I Love The Smell of Paper

I tend to do my writing at three o’clock in the morning, in a big sweatshirt and boxers, scribbling in a swarming frenzy of crusty writing, procrastination, and self-hatred. I can’t say I am an expert in the writing process; as I have no process really. I am quite disorganized when it comes to my writing, and although it brings me a lot of joy, I am concerned it probably annoys my readers. Reflecting on my writing could take a while- so prepare yourself. Upon receiving an assignment I always get excited. I have big ideas and plans for what I am going to write and how I will convey my message. Tons of ideas come into my head but alas I lose them before I can capture them on paper. Flash forward to a week later when the paper is due tomorrow and I have accomplished literally nothing. My paper and brain empty like a desolate tundra.

Language itself fascinates me. I started talking very early, and writing came along not far after. As a child, I wrote all the time. I was a very whimsical kid. I’ve wanted to be a journalist since I was small, although I didn't know it at the time. I made and distributed a weekly Olson newspaper to my not- so- thrilled family, I had a pen-pal that I’d also make little newsletters for. My crowning literary achievement however, came around age seven when my best buddy and I started our own little crayon-colored magazine. By the way I interviewed my friends and neighbors, you’d have thought I was a tiny New York Times editor. In reality, it was garbage, but I saw myself as a journalist. That’s kind of how I am today as well. What I write is somewhat awful, but I still have big dreams that someone will want to read my thoughts someday. Alas, I have lost a lot of my creativity and spunkiness from my childhood- but I haven’t lost my love of writing.

A lot of my best writing comes from tapping into my childlike mind. Most everything I spurt out are memories. Most of my free writing comes from having a long lost thought or even just an emotion pop up in my brain, and I try my best to clamp the thought in my mind and keep it from slipping away. I write these down in a tiny notebook I carry along with me, and although they aren’t all that well written, they serve as little time capsules. Looking through it, there are scrawlings about anything- there is a page about when I was in first grade and being forced to skip lines back and forth in the gym with our creepy gym teacher while the other six-year-olds got to play with the parachute. I go into detail about the time when my best friend carried me down a mountain in Wyoming while we sang “I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, and I love the flowers….” and annoyed the hell out of the hiking group in front of us. “You might start writing about this moment, but end up writing about the gardenia you wore at your wedding seven years ago.” (Goldberg, Writing as a Practice). This is often how my writing works, and reading these memories can always make me smile. I have high expectations that someday I will do something with them- although I could see myself losing them somewhere in my disaster bedroom.

I picture myself as a better writer than I am, which is peculiar because I’m normally self-conscious about a lot of things. Future me is a really cool journalist writing somewhere in central park in New York, dressed in a cute thrift store dress and drinking my Starbucks. Like I mentioned earlier, I tend to do my writing in the darkness of the night, in my pajamas and my disaster bedroom, writing in a swarming frenzy of crusty writing, procrastination, and self-hatred. “Begin to write in the dumb, awkward way an animal cries out in pain...” Check. “...It is there you will find your voice.” (Goldberg, “Writing is Not a McDonald’s Hamburger”) Uhm... I’m still working on that, as I am still an animal crying out in pain. My writing often lacks focus, as all of my ideas are spinning around in my head like scratched records.

Writing takes life experience. That tends to be my excuse as to why I haven’t written anything great yet. I can’t wait to be eighteen- I just want to travel. Of course this makes my parents very concerned. They are always very concerned. When asked what I want to do with my life, I tend to answer with “I just want to travel, write, take pictures, and help people.” The best writing seems to come from people who have done something, who have suffered and who have experienced. I have been overprotected my whole life and haven’t really experienced any hardships. Professor Bruce Ballenger believes “It is important to allow students to experience how language can be a vehicle for discovering how they see the world.” (Ballenger, The Curious Writer). I am just ready to escape from my comfort zones and truly find my voice.

I have writing envy. Other people’s brains fascinate me. When I’m people-watching like a creep, I always wonder “How do their brains work?” “Why don’t they think like me?” “What was their inspiration?” When I read “Shitty First Drafts” by Anne Lamott, I instantly thought, “I want to be her best friend.” If I could go back and give my younger self some advice, I would tell her to never stop writing and quit caring what others think. I almost feel like I lost a few good years because of 6th-10th grade. I think similarly to Anne Lamott when she says “I do not think she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her,” in reference to another author who doesn’t have to work for her ideas. (Lamott, Shitty First Drafts) In order to make my writing better I need to quit concerning myself with the minds of others and start to separate my thoughts from the thoughts that others have already thought. Ha. It is all too easy for me to get frustrated when I read other people’s writing, because I am not innovative, nor have I come up with any grand new ideas.

Conclusions are similar to a trip to the friendly neighborhood Department of Motorized Vehicles. Tedious and frustrating. I never want to conclude.  I could quite possibly continue to type this paper for days and not really ever have a solid ending point. I always feel like I leave a bit of emptiness, like there was something left to say that I didn’t know how. Concluding is scary, as it means you are done. Finished. I always have a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach as I hand in that paper I did the night before, and suddenly realize all too late that, “OH GOD I FORGOT TO MENTION blah blah blah!”

Writing every day is a necessity, not just for people who want to be authors or accomplished writers, but for everyone.Donald Murray validates this point when he writes, “Never a day without a line.” (Murray, The Craft of Revision). In my experience, writing everyday has helped me to sort out a lot of my scattered thoughts and emotions. I always write with pencil and paper first. I love the smell of paper. It simply isn’t the same as typing, and truly helps me to feel more creative and inspired than staring at a mind-numbing computer screen. Writing ought to be done in a way that that makes you, the author, happy. Through the reflection I have finally realized you don’t have to do big things with your life to be a great writer, you just have to find beauty in the small things, the happy memories and fading emotions.