a writing portfolio
[short story writing 271]
there's a jar of blue pearls on the table. and next to it, some string.
nimble fingers pick them up, and one by one joins them in painful matrimony.
when she is finished, she hangs it around her neck; a...
prompt 1 | why am I here? word count: 573 prompt cue: Why am I here? Why Short Story Writing? (You may include what you wrote on the first day)
People write to express a feeling that catches their attention. In a world where everything seems to be running away from them, they write for the same reasons an artist paints; to pause, rewind and replay, to freeze something in the eternal capsule of words—so that it can never be forgotten. I suppose this is why I write; because sometimes as I flow with the current of life, I pause, look around me, and wonder what my surroundings would look like on paper. Instead of immersing myself and enjoying a party, I look at it from a distance and wonder; what if the cake was alive? What if they feel pain too? What if I was the only one who could hear their call for help? And then it's all I can do to tame the urge to write it all out. This absurd way of thinking applies to many facets of my life; it could be an invasive thought while I watch a movie, read a book or a poem, or even while I cook. As I do these virtually unassuming rituals, I think of ways I could appropriate the experience my words, and write it anew.
Writing never came easy for me. I spoke my first words at seven months old, my parents used to read to my every day since I was born, and I knew the words to my favourite stories before I could even read them. I grew up with the classics. When my friends were talking about Disney princesses and Barbie; I was dreaming about Huckleberry Finn, Alice in Wonderland and Katy Carr. Older but less wise, when my friends gushed over Justin Timberlake and Shahrukh Khan, I dreamed about the Victorian era; of Mr. Darcy, (although a much younger) Mr. Rochester and all the dukes of the nineteenth century. Also unlike many of the girls in my class, my imagination refused to be penned down. My friends could write beautiful and heartbreaking sonnets of lost love, depression and pain, while I struggled not to sound like a five-year-old. One would think that for someone who read so much, writing would be a walk in the park. But no, writing never came easy for me. It was the most elusive thing in the world; a dandelion caught in the folds of a summer breeze. I almost drowned in blood, sweat and tears trying to reach for it. But I am a competitive little monster, and I won't stop until I have it firmly in my grasp.
I have never taken a class on writing before. All my information on writing is derived from You Tube, sketchy sites and extremely talented friends. When I found out that there was a short story writing class offered at GUST, I was apprehensive. What if all these years later, I join a formal class only to realize that I have no talent at all? But I quickly shoved those thoughts away, because—when has that ever stopped me? I chose short story writing to get a sense of the different ways someone can write a story. To see what it's like to think like a writer instead of a literature student. I also have a very short attention span when it comes to a lot of things, so I believe learning how to encapsulate my thoughts into a story that is—short but sharp—would be the perfect fit.
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