Grad School and Book Writing…

For the last several years, I have been seriously struggling with what I want to do with my life. As some of my followers may know, I started college as a Journalism major, ready to take on the world with huge insight on society and huge aspirations to become a writer for a magazine.

After that 6 year-long dream came crashing down, thanks to something I call dreamers-block, I decided to change schools and change majors. At first, I wanted to be only a nurse. Now, not to say that being a nurse would be pathetic and a good way to sell-out of society’s evil dream-crushing tactics, but it would, for me, and any person that wanted to write as badly as I always have.

Later, I decided I still wanted to be a nurse, but didn’t want to give up on all the hard work I had put into my english/writing studies just the previous year ago. So, I was continuing college with a purpose to finish a BA in English Literature while taking my perquisites to later go to nursing school.

Finally, after 2 years wasted with taking exhausting and gap-ruining science classes, this semester I decided I am going to go to Grad school! For, well, something. Grad school has always been a thought floating around in my mind while nursing prerequisites seemed like such a good idea, but has never taken flight until now. I want to study English, maybe become a professor, but definitely become a writer. There, I said it, I want to be a writer! That has always been so impossible for me to say. I want to go to Grad school and pursing a writing career, while hopefully doing something else part time. Now, I’m not crazy, I know a career in writing is out-of-reach to so many people for so many reasons, but I think part of the reason why that is is because these people, who are destined to become writers, don’t know that they are! I didn’t think so until a few months ago, and here I am plotting my first book.

Right, I forgot to mention that I have also made another life-changing decision, I want to write books. Fiction, I mean. I want to write pieces of literature. I want to write creatively and it mean something, an idea that is completely different than the idea of writing that I had in high school.

So, to get to my point, I want to become a writer and in efforts to be one I have started writing. I have actually started writing. I started with stream of conscientiousness pieces, but have moved forward to plotting a novel that I hopefully can bring with me to grad school and develop it into a decent piece of fiction. I also have started a portfolio of all my writings from high school until now, and wonder if I should do more than that. I am a beginner, but I love every second of it!

Enough about me though, are any of you pursing the aspirations that I have? Any tips or advice? Any criticism?

Hope you are having a nice day, keep writing!

Stream of Conscientiousness #1

Okay so I have recently convinced myself to start writing everyday, and last night I randomly wrote a stream of conscientiousness session without any previous dwelling. Hopefully I will always have the guts to post these and continue to learn from my own thoughts.

I don’t know how to write, but tonight I will learn. Since I was 15 I have known that writing is a part of me, even though all this time I have thought I sucked at it. I love writing essays, blog posts, book reviews and I have even written poems (just 1 actually). Lately I have been jealous thinking about all the writers that get to write all day and learn something after every page. The last week and a half I have been giddy with the thought of starting a new phase in my writing experience, actually writing! Usually I get 1 or 2 blog posts in a semester, both  usually being an essay I wrote for class or a simple post stating that I will be write more this semester, but it never happens. So, I finally decided that I have earned the luxury to write continuously and post as much as possible. I’m a student, I have a crappy job, I have a boyfriend and family that wants to see me as much as possible, and all considering I can write in this journal and allow my hand to cramp around this pen that hasn’t touched paper in an unknowable amount of time. This pen sits in a case of with other old pens, pencils, highlighters and paper clips next to my bed on my coffee table that sits there for any spontaneity of writing that may come as I lay in bed absent-mindedly.  Maybe this time I don’t sit here absent-mindedly and maybe something useful will come out of this pen’s production purpose, other that the chicken scratch on this piece of paper. I feel that if I keep this pen placed on the paper then maybe I won’t get distracted by something else and stop writing, and I will get to keep talking to you as I always want to. I think that by now at age 21 I should have filled 100 of these journals up with words like these, but I am humored as this journal is about as old as my writing career, with at least half of it still standing. This morning when I woke up I decided that today was the day I picked out a journal to start this episode of conscientious in, and today at work I decided I should spend my night studying for my finals this week. When I got home I dug through my box of school supplies looking for a journal to begin writing notes down in for school and came across this one, half empty. Then I picked up this pen, not wanting to open a new one, and am sitting here dying of thirst because I can’t get up to get something to drink with the pen still stuck to this paper. Earlier in the week I thought about how fun it would be to go shopping for cute notebooks and pretty new pens, but I think I will keep writing in my half empty journals with my half empty pens and enjoy the reminiscence about days that I wrote and stopped for months, producing these sad stationary stationaries. I just wrote for 30 minutes and don’t know how I really got here. May 3, 2016. 11:54 pm.