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And the Beat Goes On

Page history last edited by April Sopczak 12 years, 7 months ago

In a class I am currently taking I was asked to consider myself as a writer.  I found that impossible to do without thinking of this class. So, here we go!

 

                "Consider yourself as a writer." Wow! Those are big words. See, in order to consider myself as a writer, I first have to consider myself a writer.  Did you see that? Take out those two simple letters, and the whole world changes. I have to consider myself a writer. It's no longer something I do, it's something I am. Oh, I have written more things than I can possibly count. I started school at five years old and I haven't stopped going since then. I even still have my writer's notebook from 4th grade. It's a hoot to look at! The straight up and down cursive that I struggled so hard with just to make it legible, the topics I explored trying to sound so deep and mature, the misspelled words - it's fun to read through.  The strange thing is that I can look through that notebook and realize that at 10 years old when I didn't have a clue what I was doing, I considered myself a writer. Now, after years of practice and lots of A's, I consider myself a student. I'm a good student. I have mastered many techniques of writing and can successfully write in many genres. I can get an A, but am I a writer? No, no, no. Writers get paid, right? Just like architects, they get paid to design buildings. Or dentists, they get paid to fix teeth. People in dental school and architect school (is that even right?), they do the same things as professionsal, but they don't get paid for it. They are learning, they are students. I've never stopped going to school and I've never gotten paid for writing, so I'm just a student earning a grade, right?

 

                That is something I found myself forced to consider last Autumn. I was taking three master's classes, full time, and struggling. Not with the material, but with a great deal of pain. It was making my life very difficult. I found myself unable to sleep because of the pain, unable to sit still because of the pain, unable to keep up because of the pain. I was diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome which is  a genetic disorder in which my body does not produce enough collagen to support my joints and other connective tissue. There is no cure and no treatment, only symptom management. That was a crushing blow. And the first of three. Two weeks later, my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. One week after that, my mother-in-law died suddenly from a stroke. It was all too much and I needed to retreat and regroup, so I withdrew from school.

 

                The professor of my technical writing class offered me an opportunity that became a lifeline. He had set up the class to include a wiki. Though we met once a week, our writing was to be done on line. This way, we could write, and give and receive feedback continuously. Though I could not receive credit for participation, he allowed me to continue the on line portion of the class.  He said. "April, you are a writer. You need to continue to write. I would love it if you use this for an outlet." That really struck me. I was a writer? One who needed an outlet? I highly esteem this professor, so I took his advice and took him up on his offer. One of the first things I wrote was a poem. If I never considered myself I writer, I certainly never considered myself a poet. I was never even drawn to reading poetry, much less writing it. But, I had suddenly realized that I am a writer, and now it was being taken away from me. I had to let the emotion out. I wrote:

 

                                Caged 

                I am becoming trapped inside myself

                The list of can't do's lengthens

                My body begins to quiet

                As the screaming pain grows

                I rage within

                Am I still me?

 

A student commented that yes, I indeed was still the same me. Not to doubt that. I wrote back: It's kind of an existential question really. I don't stop being April, but I'm definitely a different april. Brings up questions of are we more defined by our thoughts or our actions and can we ever really divorce those two things. If what I do and what I can do are so dramatically changed, how much of what I think is changed. How much does the physical affect the mental and spiritual. For instance, I am a writer because I write therefore I think like a writer. But, now that I can spend only very limited time at my craft, am I still a writer? Am I still me?

 

                I was being forced to think about things in ways I had never thought of before. I was being forced to define myself not only in terms of who I am, but who I want to be and who I have the potential to be. I realized that no matter who or what that was, it had to include writing because I am a writer. It is not just a profession. It is something inside of me. We all have something inside of us that we want to get out. We all have thoughts and feelings that we absolutely must express. I was taught the craft of writing, I was taught how to express myself with the written word, and I took hold of that as way of being. I am a writer.

 

 

Comments (3)

kms said

at 9:22 am on Sep 9, 2011

April, Right there with ya' baby! Oh the ambiguity. I've volunteered to write, or I've spent hours writing manuals or reports, but as a responsibility embedded within another job title, never as a writer. Never paid for a specific piece. I look now at the poetry I attempted in our shared class and feel uneasy when I see 'photographer,' 'writer.' Yet, aren't we told "If you can dream it, you can be it?" We have to believe it in order for it to manifest itself and become truth. Or is it already truth? It must be . . . we DO it, right? The existential questions. The defining ourselves. Reading your thoughts returned me to an undergrad class in film criticism where I once commented on similar issues . . . are we more who we express ourselves to the world to be and how the world sees us, or are we more the person we are inside our head, the person we want to be or become. (My mind now fails me as to what film I was reviewing.) Good to 'hear' from you. I know now that I can always find you here. Yes, you ARE a writer! And your writing moves others in thought. All the best, Trina

ShareRiff said

at 12:09 pm on Sep 9, 2011

YES, YOU ARE A WRITER! And a teacher of writers, too. Thank you for continuing to teach us, April.

April Sopczak said

at 9:03 pm on Sep 13, 2011

Your continued encourgement is priceless!

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