Writing at Wesleyan

June 23, 2016

Waking up in a strange bed, looking around, realizing that I am not in my element.  It’s 5:45 a.m.  At home, I would leap out of bed (okay, maybe not leap), make myself a cup of chaga elixir or some kombucha tea, eat some breakfast, then head to the gym.  Here, I am restless.  Nothing starts until eight – late for me, early for others.  Everyone around me is a stranger and, yet, somehow, we’re all the same.

Writers: A strange and varied set of people who are inextricably linked by the fact that each of us believes that we have a tale to tell.

I say hello.  They say hello back.  We network.  Networking is a pendulum which swings between intensely fascinating and unbearably boring conversation.  Have you ever noticed that some people speak in monologues?  One guy talks for twenty-five minutes without asking me a single question about myself.  I know because I check my watch – discreetly at first, then more obviously, and, finally, with exasperation.

“I’m hungry,” I say, even though I’m not, and make my exit.

Evidently, people understand hunger, whereas social cues, not so much.  Anyway, despite Mr. Monologue, the conference is great.  I meet a social worker with a story.

“Tell me more,” I say.  Then I listen, riveted, to her journey.

Memoirs are interesting.

And poetry?  I can identify well-written verse, but, when I try to write it, all I want to do is rhyme.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

If I were a poet,

Well then I’d be screwed.

What about the classes?  I go to every one of them.  From nine a.m. to nine p.m. I listen attentively to people far more educated than I and feel at once encouraged and inadequate.  Apparently, MFAs are all the rage.  Who am I this thirty-two year with a powerful dream but no credentials?

And, yet, they talk about writer’s block, a phenomenon I have yet to experience.

Maybe that’s why some writers write one book and never write again.  Or take a long hiatus after completing a manuscript.  Part of me is glad that that’s not my experience.  Another part of me remembers my agent’s advice to “bleed onto the page.”

So here I am learning how to slice open my veins and – ironically – loving every minute of it.


Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload

Instagram Feed
Recent Posts

March 2, 2020

December 29, 2019

September 15, 2019

May 30, 2019

April 29, 2019

March 30, 2019

February 25, 2019

January 23, 2019

Please reload

Please reload

Follow Daralyse!
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
  • Instagram Social Icon

© 2018 by Rebel Hill Consulting