A Writer's Debut

I was reading back over some of my old blog posts and came across a post called "Writing from the Heart."
It got me thinking about where I've taken writing, and where it's taking me. There's a quote that I love that reads "Writing may be as much a matter of what we do to it as what it does to us."
And, for a time, I felt as though I was ignoring it and it, in turn, was killing me. I was editing all the time. But I hardly ever had time to write. Often I would be in the middle of editing a paper and think, why am I editing this? I could write this. And then I would be upset that I hadn't. I hardly wrote more than two poems a month, I wrote only the occasional blog post, I hadn't touched my story, and all the while I'm surrounded by incredible writers and left wondering how I could ever measure up.
Then I watched the movie "Magic Beyond Words", the story of J.K Rowling's childhood, career, and ensuing rise to fame and realized all I really wanted was to write. So I rearranged my entire schedule to fit in two writing classes, and I was happy. Then I wrote a blog post and was met with all-too-kind comments, comments such as "You are an incredible writer--few people have as much talent as you do," "How do you write this well? This is uncanny", and "Can you write a book? Please? I just want to keep reading. Your writing has a way of sucking me in and making it all feel so comfortable. Like snuggling up in a blanket next to a fireplace on a rainy day . . . Seriously. Love your writing Brooke! Don't stop doing it!!"
I let myself believe them, and I started writing more. I wrote another blog post. I wrote in my journal, and I even pulled out the story I've been working on for far too long now. I allowed my friend to convince me to enter a speech contest. I'll find out how I did with that in a couple weeks. I applied to work as a Writing Fellow next semester. I wrote a draft of a paper to submit to an online journal.
And, sitting on the couch, as the credits rolled, after watching the movie that started it all, "Magic Beyond Words," I hurriedly scribbled the following poem.

You cannot fear the waiting page

It’s white space like a snowy field

Hardening with age

It’s icy crust like dragon’s skin

Impossible to penetrate

The fire, cold within

Ready to consume whatever words

You attempt to mark upon it

It chills the writer’s hand

Freezes thoughts

And keeps the words in fear

Huddled in the pen for warmth

Afraid to die, yet never brought to life

You cannot command the words

Any more than you can rewrite the laws

Which govern all the earth

For who can govern gods

And who can own the words,

The tools of their creations?
Words, you see, cannot be commanded

But they are lead

A writer is a leader

Someone they can trust

Endowing them with human passions

Arraying them like strokes upon a canvas

Like an army, to stand before its enemy

Endowed with confidence and order

Marching down the author’s arm

Rushing out the pen

Leaving tidy black footprints

Upon the icy field

Then, finding their intended resting place

They lay down upon the feild

They make their sacrifice

Such are words:

Memorials

Imprints of their lives

When we write

We send these valiant words to die

And this: the paradox

Those afraid to die are never brought to life

Those afraid to live will only die

But those that do not fear to live

Change lives

That is why we write

Greatness

Comes with sacrifice

And writers do not fear

To pay the price

I wrote this poem because I realized I could not let the fear of striking out keep me from playing the game. I was given a gift that makes me so happy--I could see no good reason not to use it. J.K Rowling went through a lot before her work was published, but she wrote because she loved it. And that's why I write. It's true that writing changes lives, but I think the life it changes the most is the author's. It's true that writing comes with a price, a risk, but only if you're playing to win. Me: for now, I'm playing to play. One day I'll play to win, but winning isn't about being famous or published. It's about being satisfied and being happy, and right now I get that just from playing. And the best part? I not only own the board and the pieces. I own the rules. I know all the rules, so I know all the loop-holes. And I know the greatest secret of writing: there are no rules, just passionate preferences. And I passionately prefer to make up my own. 

No fear here.

On the contrary, I'm having a blast. 

Candidly,

Cookie

Coincidence? I Think Not.

It was almost Tuesday night and I had just gotten back from a much-needed run with a friend. I had a quiz due at midnight, an essay to finish, a dialogue to memorize for my Mandarin class, readings to do for my grammar class, and readings and exercises to do for my Modern American Usage of English class which were to prepare us for the take home quizzes that were due the following morning.

The following night, Wednesday, I went straight from orchestra rehearsal to the temple and returned home equally late with an equally long to-do list. Both mornings would see me up by six and to bed some time long past midnight. Monday had been a late night too.

