Finally, I am writing a Thursday Thoughts on time. During my stay in this fine city of London, I am enrolled in a creative writing class. This is the first creative writing class I have ever been in and, let me tell you, I’m not so sure about it.
I’ve never been one to enjoy sharing my writing with other people. Well, that’s a lie, seeing as I write this blog and that’s what a blog is. I guess I don’t like reading my work out loud to a group of people who are ready to critique it and pick it apart right in front of my weak, weak heart. I find it incredibly terrifying. Writing is a personal process, and everything you write possesses within it a part of you. So, really, you are presenting a part of yourself to a frenzy of critical peers. And it is scary!
I know this is the only way to be a better writer. You must share your work and you need feedback. That is necessary to growth. But sometimes, I think that the whole system has a kind of high school hierarchy to it. People in my class are so talented, but I think they all try to be better than they are in the hopes that they will receive less feedback and therefore less time on the chopping block. At least, I try to be better than I am, and then my writing just turns out horribly. The pressure that I put on myself strains my works and it’s a vicious circle.
I wish there was a way to just get used to expressing yourself so plainly through your writing before having to add on the trauma of critique. But that’s not the way the literary world works. Or the real world, I suppose.
Update: all I eat in London are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 42 so far (not that I’m counting).