Saturday, June 14, 2003
i can't really explain
i remember days at the library when i was younger. the children's librarian was in a wheelchair but the shelves were short and her face was kind. i would meet kids, neighbors and strangers in a wooden house amongst the "easies" or children's story books. once, i spent four hours working on a project for my fifth grade class. i thought i had written a masterpiece -- the assignment was to write a diary on our trip to california on the oregon trail -- but when my mom read it she told me i had misspelled diary 42 times and that a lot of things weren't "grammatical correct." sigh. also, when picked to read outloud i read my favorite entry and no one laughed. NO ONE LAUGHED! what i thought to be top rate humor was merely another child's bland peanut butter and jelly. i guess i had always thought i was better than everyone. in high school, i remember telling my creative writing teacher (the one who encouraged me to continue writing) that i was a writer. i was a writer. ha. who was a i trying to kid. i had two finished stories by that point. sure, plent of ideas but mostly empty thoughts. in eighth grade, i wrote a story about a hamster named ben in diary form about his adventures. it was brillant and had illustrations. my next project was 100 words of spooky fun, which i entered into a Nickelodeon magazine halloween story writing contest. it was about a babysitter who turned into a giant man-eating plant, the kids defeated her with ranch dressing and forks. i was sure i would win. i was disappointed to read the actual winner whose stories weren't scary at all and were nonsense compared to mine. i just wanted recognition.
in high school, forced to enter about 20 different poetry contests. when i still wrote poetry. when i still could write poetry. when i had things to write poetry about and didn't feel i was cheating my reader. i made up a political poem because i i had to and won first place. i don't even know what i was saying or if it made sense. but i won. first place. i pursued on and i've won again. it's a lot easier when you have someone telling you, you don't suck. i think the highest compliment i've ever recieved was when someone told me my writing was beautiful. in fact, that's about the only compliment i'll accept and truly be flattered about. as many times as i've been told my eyes, hands and nose were "cute" or "pretty." nothing quite hit me like that one time.
¶ 4:07 PM
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i remember days at the library when i was younger. the children's librarian was in a wheelchair but the shelves were short and her face was kind. i would meet kids, neighbors and strangers in a wooden house amongst the "easies" or children's story books. once, i spent four hours working on a project for my fifth grade class. i thought i had written a masterpiece -- the assignment was to write a diary on our trip to california on the oregon trail -- but when my mom read it she told me i had misspelled diary 42 times and that a lot of things weren't "grammatical correct." sigh. also, when picked to read outloud i read my favorite entry and no one laughed. NO ONE LAUGHED! what i thought to be top rate humor was merely another child's bland peanut butter and jelly. i guess i had always thought i was better than everyone. in high school, i remember telling my creative writing teacher (the one who encouraged me to continue writing) that i was a writer. i was a writer. ha. who was a i trying to kid. i had two finished stories by that point. sure, plent of ideas but mostly empty thoughts. in eighth grade, i wrote a story about a hamster named ben in diary form about his adventures. it was brillant and had illustrations. my next project was 100 words of spooky fun, which i entered into a Nickelodeon magazine halloween story writing contest. it was about a babysitter who turned into a giant man-eating plant, the kids defeated her with ranch dressing and forks. i was sure i would win. i was disappointed to read the actual winner whose stories weren't scary at all and were nonsense compared to mine. i just wanted recognition.
in high school, forced to enter about 20 different poetry contests. when i still wrote poetry. when i still could write poetry. when i had things to write poetry about and didn't feel i was cheating my reader. i made up a political poem because i i had to and won first place. i don't even know what i was saying or if it made sense. but i won. first place. i pursued on and i've won again. it's a lot easier when you have someone telling you, you don't suck. i think the highest compliment i've ever recieved was when someone told me my writing was beautiful. in fact, that's about the only compliment i'll accept and truly be flattered about. as many times as i've been told my eyes, hands and nose were "cute" or "pretty." nothing quite hit me like that one time.
¶ 4:07 PM
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