This particular learning project is going to be taxing on my health, I can tell. I got my first writing assignment and did my best not to kill myself. Well, I succeeded at that, not so much at the writing well thing. My instructor (my stupid awesome writer boyfriend) gave me the writing assignment to write about my happy place. Well, I wrote about it, and while he had, like, one good thing to say, there was still plenty I could work on.

The Goal


Photo CC by Drew Coffman

Okay. So the overarching goal of the assignment was to focus on setting. My happy place is really weird, as it is in a place with a make-believe creature in a make-believe world, so the entire thing is pretty stupid, but that’s what I wrote about. He said that I succeeded at that, but the language was pretty shitty. Sounds like my blog, eh? I mean, he didn’t say it like that. However, there’s definitely a few things I could work on.

< And if you look to the left you see me on the best of days.

The Process

So. Doing this was extremely difficult for me. For instance, that last sentence? Yeah. I write like that even when I’m writing about my fictional happy spot. Snappy. Short. Fucking. Snippets. And it’s annoying. Right? Well, I think so. And stupid awesome amazing boyfriend advised against it. As a result, I found out that that is something I need to work on. Sitting down to actually do it was nerve-making, on every degree. The reason for this is probably because of the fact that I knew that someone else was going to be reading it. Everything else I had ever written (which is a lot, I’ve got a metric butt-fuck-ton of notebooks full of random shit) was written with the intent that no one would ever see it. Ever. I was writing for me, but also for an audience. Therefore, I had to think about what sounded good, and nothing ever sounds good to me, particularly if I wrote it.


(there’s always one of those isn’t there?)

had to sit there and write it. I had no choice. So I followed the advice of every good writer who has ever given advice (namely Stephen King and J McHotdog) and sat down and wrote it, no edits until the end. It wasn’t like I had a choice. That was another of his stipulations: I couldn’t go back and edit until I was finished.

The Result

was disastrous. As expected, I suppose, it turned out like shit. He may disagree, but it’s terrible. So. I know I have some 3370278750_bb7474011c_zrevisions to do. I’m still awaiting the next writing assignment, as well as the full-on grading high-lighty thing back. When I get it back, I’m expecting to write it. And rewrite it. And rewrite it again. And it’ll still have these little guys in it. Why? Because fucking daffodils. That’s why.

Sorry I say fuck so much.