Haiku Time:
So little Free Time
To do what I want and Love ...
Well, I guess that's Life
Busy, busy, busy. This semester I've had quite the workload. People always tell you that you should spend at least an hour a night on homework per class (or maybe it was two), and I'm just going to tell you that I've never done that and gotten perfectly fine grades all through college. I'm sure that if you want to excel as an A+ student you may want to follow that advice better, but I've never been interested in being in the top of a class I don't give a rat's tail about.
That being said, this is the first semester in my whole life that I've consistently been unable to have a weekend free of homework. Yes, there has been the odd weekend that I knew I wouldn't have time to do anything and therefor worked hard the whole week to get ahead on homework before the weekend, but that's just too hard to do every week while still having time to relax.
What especially frustrates me, as you might guess, is that I've had so little time to write. The real kick in the pants about this is that I spent the entire summer working on a novel that I decided to scrap, and I was really hoping to have something to show publicly for all that work by now. Instead all I've got are unfinished projects, newly conceived ideas, and a large unfinished draft of a novel. None of it is ready to be shown to anybody.
I guess the good thing about having so little time to write my current projects is that I've got time to think about and develop my future projects, and I can assure you that my future projects are shaping up to be much more complete and improved than they were when I had so much time to write.
Now let's hope I eventually get time to write down those good, complete ideas.
-Ryan
Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiku. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Proof of Insanity
(The following post expands greatly upon this previous post about being uncertain about my future. I felt like I was holding back the true extent of my neurosis on the topic and so this time around, thanks to a friend's advice, I'm just letting it all out.)
HAIKU TIME:
Writing a novel.
For practice, I assure you
Yet it wears me out
Let me tell you a story about a story. Two years ago I whipped out a blank notebook in class and started writing what I had anticipated to be a tragedy tentatively titled "Megan and Danny" after the main two characters. The notebook was missing a few pages so I only had about 50 or so to write on, and I was too foolish to use the front and back of each (so I had to condense). What resulted was a notebook filled from beginning to end with a detailed skeleton of a story.
Last year I started moving the story from the notebook to my laptop, while expanding upon areas I felt needed to be fleshed out. I gave the characters more characteristics and the scenes more detail. I wanted to present a finished version of that draft to my Fiction Writing class for feedback, so I finished the draft in a hurry and changed the ending from a tragic one to a hopeful one.
The overwhelming majority of the class seemed to be trying their best to let me down easy. They offered vague suggestions and complaints. I heard the dreaded phrase "It has potential", which is code for "it was a waste of my time". Also, someone told me it was a waste of their time.
One person seemed genuinely interested in the sexual tension; exclaiming that they wanted to read more when things got a little heated.
I got the message: this is far from finished.
I couldn't just drop the story; it was the first I'd ever written with a real driving passion. I spent about a month planning what the next draft should be like and then started over with a brand new document.
It's so much better, but it's still just practice.
The plot is unoriginal, which is a shame because I promise you that I have dozens of original ideas written down that haven't been done before (to my knowledge), so I've been focusing on beefing up the characters and events to make them the center focus of the story. At this rate the story will finish at double the length of the previous draft.
It's changing so much for the better.
Thematically it's still about how people change as they grow up, how time affects all of us in some way, and how some of us refuse to accept that. The scary thing is that there's a good chance that the theme is the only thing staying completely intact. Names are changing, character lists are expanding, inside jokes are being included, my memories are sneaking in, plots are thickening, alliances are being drawn, drama is brewing, love is blooming, and betrayal (and maybe even death) is looming.
I don't even know what genre it is anymore.
Whatever it is, it's fun. It's been exhilarating to create these characters and then put them through these events. (also some of the characters and events are based on real people and things that have happened, which makes it more fun because it's like keeping a journal of my favorite people and memories in a creative and productive format.) Yet it's been consuming my mind on a day-to-day basis. I'm obsessing over details I'm not including, I've been considering drastic plot changes that alter the entire tone and focus of the story, and all the while I've been more afraid than ever before that I'll never amount to anything.
In high school my hormones decided I would suffer from light depression for no good reason whatsoever, and now life is telling me that, while the meaningless depression is over, the stress I create for myself is present more than ever. Also my psychological tendency to doubt my significance on this planet has been heightened and partnered up with a legitimate fear of the future as my last year of college looms on the horizon.
I second guess everything.
Why am I writing a story I have so little faith in?
Why aren't I writing one of my more original ideas?
Why does it take me so long to finish a single page?
Why do I get so hung up on details that don't matter?
What if nobody likes my writing style?
What if nobody likes my ideas?
What if this is the best it ever gets?
