Am going through a binder of photocopied poetry, left over from my senior year of college French/literature class, trying to decide what to keep and what to turn to scrap. I'm tempted to simply chuck it all, but that seems almost sacrilegious--even though most of it is free verse and nothing I'd buy a book full of.

It reminds me of being a student, of having every hour of my day mapped out (more or less) but still not being able to write a satisfactory essay in the time allotted (one five-page essay went through about seven drafts, the final one being written in the car on the way home for spring break/early morning once I'd arrived and was pushed under the professor's door by my work-study boss, who was a gem and a dear and took me out to movies and to lunch sometimes when things were slow). I still struggle with that, with getting things to sound right, to actually say what I mean (which required figuring out what I do mean--only now I don't have the structure of enforced (though often merciful) deadlines. I feel like I've gone mentally flabby (well, and a bit physically, too, with no more 2+ weekly fencing practices); I wrote a fair bit of fiction in school, mostly because it made a change from writing non-fiction. Somehow I need to get that muscle back.

Why am I telling you this? I don't know. It all sounded so lyric in my head, but seems to have turned to utter drivel now that I've pinned it to my computer screen.

Even that sentence right there--I lost it half-way through and had to make up the rest. Which is rather like what often happened in college, so perhaps things (I) haven't changed much after all.
Ain't freaking out (yes, spellcheck, that is a real word, and used correctly, too), just feeling ... nostalgic. Wistful. (Almost typed "whistful", which would be incorrect, as I've never played whist.)
What you don't have a binder full of women? There, made you smile :) your mojo will find its way back, I'm sure of it
I will try to take that joke in the way it was meant and not the way media brow-beating has inclined me to receive it. *sighs*

*attempts smile*

I do appreciate the thought.
I will try to take that joke in the way it was meant and not the way media brow-beating has inclined me to receive it. *sighs*

I know, it's okay to say it occasionally but you would be getting it all the time over there. I'd love to help more but Poetry was just not my thing. I can tell you my footy team beat the Arch Enemy last night.:)
So you'll support Collingwood??? I'm working on world domination. Forget Religion, I just want a world full of Collingwood supporters :)
That is such an exact description of how I myself write! There are so many different ways to say a thing, and each word/phrase/order choice makes a noticeable difference in the message that comes across to the reader--even in cases where the information communicated remains the same. And yes, the lag between thought and page means that half of my best constructions get lost in the aether between.... *sigh* I struggled immensely with those issues during my own school career, and I still struggle each and every time I put words to page, no matter how briefly.

That you have the same difficulties expressing yourself, and still write such exceptional fiction, is a testament not only to the gift you've been given for words and stories, but to your strength and perseverance!

Thank you--it helps so much to hear I'm not alone in this. And to be reminded of what I have managed to get written in the past.