WP4: Rekindling the Flame

I used to bring three things with me everywhere I went- a journal, a pen, and a book. I would have the two in hand before I would even think about putting on my shoes or remembering to bring a jacket.

I loved reading as a child. I could devour books in one sitting. I read all kinds of genres- mythology, anthropology, graphic novels, natural science. But my favorite genre of all was Adventure. I loved these novels because I could insert myself into the story and be a part of the action right alongside the main characters. That’s why I also brought my journal with me.

I would daydream for hours about the adventures I was reading about, sparking up new plotlines, character ideas, and dialogue. I would never let these daydreams perish in the depths of my mind, however. I would whip out my pen and journal and write down every idea that came to my head, mapping out characters and plots and subplots and action scenes to my heart’s desire. I filled up journals upon journals of entire chapters and summaries for new book ideas. It was my dream to write my own novel. At one point I had even mapped out the structure for an entire series. I was building a universe.

I was very fortunate to have a teacher in the 3rd grade who recognized and nurtured my passion for writing, and who was just as passionate about writing himself. He drilled “show, don’t tell” into my head. He put Maya Angelou into my hands the first week of class. He would bring his electric guitar into class and he would play a beautiful melody and ask us to “write a poem about what we feel, not what we hear.” Because of him, my writing tools evolved, and I began to expand my horizons into poetry. I wrote poems about anything and everything. My cat. The half-eaten orange sitting on the kitchen counter. The dream I had about flying. Waiting for the school bus on a cold December morning.

In middle school, I was very fortunate to attend a school that did not give out homework or grades and didn’t emphasize academic essays. Instead, I was able to focus my time on subjects and electives I was truly interested in, such as creative writing. My writing teacher in 6th-8th grade really coaxed the adventurist writer out of me. Though I already had a foundation from the abundance of reading and writing I did in previous years, he helped me develop a strong understanding of story-mapping, developing realistic, engaging scenes of dialogue, and building sturdy plotlines. He taught me how to write action and build foreshadowing how to keep things interesting for not just the readers but for yourself and improvise with your plot so as not to limit yourself. He stressed the importance of writing every day, that writing is a muscle that needs to be exercised. Like everything else, it takes consistent practice to become great. He also taught me how to really flesh out an entire world. Not only was he the creative writing teacher, but he was also the dungeon master for our D&D club, so I was able to apply the skills he taught me about storytelling, improvisation, character-building, and dialogue in real-time.

I was in love with writing, through and through. I could turn the ideas in my head into a tangible plot. I could create stories that didn’t exist in the books I read. I wrote the stories that I wanted to read. It was a cathartic, creative release.

High school was, unfortunately, the time when the flaming passion for writing I’d been carrying started to flicker, waver, and fade. For the first time in my life, I had assigned essays. “Real” essays. Academic essays. I had to start writing from a formula. Introduction: summary with the thesis statement as the last sentence. Body paragraphs: introduction sentence, quote, analysis, quote, analysis, quote, analysis. Conclusion: say the exact same thing as the introduction but in slightly different words.

In a sense, these essays felt easier to write than a short story or a poem because it was like plugging words into an equation. Thus, I began to get lazy with my writing. I would get away with bullshitting essays because if I just plugged the right things into the right places I knew I would get an A. It was so easy for me to procrastinate until the last possible minute and end up burning myself out by writing a 2,000-word paper in one night, no breaks. And don’t even get me started on the burnout I experienced from writing at least 20 different college application essays in the span of a few months. I’m still recovering.

This constant formulaic, robotic writing analyzing books and topics I wasn’t totally enthusiastic about began to make me dread writing of all forms. I hadn’t written a full-fledged creative writing piece since the 8th grade. It’s not that I didn’t have the time, I just didn’t have the energy to write. I’ve had chronic writer’s block, induced by the brain ache of academic writing.

In an effort to ease the pain of academia, I took up a music journalism gig with an online blog called Grlsplain. For once, I was able to write about something I was passionate about- cool music by underrepresented artists. But still, in the end, it began to feel more like work and less like fun, especially when I was expected to produce at least two articles per month on top of the academic essays I had to turn in. Even though there is more room for creativity and personal style in journalism, I felt bound to formula all the same.

College perpetuated that feeling of writing burnout. Since starting college in the fall of 2021, I’ve had academic after academic essays due, with no seeming end. There are many classes where I have weekly mini-essays due. Even more essays than I ever had due in high school.

Until I took this class, Writing150. I love the style of this class because I’ve been able to write essays without worrying about sticking to the same blueprint or beefing up my vocabulary with fancy synonyms from Thesaurus.com.

In this class, I can truly just write. I feel as though this class reconnected me with my true voice. I had been so focused on perfecting an academic writing voice that I lost touch with my voice. In this class, I was able to explore topics that meant something to me and not ones I felt obligated to write about because of a class or journalistic assignment.

Though at first the open-endedness of the prompts in this class posed a challenge, as we progressed through the semester I became more comfortable with the freedom I was given, unchained from the formula. I’ve been free to write like myself. It has, slowly but surely, rekindled the flame.

I would love to continue writing in the way that I’ve written for this class. I started journaling again a year ago and I try to write a little something every day to grease the groove. Though that kind of writing is more self-exploratory and geared for personal growth, I want to get back to creative writing again.I would love to pick up my pen and journal and write poetry and short stories again. I would love to type out a ridiculous, meaningless conversation between two characters of my own making.

I want to keep my Medium profile or start something similar to my Medium profile so I can continue to publish my writing. Maybe one day I will publish that novel my childhood self dreamed about.