What if I get distracted by life and never write again?
What if everyone tells me that my stories are terrible and I never write again?
What if I get into a car accident, lose my motor functions and never write again?
What if I step off the curb at the exact moment that a dragonfly passes by, causing me to lose balance and fall into oncoming traffic, killing me instantly and causing me to never write again?
What if the world ends tomorrow and I never get a chance to write again?
I guess I'll just have to write more and faster, which I admit will likely contribute to more stress.
-Ryan
HAIKU TIME:
Writing a novel.
For practice, I assure you
Yet it wears me out
Let me tell you a story about a story. Two years ago I whipped out a blank notebook in class and started writing what I had anticipated to be a tragedy tentatively titled "Megan and Danny" after the main two characters. The notebook was missing a few pages so I only had about 50 or so to write on, and I was too foolish to use the front and back of each (so I had to condense). What resulted was a notebook filled from beginning to end with a detailed skeleton of a story.
Last year I started moving the story from the notebook to my laptop, while expanding upon areas I felt needed to be fleshed out. I gave the characters more characteristics and the scenes more detail. I wanted to present a finished version of that draft to my Fiction Writing class for feedback, so I finished the draft in a hurry and changed the ending from a tragic one to a hopeful one.
The overwhelming majority of the class seemed to be trying their best to let me down easy. They offered vague suggestions and complaints. I heard the dreaded phrase "It has potential", which is code for "it was a waste of my time". Also, someone told me it was a waste of their time.
One person seemed genuinely interested in the sexual tension; exclaiming that they wanted to read more when things got a little heated.
I got the message: this is far from finished.
I couldn't just drop the story; it was the first I'd ever written with a real driving passion. I spent about a month planning what the next draft should be like and then started over with a brand new document.
It's so much better, but it's still just practice.
The plot is unoriginal, which is a shame because I promise you that I have dozens of original ideas written down that haven't been done before (to my knowledge), so I've been focusing on beefing up the characters and events to make them the center focus of the story. At this rate the story will finish at double the length of the previous draft.
It's changing so much for the better.
Thematically it's still about how people change as they grow up, how time affects all of us in some way, and how some of us refuse to accept that. The scary thing is that there's a good chance that the theme is the only thing staying completely intact. Names are changing, character lists are expanding, inside jokes are being included, my memories are sneaking in, plots are thickening, alliances are being drawn, drama is brewing, love is blooming, and betrayal (and maybe even death) is looming.
I don't even know what genre it is anymore.
Whatever it is, it's fun. It's been exhilarating to create these characters and then put them through these events. (also some of the characters and events are based on real people and things that have happened, which makes it more fun because it's like keeping a journal of my favorite people and memories in a creative and productive format.) Yet it's been consuming my mind on a day-to-day basis. I'm obsessing over details I'm not including, I've been considering drastic plot changes that alter the entire tone and focus of the story, and all the while I've been more afraid than ever before that I'll never amount to anything.
In high school my hormones decided I would suffer from light depression for no good reason whatsoever, and now life is telling me that, while the meaningless depression is over, the stress I create for myself is present more than ever. Also my psychological tendency to doubt my significance on this planet has been heightened and partnered up with a legitimate fear of the future as my last year of college looms on the horizon.
I second guess everything.
Why am I writing a story I have so little faith in?
Why aren't I writing one of my more original ideas?
Why does it take me so long to finish a single page?
Why do I get so hung up on details that don't matter?
What if nobody likes my writing style?
What if nobody likes my ideas?
What if this is the best it ever gets?
What if I get distracted by life and never write again?
What if everyone tells me that my stories are terrible and I never write again?
What if I get into a car accident, lose my motor functions and never write again?
What if I step off the curb at the exact moment that a dragonfly passes by, causing me to lose balance and fall into oncoming traffic, killing me instantly and causing me to never write again?
What if the world ends tomorrow and I never get a chance to write again?
I guess I'll just have to write more and faster, which I admit will likely contribute to more stress.
-Ryan
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Love is Not a Choice
This past weekend a friend and work associate of mine enthusiastically detailed her plans to enjoy her birthday the following day. Among these plans, she stated that she was going to get a tattoo.
"Where and what?" I asked curiously.
"It's going to say 'love is a choice' really tiny on my wrist" she explained.
"I don't get it" I replied with a puzzled glance.
She then went on to explain that she believed it was the truth about love; that you don't just feel love for someone that lasts forever, it comes and goes and you have to choose whether or not to love somebody. And for some reason she felt so strongly about this that she felt it necessary to get it perminantly written on her wrist.
I replied with the first thought that came to me: "you've never been in love, have you?"
