Tag: Writer

Myself, Writing

The Artist’s Way

Sanjay Sabarwal

It took me quite a while to start writing today namely because my eyes kept wandering over to other sites (flickr/install new mac updates/Mac App stores) and thoughts (I really need to finish watching the Justice League of America Season 2/I need to get a physical/why isn’t my Apple TV synching to the Macbook). It was as I was starved for intellectual stimulation or perhaps because I knew I was already behind on my post a day self-promise.  Yet somehow, it does not sting as much as I thought because I an constantly thinking of writing. However, there is the 900 pound gorilla in the room: what to write about.  As much as blogging is satisfying in that I get to vent, I know I haven’t gotten to the real task: to writing original content.  That’s a new problem because in high school, I stumbled onto short story writing, at UCLA personal columns, and now blogging.  It appears I cannot write unless there is a significant part of me invested into the words, and that’s a bit scary and troubling at the same time because I truly believe if you are a writer, you should be able to write in just about any genre and so with that in mind I am going to attempt to write my first short story in years.

I haven’t decided if I am going to post as I write or when it’ complete, but I know the progress will be noted in my writer’s group (the first such group I ever have joined), and perhaps as a testament to the seriousness of my writing when I start my Writer’s Studio seminar at UCLA.  Either way, I know I need to do more than just whine on here or talk about her friends or my feelings.  I need to produce so I can finally make the transition from would be writer to actually being one.

by Jemal Yarbrough

 

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Myself

8:04 am

Sanjay Sabarwal
From http://hypernews.ngdc.noaa.gov
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woke up abruptly with the assignment on my mind, but had the nagging feeling I was dreaming so tried to reconstruct that movie but mind was a blank. Coyldnt remember if I am supposed to write for 30 minutes or just a full page, but for now ignoring that nagging feeling that I am doing all this wrong and for once just letting the fingers do the talking.

Today was an experiment. Had accidently set the alarm for 8am, and everyday its interruoted me. The old me, would have shut it off and just gone back into the murky darkeness but lately I just stay awake and get up and begin my day. Its been tempting to treat this as a holiday but the fat is, I am itching to begin my new role as a writer, for once I am thrilled to actually so something that I want. oh yea, the experiment, turned off the alamr and went to bed around 2. Eyes opening with the mind anticipating being around 11. Nope, 8:04am blinked back at me. Thoughts tried to convince to lie in bed, that I would be too tired to put down any thoughts. That I needed to put my contacts, that I couldn’t handwrite, and I have never really wrote at this time, so I stayed in bed an additional 10 minutes but sleep was gone only the assignment was on my mind, and a guilt that if I didn’t get up today, I would never get up.

Have decided that I will write the first thing in the morning, I have the luxury of setting my own work schedule and if I can maintain this time and pace in the morning, I will do it. I actually feel quite accomplished when I put in the time, and I want that feeling to continue. It confirms for me that I really am ready to make the transition from my daily life to being a writer, yet I am hesitant to share it with my girlfriend or others, because I want to actually have some meat to share with them. Thats a lie actualy, I still don’t feel like a writer like I used to high school. The fact is, in the 4 years that I hae been with my girlfriend, she has a send a handful of pages of my work, and experience some cutsie poetry that I created for her in a rush in order to be super-romantic. She’s heard I am a good writer, and therein lies the problem. Everyone’s heard but no one’s really seen anything,

Pace is slow definitely slower today, but am also glancing at the clock less. A voice is trying to convince me that its already been 30 minutes but just like before I don’t believe her. I have a feeling I will know for sure when the time elapses. Just to comfort that paranoia, I glance up, and I have 5 minutes left but then I begin to wonder why did I think it 30 minutes and so I try to time travel to when I was doing the reading, but I don’t remember any numbers just the admonition to write in the twilight. Perhaps, the 30 minutes came from me, perhaps I don’t trust myself longer than that. Perhaps, I have compromised with my consciousness to only allow 30 minutes to be devoted to my old love, Perhaps, Time….