Reflective Paper

            I have been wanting to take the Creative Writing course offered at Kearney since sophomore year. That was really the first year I started to write my own stories. They were not much really. Nothing impressive, note worthy or emotionally moving, they were trifle little scribbles of notes or characters and my own contemplations jotted down on scrap paper. But the day Téa Obreht, author of The Tiger’s Wife, came in to talk with us? That was the day I was inspired to take my writing to the next level. I wanted to develop my own sense of stylistic writing. And by taking the Creative Writing course was how I was going to accomplish that. That was also the day I resolved to someday become an author, like Téa. She was so eloquent in her descriptions and sage in her views and conclusions. She became a published and award recognized author before she even hit 30. The bottom line is that I hoped and still hope to become a person like that, someone who can move the world with their words. The kind of person that other students will someday look up to for their own inspiration.

            Since that time, I started practicing my writing whenever I felt the need to express myself somehow, in some way. Finding time to write freely was and still is difficult though. After all, the essays and projects for classes always have to be my first priority. As a consequence I really think my creative mojo has suffered major constrictions. This class has been something of a life saver in that aspect. I really can just do my own thing. Write about what I want when I want.

            Now, even though I was always pushing to get this class into my schedule, I was also kind of wary about it. And that’s because I knew there was going to be poetry. That’s right: Poetry. My nemesis. My archrival. My pitfall.

Poetry was the one branch of artistic writing that I was never able to produce a satisfactory product in. It just never clicked with me all of the rules, the figurative language, the devices, the execution; none of it made sense. I was really dreading the poetry unit of this class. Literally dreading it. I was not quite ready to be embarrassed by my lack of a poetic voice. It was one thing to have to write the blasted things on the back of tests, no one was going to see it, and I would get a good grade as long as I followed the rules. It was another thing to have to share them with my own peers.

The rules were what really got me. I mean what kind of impact will words have when they have been suffocated and constricted? I didn’t enjoy the feeling I got from that. I felt that the stringing of my words together to form a poem would be the death of my unestablished thoughts. My ultimate rationale behind it all was along the lines of this: What great oak tree would be able to take root and grow within the confines of a small pot?

This course turned my opinion around 100%. Poetry opens up words to a whole new world of meaning and ways of expression. And now I’m actually sad to see our poetry unit come to a close. From the day we turned in our “Where I’m From” poems to the day we recited our slam poems, I have really come to love and appreciate the art that is poetry. It’s not just some torture device utilized by English teachers to make students drag their feet on the way to class.

Writing these poems within the last two months has honestly been one of the most emotionally liberating things I have ever done for myself. I used to have too much trouble getting my ideas out exactly right on paper, but I have learned to not over think anything. One of my personal favorites to write was probably the easiest to come to me. It was the extended metaphor poem. The feeling just felt so raw that I had no trouble really capturing its essence once I let go and let myself write.

I have learned that if something I’m writing about really means that much to me it will come to me. It will be an incessant flow from my brain, through my body and will spill out onto the page. That is something that I’ve learned from Creative Writing so far, and I especially saw the truth of it embodied by Ray. He was so fired up about the issues around him that he never seemed to be at a loss for words. In between the cussing was articulate intelligence.

I think that I have grown tremendously since the beginning of September. My writing is starting to mature and come into its own. I know I do not have a completely established voice or style yet, that is something that is to be worked on, and I am looking forward to working on it.

This unit has taught me so much about voicing my own opinions and I am very grateful for that. I have made so much progress and there is no going back. I definitely do not think I’m the greatest poet to ever live, but at least I’m a poet. That is more than I ever thought I would be.