Reset Button

I had a great conversation today with an author and entertainment critic-turned-teacher. It was one of those conversations that I imagine paves the way for a mentor-student type of relationship: the wizened one who imparts his accumulated knowledge unto the bright-eyed apprentice. We are nowhere near that, but the conversation had that spark to it, and I felt empowered. There was a great deal of what I inherently knew (that it would be difficult) and what always makes me feel better (you can do it!).

He gave me some great advice and also spoke some great truths, which brings me to my main point. There were two bits of advice that struck me most: the first being a youthful mantra of mine, that I believe in and that so many of my Emory peers do not--"Live your twenties like it's a video game. Just hit the reset button." The second was this: "Today it's easier to get noticed. But with thousands of blogs and the endlessness of the Internet, it's harder to mean something."

Which is the stress I've felt since blogging and the Internet really took off--how can you stand out amongst a sea of bloggers who have revolutionized everything from fashion to food? With more out there, it all means less. And with thousands of ways to spew out blurbs and articles and pieces, it can be daunting indeed.

And all that on top of someone who has very, very little experience in the professional world of writing.

But I do have something else: I believe that writing is my vocation. It's what I love, and it's what I'm good at. Probably what I am best at, too. While I've got a lot to learn, I do believe that some of it is inherent within me, and for that, I am grateful.

Which is why when I stumble across blogs and websites and companies promoting articles and workshops called "how to make a scene" and "characterization and point of view," or "prompts to get your creative juices flowing." Or whatever. Now I am all for people exploring their inner writer and their inner creativity, and am a champion of all things art and literature. However, these classes unsettle me--should I be looking at them too? The first step, I believe, in becoming a good writer is to admit you need a lot of work. And I readily admit that. But these classes--will they help? Should I be enrolling in them? Will they make a difference for me? Part of me thinks no (and besides, I've had four years of those workshops at Emory), but part of me wants to do anything I can, too. And the other part is nervous that those manuscripts--by people who want to write but cannot, not really, or by people who don't have a dream of it, but could produce a technically good one, by some means--are my competition. Piles and piles of manuscripts, and one is taken.

This dream of mine is a real uphill climb.