So I'm back in the blogging spirit.
A few days ago, I was reminiscing with a friend over my old high school blog posts. Much became clear: first, I was substantially more entertaining back in those days; second, I've changed a lot since then; third, I was more of a writer then than I've been my entire college writing career. It was like my high school self had it made. She had a voice, albeit a young and very Holden Caulfield-esque voice. She had an endless cornucopia of writing material, albeit the typical stuff of every high schooler. She took the mundane and every day crud and made it worth reading - and isn't that what every writing guru in my life has ever told me I should strive to do? She had a sense of humor, she had a sense of the bigger picture, she had a sense of spiritual awareness. She was smart and observant.
What the hell happened?! Has college really squashed so much of that former writer? Or did I just grow out of it?
I am sitting here on the same computer that wrote those feisty posts of yesteryear to tell you that I refuse to be separated from my inner high school writer. Yes, they have worked hard to stomp it (the immature writer) out of me, but, in the process, I fear they've managed to infect me with some bad habits. They've taught me to be inhibited and afraid; I have lost my ability to write without the fear of criticism. They've taught me that some topics of discussion are more worthy than others; I have lost my ability to write without censoring myself. They've taught me to think and to be so concerned with the final product that I have little satisfaction in the process of writing - the discovery of it, the therapy of it, the feeling of ease I used to have with it.
So yippee for you, University. You're big. You're intimidating. You're proud. You're turning out graduates who may go on to do wonderful, writerly things. They may even get published and make it big some day. But University, I'm telling you this. I am unlearning some of the things you've tried to teach me. I'm tapping back into the deep pools of immaturity and freedom. I'm releasing my inner teen. I'm going back to enjoying myself when I write. I'm not even going to proofread this before I publish it! (Okay, I might.) (Okay, I just did.) (Twice.) (Three times.)
And with this brave speech, with this small declaration of independence from The Man, I am initiating this new blog. Be it what it may - good, bad, or ugly. Or immature. Or inappropriate. Or self-indulging.
I'm tapping back in.
Let the experiment begin.
