WP4: The Role of Writing
This class has been especially difficult for me. I thought I was ready for all I would have to endure when I registered for it, but I was greatly unprepared. I thought having a year-and-a-half break from writing-heavy coursework would allow me to come back with a vengeance and produce work I was extremely proud of. I had high hopes for myself to my own detriment.
My relationship with writing has always been somewhat rocky. When I was younger I was always lauded as an amazing writer, in fact, it was usually the skill I got the most compliments on. In some way, I came to resent the fact that that was the most visible aspect of myself. In an effort to understand myself outside of what other people recognized me for, I kind of abandoned writing. There was no more fun or passion in writing for me. It was a chore, a means to an end. Still, my writing is extremely personal to me, more personal than really anything else I do, so receiving criticism on it always feels like a personal attack. As you can imagine, writing for a grade is like offering myself up for human sacrifice, I wouldn’t do it if I had the choice. I expect to be absolutely destroyed by critique.
When signing up for this class in May, I expected that my time off from writing a lot would help bring back my excitement for it. I wanted to come into this class with the most positive outlook I could. And at first, things were going pretty well. I really enjoyed the readings and discussions; they were what I looked forward to the most every week. But as you would expect in a writing class, writing started to take priority and discussions took the backseat. At this point, things started to shift.
My biggest hurdle in writing was always the “getting started” part. The task was always too daunting. I knew what I had to do, but every time I sat down to put my thoughts into words on paper, my mind went completely blank, and then there was nothing. I had a mental block, and it was unconquerable. I knew how important it was to do my work, but it was like I’d been kidnapped and forced to do what my kidnapper wanted me to do, and they wanted to do everything but write. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but I was completely frozen, totally helpless against this feeling. I failed to cope which resulted in my failure to perform.
The topics I focused on for my writing projects have meant so much to me. They are deeply personal and I feel they have mass appeal. I wish I could have portrayed my feelings much better, that I’d done the topics true justice. My WP1 was about isolation, my WP2 was about the things I’ve read, and my WP3 was about love. I feel like the work I provided on these works was subpar. My attempts at making my writing better were like the irresistible force paradox, in which my own anxiety about criticism of my work represented the immovable object, and my incessant feelings of inadequacy and desire for improvement were the unstoppable force. I was at a stalemate. It seems to deal with my feelings by facing my fear (of criticism) was too great a task, and so I just allowed the feelings to persist as a way of protecting myself from what I perceived as a bigger heartache.
The most important lesson this class has taught me is that if I want to maintain a love and passion for something, I should read about it and think about it and talk about it, but I should never, ever write about it. I feel like I will always be unsatisfied with what I write, so if I try to convey something through writing it’s never quite right. This feeling of incompleteness really taints my view of whatever the topic may be. Having a firm grasp of written language is extremely important, and I can recognize that. I admire great writers so much, and I want to emulate their skills. But I feel deeply demoralized by writing for some reason, and it makes writing very difficult for me.
Writing, despite being the whole entire point of this class, was the aspect I dreaded most. For me, any intense writing task is a harbinger of distress. I never did find a way to deal with my dread of it in a healthy way. Unfortunately, there is no story of conquest. I did not face my fears, I did not improve. I am the same I’ve always been, but now I can write about how I feel about writing instead of simply feeling it. This WP4 has mostly been me venting, but it seems writing is the easiest for me when I’m complaining about something. Maybe that’s why I haven’t had as much fun, I didn’t complain as much.
Writing in this class has helped me rediscover my zeal for reading. It made me realize how much I missed in-class discussions. I don’t hate writing. I love writing but only when it’s someone else’s thoughts and words. Writing is essential in driving forward our ways of thinking and passing along information on in a more concrete way than speaking, but it’s not for everyone. Some people have a healthy respect for the ocean, and it’s so vast and daunting they never want to venture into it. Writing is my ocean.
Perhaps the best way for me to overcome my disdain for writing is it get my feet wet. Slowly inching forward by writing small things in a low-stakes environment (i.e. no grades). Currently, I try to keep a journal as a way to take stock of my emotions that are too difficult to deal with internally. If I could expand these efforts to try writing about everything, no matter how big or small, maybe I could handle writing in academic settings better.