As someone raised on Catholic teachings, the idea of choosing to love is not a foreign concept to me. The Bible bombards us with messages like "love your neighbor even if they take a dump on your dog" and overall teaches to love people despite the dozens of reasons you don't want to. Let me distinguish this idea of love from LOVE.
The love that my friend had in mind was an action, not a feeling.
You can choose to show love, but you cannot choose to feel love. Similarly to friendship, it's not a decision you sit down and make a rational or logical choice about, it's a feeling, an instinct. My friend argued that there must be times when my fiancee and I are fighting that I do not like her but choose to love her. I say from experience that this is false. I love her no matter how things are between us, and there have even been times that I wished I could choose to not love her, but I can't help but care so deeply for her that I overcome my frustration.
I do not choose to love her, if anything I am choosing to give in to that love.
The moral of the story is as follows: don't get a tattoo with a phrase that represents your opinions of something, especially when it's something you've never experienced. Opinions change. I have a feeling that my friend will look at her tattoo many years in the future (and how can she not? It's right on her wrist) and while she may not regret getting it, it will be a constant reminder of her naivete.
You know what? I hope she changes her mind someday not only because I like to be right, but also because everyone deserves to know what real love feels like. The kind of love that's not an action, but a feeling. The kind of love that's not a choice.
-Ryan
"Where and what?" I asked curiously.
"It's going to say 'love is a choice' really tiny on my wrist" she explained.
"I don't get it" I replied with a puzzled glance.
She then went on to explain that she believed it was the truth about love; that you don't just feel love for someone that lasts forever, it comes and goes and you have to choose whether or not to love somebody. And for some reason she felt so strongly about this that she felt it necessary to get it perminantly written on her wrist.
I replied with the first thought that came to me: "you've never been in love, have you?"
 |
| Time to get educational. |
The love that my friend had in mind was an action, not a feeling.
You can choose to show love, but you cannot choose to feel love. Similarly to friendship, it's not a decision you sit down and make a rational or logical choice about, it's a feeling, an instinct. My friend argued that there must be times when my fiancee and I are fighting that I do not like her but choose to love her. I say from experience that this is false. I love her no matter how things are between us, and there have even been times that I wished I could choose to not love her, but I can't help but care so deeply for her that I overcome my frustration.
I do not choose to love her, if anything I am choosing to give in to that love.
The moral of the story is as follows: don't get a tattoo with a phrase that represents your opinions of something, especially when it's something you've never experienced. Opinions change. I have a feeling that my friend will look at her tattoo many years in the future (and how can she not? It's right on her wrist) and while she may not regret getting it, it will be a constant reminder of her naivete.
You know what? I hope she changes her mind someday not only because I like to be right, but also because everyone deserves to know what real love feels like. The kind of love that's not an action, but a feeling. The kind of love that's not a choice.
~~Haiku Time!~~
Love is not a choice
You feel it within yourself
Someday you will see
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.-Ryan
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
A Small Victory Dance
Well it's about time I accomplished something significant, don't you think?
The good news is that I finally did!
Each year I submit a little something for consideration to be published in my college annual literary magazine, and every year I hear nothing back.
Finally that has changed.
This year I submitted about five of what I thought were my best poems, because despite poetry not being my main interest, I didn't have any short stories good enough to submit. After waiting longer than I was told I would have to wait to hear back, I found out that my poem "Aim for the Head" was accepted into the magazine (you can read it here)!
The punchline is I actually submitted that poem last year and heard nothing back.
Also it was written during my junior year at high school.
Also I haven't cared to write a poem in about a year. So here's a haiku:
My poetry sucks
I would rather write fiction
But haikus are fun
So yeah, I'm getting published. Next year I guess I'll submit some stories and hope for the best.
Cool beans.
-Ryan
The good news is that I finally did!
Each year I submit a little something for consideration to be published in my college annual literary magazine, and every year I hear nothing back.
Finally that has changed.
This year I submitted about five of what I thought were my best poems, because despite poetry not being my main interest, I didn't have any short stories good enough to submit. After waiting longer than I was told I would have to wait to hear back, I found out that my poem "Aim for the Head" was accepted into the magazine (you can read it here)!
 |
| Don't worry, the poem is about zombies. Not real people. (I drew this. Copyright Ryan Matejka) |
The punchline is I actually submitted that poem last year and heard nothing back.
Also it was written during my junior year at high school.
Also I haven't cared to write a poem in about a year. So here's a haiku:
My poetry sucks
I would rather write fiction
But haikus are fun
So yeah, I'm getting published. Next year I guess I'll submit some stories and hope for the best.
Cool beans.
-Ryan
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