When I first started writing again, I was surprised to learn how many preconceptions I had regarding the process. I dug deep and made a list of the lessons I have learned.
The biggest lesson being that you can learn about writing. I had always believed one either had a gift for writing or one did not. I had always envied those that had it, placing myself in the lacking column. Through the class, I feel I have grown and discovered that it is a craft that can be honed with exposure to loose formulas, examples, and exercises.
Another concrete lesson I learned was restraint. The need to tell every detailed process or portion isn’t as necessary as I had believed it to be. I feel I have mastered the difference between what adds to the writing and what is an unnecessary distraction. This lesson also crossed over into my life as well. As much excitement and passion I feel about my writing, my kids, my business, my whatever, I understand I don’t need to reach out and share my every thought. If the writing is good, the readers will get and appreciate the subtlety as opposed to the blaring, screaming, repeating of a concept.
I also was exposed to the harsh reality of how much I use cliche's as a crutch (intentional). I would examine these casually tossed around phrases, understand and feel them, but was never able to reword them using my voice. With some creativity and searching, I am now able to articulate that same emotion, but expressed differently.
Probably the thing I am most proud of in this journey, though, is my forced exposure to poetry. I was thrust into this intimidating medium with no clue as to what made poetry so touted. I'm a child of the 1980's and my understanding was that everything had to rhyme and fit neatly into a box. It had to tell an abbreviated story, using flowery language, all while following these hard-core literacy rules. Is it a limerick, a haiku, a couplet, free-verse, a sonnet, or one of the other 50 styles? To choose and make it fit into a mould seemed harder than passing up donuts in a break room. I was extremely surprised to learn that poetry is quite the opposite. It's just words in their simplistic form and the interpretation is up to the reader, oftentimes the meaning is able to morph depending the mindset at the time.
Having attended a real life poetry reading, I came home pleasantly surprised. I always felt I was beneath the ability to comprehend poetry, and I was shocked to learn that although intellectually challenging, it was emotionally rewarding.
I’m ashamed to admit, but I envisioned the stereotypical beret wearing, heavy eye-linered, lost and depressed soul, bearing her heart under a spotlight in a darkened room, confessing love unreturned. What I witnessed was a soft-spoken, strong woman, smiling as she spoke of a love that was recognized but taken too soon. It was both endearing and uplifting.
I attended with a 24 year old co-worker and was taken away with her ability to digest the author's life experiences, having few herself. Tears pooled in her eyes as she listened intently. That tells me that poetry has the ability to cross generations, lifestyles, etc., to take the reader and listener on a voyage outside of their comfort zone of everyday life.
Lastly, I was instructed to write for myself. Writing is therapy...for me. I owe no one anything. The facts I disclose could be considered hurtful, or even exaggerated. But they are my interpretation at the time and very real feelings, whether right or wrong. Writing is not meant to fluff someone's ego. Nor is it all kitty cats and rainbows. Sometimes the boogieman is real, and it's those that are not afraid to write about him that enables the reader to deal with their own monsters.
Through this class, for the first time in a very long time, I was more than a mother, more than a wife, more than an employee…I was Nicole. I was able to claim this as my very own. All whom I’ve shared my writing with over the last few months, saw me and my passion—Nicole at her finest. Oh, how I’ve missed her.
The biggest lesson being that you can learn about writing. I had always believed one either had a gift for writing or one did not. I had always envied those that had it, placing myself in the lacking column. Through the class, I feel I have grown and discovered that it is a craft that can be honed with exposure to loose formulas, examples, and exercises.
Another concrete lesson I learned was restraint. The need to tell every detailed process or portion isn’t as necessary as I had believed it to be. I feel I have mastered the difference between what adds to the writing and what is an unnecessary distraction. This lesson also crossed over into my life as well. As much excitement and passion I feel about my writing, my kids, my business, my whatever, I understand I don’t need to reach out and share my every thought. If the writing is good, the readers will get and appreciate the subtlety as opposed to the blaring, screaming, repeating of a concept.
I also was exposed to the harsh reality of how much I use cliche's as a crutch (intentional). I would examine these casually tossed around phrases, understand and feel them, but was never able to reword them using my voice. With some creativity and searching, I am now able to articulate that same emotion, but expressed differently.
Probably the thing I am most proud of in this journey, though, is my forced exposure to poetry. I was thrust into this intimidating medium with no clue as to what made poetry so touted. I'm a child of the 1980's and my understanding was that everything had to rhyme and fit neatly into a box. It had to tell an abbreviated story, using flowery language, all while following these hard-core literacy rules. Is it a limerick, a haiku, a couplet, free-verse, a sonnet, or one of the other 50 styles? To choose and make it fit into a mould seemed harder than passing up donuts in a break room. I was extremely surprised to learn that poetry is quite the opposite. It's just words in their simplistic form and the interpretation is up to the reader, oftentimes the meaning is able to morph depending the mindset at the time.
Having attended a real life poetry reading, I came home pleasantly surprised. I always felt I was beneath the ability to comprehend poetry, and I was shocked to learn that although intellectually challenging, it was emotionally rewarding.
I’m ashamed to admit, but I envisioned the stereotypical beret wearing, heavy eye-linered, lost and depressed soul, bearing her heart under a spotlight in a darkened room, confessing love unreturned. What I witnessed was a soft-spoken, strong woman, smiling as she spoke of a love that was recognized but taken too soon. It was both endearing and uplifting.
I attended with a 24 year old co-worker and was taken away with her ability to digest the author's life experiences, having few herself. Tears pooled in her eyes as she listened intently. That tells me that poetry has the ability to cross generations, lifestyles, etc., to take the reader and listener on a voyage outside of their comfort zone of everyday life.
Lastly, I was instructed to write for myself. Writing is therapy...for me. I owe no one anything. The facts I disclose could be considered hurtful, or even exaggerated. But they are my interpretation at the time and very real feelings, whether right or wrong. Writing is not meant to fluff someone's ego. Nor is it all kitty cats and rainbows. Sometimes the boogieman is real, and it's those that are not afraid to write about him that enables the reader to deal with their own monsters.
Through this class, for the first time in a very long time, I was more than a mother, more than a wife, more than an employee…I was Nicole. I was able to claim this as my very own. All whom I’ve shared my writing with over the last few months, saw me and my passion—Nicole at her finest. Oh, how I’ve missed her.
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