Trying something different here… I am just sitting in Starbucks with nothing “prepared” for this post. No inspiration… let me repeat literally no inspiration whatsoever at all. Maybe it is because I asked for constructive criticism, and then I received it and then like I do when I receive criticism – I curled up inside myself and ignored what was being criticized. In this case it was my writing.
It’s not that anyone told me it was bad – they just said it wasn’t poetry. And well that’s okay, because really I knew that. But if it is not poetry, then I guess all it is, is pieces of sentences, fragmented thoughts, in no particular order, with no determined climax, or theme, or direction.
So basically my writing is the same as me, which makes sense I guess. But in a way is disappointing.
My writing and I, we are floating listlessly without being attached to any sort of label, in the midst of a world which isn’t used to what we are, with no set direction and no certain purpose. Going nowhere fast, unless some core change occurs.
It is the structure of my writing I need to change. It is not yet a lost cause, just needs some direction. It needs something to work towards – possibly a memoir?
And I, I need structure. I am not a lost cause, just as my writing, in myself I see a world of potential if only I could apply it to something that truly brings out the best in me. I want to use all of my talents, I want to give back to the world every thing that I can. I want to make myself and my writing matter, I want these two things to make a difference and I am stubbornly determined to make that happen.
I’ve begun to set goals, yet in normal Shelby style I have lost the list of goals I had stayed up all night making. There is a class I am planning to sign up for, on memoir writing. Oddly, I find it incredibly selfish to want to “write a memoir.” It’s almost comical really – who would pick up a book written about me, by me. I mean really! Who do I think I am?? On the other side of things I have always written so that selflessly, it may help someone going through the same emotions. So I’m in a bit of a moral limbo – is it laughably self-consumed to want to write a memoir or selflessly harmless? Even the word memoir.
“Mehme – wahre”
But maybe it is the direction my writing needs. As for me, I have yet to really adapt to the notion that I of all people WANT direction. It seems like my mind has decided this against the will of my inner self. I have lived a life, of constantly wandering from interest to interest, perpetually getting lost in people and places, craving the open road and the freedom to pick my self up and go if things went south. And now I, want direction?
Maybe it is my 23rd birthday looming in the distance. 23… twenty three and I have accomplished well….. a lot of things. But not really anything at all. And 23… single, alone, forever most likely. Still, if I were to get married… I am making it a lot harder on myself. I assume anyone worth marrying is already taken by 35. But at the same time, I have been lost and wandering and alone for 22 years… what is another 52, really? Plus I will probably like myself more when I get through this odd “early twenties self discovery” stage. So I will really enjoy single life even more then, and I am already quite enjoying it.
Most of the time.
Anyway, I am leaving the coffee shop now to go look at an apartment that I can’t afford because let’s be honest I can’t afford to buy my own groceries most months. Not to mention the rent that my parents are ridiculously making me pay to occupy a room that is probably actually just a 10 ft square.
It’s all a little bit funny, how I thought at 22 I would be 5’7″ and 100 pounds in sophisticated clothing and 5″ heels walking the street with my assistant holding my bag as I walked into the Editor in Chief’s office at Vogue and took a seat at my stylish desk.
It’s all a bit funny, really.