainer
• A personal chef
• A personal dance trainer, preferably Mia Michaels (shut up I can dream!)
  
• Nail polish
• 4 pairs of ballet flats in gold, red, turquoise, and black
• Trendy, retro boots I'll only wear now and again
• A wide assortment of enormous purses
• Earrings. Lots and lots of big, fatty earrings
• A black MacBook
• This phone
• Every non-trashy item from Forever 21
• Skinny jeans
• Lots of babydoll dresses with assorted leggings to match
• Chunky bracelets
• Long necklaces
  
• A complete hair make-over
• The entire line of eyeshadow from Mineralogie
• What am I saying?-- the entire Mineralogie line of make up
• An 80 gig video iPod
• New bathing suits
• A trip to Europe
• Professional sunless tanning--but not so frequently that I look ridiculous/not like myself
• Designer/Celebrity perfumes of all sorts
• An entire library of first edition books (shut up don't make fun of me!)
• Every album I've ever even contemplated wanting
• The rest of my Movies To Buy list (which is, I assure you, extensive)
• The following TV-on-DVD: Seinfeld, Will & Grace, Friends, Ugly Betty, The Simpsons, Scrubs, etc.
• Original works of art by Vermeer, Dali, Hopper, Wyath, Monet, Renoir, and Van Gogh
  
• A boyfriend who is Robert Carmine (shut up this is my dream-world wish list!)