I kind of feel like I've been hitting a wall lately, or a lot of walls, and a lot of mud on those walls.
I've got to thinking about my little flirtation with Creative Writing and the classes that UMass offers and realized my enchantment may be over. After a poetry reading tonight I began ruminating and I don't think I'm cut out for that world. I love words and I love writing for myself, but I don't think I'm near brave or talented enough to ever take on a public writing agenda seriously. I can't even decide whether I'm made out for fiction or poetry. Last semester I was in a poetry class and this semester I switched to fiction, and I feel like I hated both. I'm feeling like all this talk of diagloue, narrative grip, plot outlines, and exposition make me want to tear my hair out and write a poem. Writing poems makes me want to drown myself in syrup, begging for some kind of structure outside of airy word fluff. So there we have it. A part of me says, "Just finish your certificate, you only have one class left". Another says, "It doesn't really matter at all." An even greater part says, "You're no good and you're not even good enough to be caught up in other people's good, Drop it and move on to classes with more structure and less creative demand." I don't like writing stories or poems; I just like huge hunks of text that convey...something. I am going to drink up some MFA students work tomorrow and try to give some serious thought to all of this stuff. I don't think my thesis will be taking as daring a route as I once thought. There it is I guess. Then we came to the end.