Okay, so here’s the deal. In my first blog I wrote my mission statement, the things that mattered to me that I thought I’d mostly likely be blogging about in order to solidify my experience writing about nothing so that I could get paid for it. There’s been lots of problems so far. First of all it’s boring to always think about what I’m gonna nag about. It feels like I should get an op ed if all I’m going to do is discuss current issues and how I feel about them. Secondly I think that by focusing my experience on gaining experience, almost like a prereq. for a job, I’ve removed whatever joys blogging contained. I think instead of the direction I was heading, I would rather have this be my journey with the writing process, or maybe just my journey in life. I think the key is to enjoy it, I think about my future career as a writer at least three times a day, so it seems like a natural topic. But accept that different things interest me on different days, and while all the “how to blog” web sites recommend finding a niche and staying there, I just don’t think that’s in the realm of possibility for me. I guess the best place to start is to introduce myself and start at the beginning and work forward.
My name is Katie Hall. I’m 23 years old and live in Missouri. There are probably a handful of things that have consistently interested me throughout my life: reading, writing, equality, and politics. A few of those things contradict each other, actually a more accurate statement is that some of those lifestyles contradict each other. I graduate either this December or this April. I’ve been with Frank for seven years. We don’t really believe in the institution of marriage. I don’t think my love is legitimized by a piece of paper from the government. Although I did skip prom, so the dress would be cool. I love tattoos. I love animals and am a vegetarian. I miss California and plan on moving back when I graduate. My parents were kind of anti culture. I mean, my mom was a flower child who was 13 in the late sixties, so she was too young to make a difference, but just the right age to get a little into substance abuse. My dad’s an emotional fucking mess. I think he’ll always have issues. Both my parents were meth heads for a little bit when I was a little girl (my childhood only occasionally suffered). So I say that because cops weren’t always our family friend. I mean they were always the ones arresting my parents, so there’s kind of a natural anxiety when it comes to cops. I say that only so that you can understand the psychology of my current situation. I work as a police dispatcher and have for about four years. It was kind of insane on my part. Not because it’s been a bad experience, the opposite in fact, but it creates quite a bit of natural tension. I mean, I’m a natural debater and so my ideas of peace and equality, my naive belief that the world can be a better place, are kind of mocked. But I’m used to fighting, I can hang with it. It’s been a great job though, I have A LOT of personal freedom. Like I’m actually at work right now. I think that just about covers me as a person. Now the writing.
The first story I remember writing was in 5th grade. It was assigned. I don’t remember what it was about, although I want to say something with pirates. The next story was the same year, and it wasn’t assigned. I have no idea what it was about. I wrote more, although never with any focus or staying power (a current problem). When I was 14 I tried my first novel, or story or whatever you want to call it. I never finished it and only kept the first ten pages. It sucks. Then I wanted to be a lawyer. I stopped creatively writing. It was all rekindled as a sophomore in college. Here’s how it happened.
I liked creatively writing. I mean I was horribly out of practice, but I remembered loving it and as flaky as I am about everything, I’d considered writing several times during my aspirations as an attorney. An English teacher told me I was a good writer, and that I should consider an English major instead of my poli sci major. Well I’m an only child and praise is a major weakness and motivator for me, so I converted. I quickly recognized that my strengths were in description, not plot or characters or story, but in my power to describe. Now it’s true that description is an important aspect to any story, but it’s not the most important – far from it. So I went to talk to a (different) liberal professor after class. I voiced my concern. I wanted to write, but I didn’t want to be poor. He told me about poetry - stories that are nothing but coded description. But I didn’t want to be poor, I told him. In my mind, you could survive from books, best selling lists and movie deals etc. But what happens to poets? In my mind poets are poor and destined to be remembered in the future but die unrecognized, lonely, and most the time psychologically disturbed. He told me how he knew tons of successful poets. Mind you when I asked what they did he told me “One’s a teacher. One person works as a bartender, another at a bookstore…” so it wasn’t that inspiring. But he also told me about how he started, living day to day sponsored (people pay for you to live so you can write) teaching abroad, working miscellaneous jobs. He made it sound realistic. I mean I’m not saying it was the perfect starting point, but it did what I needed done, it gave me a visual of the future in a non structured environment. And that’s where it all really began. (This isn’t about writing, but since that point I’ve realized money, wealth, status aren’t anything. It’s all about being happy. And money does not equal happiness. Nor do things. Those are the two greatest scams of our century).
I messed around with some crappy poetry, but wandered back to fiction (I’m still not sure if that’s because of some hidden goal of success that I think is more attainable as a fiction writer or I just didn’t like poetry, but fiction is where I sit). So I consider myself a new writer. I mean I’m just learning the techniques that Stephen King learned at like 12. I’ve finished several short stories, and started a novella, and a novel. But all of them are pretty bad and unedited. My problem with writing is the incorporation of so many different, independent things. I mean, like how to tie in character development, plot development, description, into an actual story without getting lost in one or the other. Stories are another problem. I mean like the actual bones of the story, what happens. I kind of suck at that. I mean, I’m not being self loathing, just self accepting. My cousin, oh man she’s so good at stories. We used to play Barbie’s, and I would just watch her story unfold and develop. And God they were always so creative. I think I’ll be good once I trust myself and believe in my observations, but currently I’m always fighting a negative interior dialogue. Example: This sucks, no one cares, how long have you just been describing someones movements? This character is unbelievable - you get the point.
Anyway so my goal for this summer is to get better. My goal every summer. But really each year I do get better. But then sometimes I look back and re-read some of the things I’d written before I started trying to get better, and maybe I’ve gotten worse? Ah the constant struggle. Okay, a 1200 word post is long enough. Peace.