But let's rewind to Tuesday night. I got to bed around one a.m and got up around 5:30 the following morning. By the time I had showered, grabbed breakfast, packed a lunch and dinner, and made it up to campus I had roughly half an hour to memorize the dialogue for my Mandarin class. Usually, this takes me at least an hour. Not to mention this was our longest dialogue yet. By some miracle, I got a perfect score on the dialogue. In my next class, grammar, we had a pop-quiz on the readings, which, of course, I hadn't done. I guessed on all the answers and got them all right, plus the bonus question. With five minutes left in the class and only fifteen minutes before my next class would start, I realized I had not done the take home quizzes for my next class. Skipping the readings and the practice exercises, I went straight to the quizzes, finishing them as I walked to my next class, where they'd be due. Out of three quizzes, I missed only one question. 

I don't say this to flaunt my intellectual prowess, nor to brag on my vampire-like abilities to, evidently, function rather well with limited sleep. On the contrary, I function rather poorly on limited sleep and spent the weekend making up for it. 

I tell you this because I believe miracles happen, and this to me, was most definitely a tender mercy. It would be easy to say that it worked out by coincidence or due, in some part, to my own intellectual abilities, but it would be making a mockery of God to do so. 

And, as proof that I really couldn't do it on my own, after roughly four and a half hours of sleep a night all week, I nearly failed my Mandarin quiz on Friday and then slept the rest of the day, all night, and well in to the following morning. Coincidence? I think not. 

Saturday found me thinking back on the first few weeks of school. Obviously, the first few weeks aren't as rigorous, but even so, I was so much more on top of things--there seemed to always be enough time. Aside from the increased amount of tests and other assignments in recent weeks, I felt there must be something else . . . 

I pulled up my hour-by-hour schedule of the first few weeks and instantly realized what it was. Tuesdays and Thursdays after class I had gone straight to the library to study. Friday nights were spent at home grading papers or in the library. Wednesday nights, after attending the temple, I walked straight home. Sundays were spent catching up on the reading for my religion classes. Free time was spent studying. 

Now, most Tuesdays and Thursdays I "study" after class with Shan Yue, which most days translates to spontaneous excursions, episodes of Death Note, long conversations, laughter, and the possibility of the occasional assignment getting some attention. 

Friday nights are spent on dates, watching movies with roommates, or walking with Katelyn to Pop 'n Sweets to grab hot chocolate floats at the "Mormon Bar" and talk as though both we and the night had drunken from the waters of Tuck Everlasting. 

Wednesday nights I no longer attend the temple alone every night. Occasionally, a friend will join me and another forty-five minutes to an hour is added to my night, walking her home.
Most of my "free time" now is spent editing essays for friends.
Most Sundays are spent doing visiting teaching, having my sister and her husband over for dinner and games, or walking over to the freshman dorms where my best friend from last year works as an RA. We're both so busy that Sunday tends to be our one and only time to catch up, and it's time well spent.    Last week, we came across a group gathered in one of the dorm rooms jamming. Pretty soon it was over twenty people and two guitars crammed into a dorm room having the time of our lives.

So what happened? What made the difference between those first few weeks when life was pretty easy and I was on top of everything, and now? The answer's simple: I found friends. And I put them first.

Do I regret it?

Not one bit. 

Grades and learning are as important as ever, but last year I learned an important lesson. Last year, my first semester of college, I studied hard, and I reaped the benefits. I thought my first semester was pretty close to perfect. Then second semester started and my roommate moved out. It was quite the eye-opener. It was then that I realized, while I had been in my dorm studying, I had missed Foot Ball games, late night runs to the creamery for ice cream, chats out in the hall with my hall-mates, and games and socialization after ward prayer. All the girls were sweet to me, but, when it came down to it, I had no friends. Second semester was harder: my grades were good, but not perfect. BUT, I had friends. 

Sure, my grades are glued to my transcript. They aren't going anywhere and they'll follow me all through college. But good friends will stick with you long past college. And even if they don't, their memories will. No one remembers their grades with fondness, or looks back with a smile on those nights they spent studying alone in the library. 

My first semester I honestly thought college was a lot easier than I'd thought it would be, but I've realized the hard part comes with the realization that college is more than classes and text books. It's not just learning -- it's enjoyment, discovery, relationships, memories . . . friends.

When God created the world he saw everything as good, except one thing that was decidedly "not good." It was not good that man should be alone. And so, I think the Lord smiles down on friendships. Were it not so, why would He have so obviously and so quickly aided me in finding them?

I remember one day when I was walking with Shan Yue to one of her classes, she was asking me something or other about fandoms and Marvel and Animae and it lead to the spoken observation that we really have almost nothing in common. I've known people with whom I've have shared nearly every possible commonality and it didn't work at all. And then I've known people for whom it worked because they had just enough in common. But what Shan Yue and I realized that day was that virtually none of our interests are similar and I wouldn't have paired us based on personality either. True, we both like Mandarin and we both enjoy the occasional spontaneous excursion, but right about there, the commonalities end. And yet, we're such good friends.

Coincidence? I think not.

Candidly,

Cookie