Tuesday, January 8, 2013

My Life: A Constant To-Do List.

First few days back from Winter Break have been fine (although I don't think I did so well in a few examinations). I got to start American Literature 2 today, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that out of the eight students there, five are English majors, one is a biomedical major thinking of switching to an English path who also has an interest in writing, another is a criminologist major who also English loves classes, and the last girl is the only taking the class as some sort of requirement. So 8/9 (me included!) actually want to be there. This is more than a little surprising, it's really never happen before. (Is that surprisng? It should be. My English literature class was split in half, those who wanted to be there, and those who were forced for convenience or requirement, and I think in Astronomy, only I and two other people looked forward to the episodes of Cosmos).

I should probably type quickly because chances are I'm going to get kicked out of the school's cafeteria. I'm still at the college campus because I refuse to take the three hour long, one transfer in between bus ride for home. I already have to do that tomorrow since I'm heading downtown (or as a friend helpfully put it: rape capital) for my creative writing class.

Which I am really nervous about.

Wait, shit. This place is really desolated.
I'm moving.

Okay, back now. (Why did I do that? I stabbed the flow of this post). I've manage to secure a nice little bench underneath a tree, but I'll probably be off in a little while to find the library, if anything to plug in my laptop when it runs out of battery. Granted, I bought along a journal and Neuromancer to keep me busy if electronic devices die, but this is my main source of entertainment and communication. The longer it lasts, the quicker the hours fly by.

I got a couple dozen things to do this week, involving scholarships and graduating and seeing if FSU would be kind enough to let me switch from the summer semester to the fall one (probably won't) without yet giving anyone my final decision  Reminders of these important errands take up the form of little bulletin notes everywhere, whether it's on virtual sticky notes on my computer, or spread out throughout my little pink journal. (I'm just kidding. My parents would never get me that. It's actually a gigantic pink journal that probably weighs three pounds. My mom was getting really sick and tired of seeing me go through writing materials every month or so).

But at least I've gotten back to writing again.

If school has done one anything for me as a writer, it's that it gives me a lot of time to plan and very little time to write, allowing for inspiration to be constantly fueled by the stress and fear of forgetting all these thoughts. I imagine sentences and scenes while walking in the hallways, then rush to class or lunch to get it all on the computer before I have to pull my attention away.

I've found writing for Ataraxia has definitely gotten easier, despite the fact that I still don't know how it ends nor understand some of the character's motives. Writing Caesar's progress is a little nerve racking--I don't know if I'm being too slow or too quick in his developing powers--and I am really not one for twist endings. The beginning of the novel is so bland and so obvious, anyone reading it would figure out quickly that half of the things Caesar knows right now are blatant lies.

But finishing Ataraxia is on top of my to do list. I keep pulling back and stopping for long periods of time. I hate my prose, I hate how bland it is, I hate how I can't find a voice, and I hate how all the dialogue sounds the same.

At least Creative Writing 1 starts tomorrow.

That class should help. Hopefully. I'll write about it when/if I survive it tomorrow.

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.