Remember that game Rock Band?
So, I can’t sing. At all. The noises that come out of my unabashed mouth when I’m alone in the car faintly resemble caterwauling. However, anytime I played Rock Band with my friends, I always sang (Because, incidentally, I’m also terrible at basically every video game ever, except Tetris). Despite my horrendous voice, I kick the shit out of “Dead or Alive,” by Bon Jovi. I’m talkin’ 98% on expert, on the reg. The best part is I totally sell it too. I purposefully over-dramatize the entire performance, and still manage to hit (almost; 98%, after all) every flippin’ note.
In other news, I’ve been having a lot of doubt regarding my writing. Now, my academic writing is gangster as per uzsh, but my down-to-earth personal prose has felt stilted, repetitive, and at times slightly sophomoric. I keep starting posts and not finishing them, convinced I sound like a scratched, mixed CD stuck on skip. I’ve been scribbling away in my omnipresent idea notebook, but for naught. It’s annoying, because I merely have a few short weeks before I have to hop back on that grad school mechanical bull.
Annoying, but not overly concerning. Once you devote a long enough stretch to the hobby of writing, the occasional block doesn’t jar you as much as it used to. I find that one of the things that helps me the most is putting down the metaphorical or literal pen, and go read. Read whatever or whoever you want to emulate.
My go-tos? Kurt Vonnegut, Paulo Coelho, Caitlin Moran, and I consciously hunt for online articles which effectively harness the voice or the cadence that I’m looking for. Actually, I found a great one the other day, courtesy of my weekly email compilations from Refinery 29:
Not only is the advice indeed sage, but I love how I can picture this cool aunt, be-pearled with a cocktail in hand, legs effortlessly crossed as she doles out precious tidbits and you share things with her that you would never, ever tell your mom. Plus, it felt especially relevant as soon my stock will rise to beloved aunt. My sister is just shy of 17 weeks in, and is becoming adorably rotund (read her story here). I can’t wait to to spoil and corrupt the shit out of that kid, in all the best ways and some of the bad, of course. ❤
I also find it helpful to hash out with other like-minded writers, namely my poofls E and HZ, and V. They never disappoint. This time around (because let’s be honest, I constantly waiver over the validity and the value of my writing), V hit home: “Remember that semester thing we just wrapped up? Where we did allll that research and then, when we were done with that research, we wrote a paper about it? Like, 3 times? This is no different. You’ve done the research, you’re just not sure how to start the paper yet. Research = your life experiences, Research notes = your blog. The Paper is your book. Go start it.”
I got some new bling over the weekend whilest visitng E and HZ:
I was inexplicably drawn to it, until I recalled V’s words of wisdom (she would make a kick-ass ‘Cool Aunt’, as well). I’ve been singularly minded for a good portion of 2014, trying to figure out my broken heart, to clumsily suture it back together. Finally, as this hellish year comes to a close, I’m starting to come back to myself. I remember how many layers I have, how many passions ignite fires in my belly. Here’s to 2015, and devoting my energies to more potentially fruitful pursuits.
Current Quote: “A life without a cause is a life without effect.” -Paulo Coelho, Aleph