A blue metal box holds my hopes and dreams. They stay there until a man wearing navy blue slacks, a light blue button up and a blue baseball cap comes to carry them away. My dreams are thrown into a plastic box and taken to the factory of correspondence where they are sorted by two letters and five numbers.
Within two to three days, my dreams will be sitting in another metal box. Sometimes, the box will be tall and skinny among a sea of similar boxes. And sometimes the box will be big and fat where it sits on the side of the road all alone.
When my friend opens the box and pulls out the envelope, everything is as it should be.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Saturday, October 24, 2009
SPJ Conference Reflection
Today, I went to a conference for the SPJ (Society of Professional Journalists). It was pretty amazing. Here's what I wrote about it for class:
Inspired. That’s how I felt after listening to Jack Hart and Anna Griffin. I was inspired to write again. I wanted to explore the narrative and make every piece I write matter.
Since moving to Eugene this summer, I’ve become busy. I’m busy with work, my internship, and class work. It’s my life. It’s busy. And somehow I’ve become lazy in my writing. I get it done on time, I write the essentials, but my heart hasn’t been in it. I’m not writing the sort of work that I, myself, feel proud of. Instead, I am turning in mediocre versions of Sharece’s writing. Maybe I’m over-thinking my writing too much. It might be okay, but if I’m not satisfied, it’s highly likely that someone else who reads it may feel the same way.
When I sat in room 221 and listened to Hart and Griffin share their tales of finding story, I remembered why I came to the University of Oregon. I want to write. And although I continue to blog in true “Sharece style,” my reporting stories have lacked some of my voice. This is my new initiative. I will write like me again.
During the lunch break, after eating a few pieces of pizza, I approached Hart and his assistant at his table of books. He was eating a piece of pepperoni pizza. When he saw me, he set down the half piece of pizza and began to wipe his hands on his napkin. “You probably don’t want pizza grease on your new book, right?” A strange laugh came out of my mouth. I showed him my nametag for proper spelling of my name. After writing, “To Sharece,” he stopped. “So, Sharece,” he asked, “where are you going with your career?” I was dumbfounded. This is the question I’ve been trying to figure out since starting graduate school on June 22nd of this year. Just where exactly am I headed? The truth is: I’m not sure. I came here knowing that I want to write and edit. I wanted to become a better writer and to learn the skills needed to edit a magazine in Seattle. But since arriving here, I have realized that there is no definite path for me. My life is ever changing, ever evolving. I truly believe that I will do something amazing. I may not win a Pulitzer Prize or another fancy award, but I will do something great. This may be as small as volunteering to help kids learn to read or writing an article that impacts one person. Whatever it is, I think I’ll be okay. And although I’m pretty sure Jack Hart thought I was a bumbling idiot after our small chat at his book table, that short conversation helped me recommit to my writing.
Inspired. That’s how I felt after listening to Jack Hart and Anna Griffin. I was inspired to write again. I wanted to explore the narrative and make every piece I write matter.
Since moving to Eugene this summer, I’ve become busy. I’m busy with work, my internship, and class work. It’s my life. It’s busy. And somehow I’ve become lazy in my writing. I get it done on time, I write the essentials, but my heart hasn’t been in it. I’m not writing the sort of work that I, myself, feel proud of. Instead, I am turning in mediocre versions of Sharece’s writing. Maybe I’m over-thinking my writing too much. It might be okay, but if I’m not satisfied, it’s highly likely that someone else who reads it may feel the same way.
When I sat in room 221 and listened to Hart and Griffin share their tales of finding story, I remembered why I came to the University of Oregon. I want to write. And although I continue to blog in true “Sharece style,” my reporting stories have lacked some of my voice. This is my new initiative. I will write like me again.
During the lunch break, after eating a few pieces of pizza, I approached Hart and his assistant at his table of books. He was eating a piece of pepperoni pizza. When he saw me, he set down the half piece of pizza and began to wipe his hands on his napkin. “You probably don’t want pizza grease on your new book, right?” A strange laugh came out of my mouth. I showed him my nametag for proper spelling of my name. After writing, “To Sharece,” he stopped. “So, Sharece,” he asked, “where are you going with your career?” I was dumbfounded. This is the question I’ve been trying to figure out since starting graduate school on June 22nd of this year. Just where exactly am I headed? The truth is: I’m not sure. I came here knowing that I want to write and edit. I wanted to become a better writer and to learn the skills needed to edit a magazine in Seattle. But since arriving here, I have realized that there is no definite path for me. My life is ever changing, ever evolving. I truly believe that I will do something amazing. I may not win a Pulitzer Prize or another fancy award, but I will do something great. This may be as small as volunteering to help kids learn to read or writing an article that impacts one person. Whatever it is, I think I’ll be okay. And although I’m pretty sure Jack Hart thought I was a bumbling idiot after our small chat at his book table, that short conversation helped me recommit to my writing.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Losing Touch
Many times in my life, I have left the people closest to me. Usually it was for good reason, I was going to college, it was time to study abroad, or my Peace Corps service was starting. I've just always been the one who leaves. And those people who I was close to asked me to "keep in touch." I'm good at keeping in touch. I write letters, I blog, I even send out a Christmas letter.
But there have been a few times when my attempt to "keep in touch" has felt a little strange. After a year or two of not speaking to someone, I have in many cases whipped out my stationary and drafted an informative and friendly letter. The recipient receives the letter and wonders, "what is going on? I haven't heard from her in forever. Why is she writing now?" Was the request to keep in touch insincere? Is it bad to try to maintain old friendships?
I understand the priciple of losing touch. If I lived in the days of wagon trains and five pound bags of flour, I would have left my parents' house once and never have seen them again. I'm glad I never endured that kind of a parting.
I like to be the one with the wordy letters. Writing is fun. Why not send a letter to a person I grew up with? Isn't it better to send a note than to wonder what could have happened should I have kept in touch?
I like to write. This is how I keep acquainted with old friends.
But there have been a few times when my attempt to "keep in touch" has felt a little strange. After a year or two of not speaking to someone, I have in many cases whipped out my stationary and drafted an informative and friendly letter. The recipient receives the letter and wonders, "what is going on? I haven't heard from her in forever. Why is she writing now?" Was the request to keep in touch insincere? Is it bad to try to maintain old friendships?
I understand the priciple of losing touch. If I lived in the days of wagon trains and five pound bags of flour, I would have left my parents' house once and never have seen them again. I'm glad I never endured that kind of a parting.
I like to be the one with the wordy letters. Writing is fun. Why not send a letter to a person I grew up with? Isn't it better to send a note than to wonder what could have happened should I have kept in touch?
I like to write. This is how I keep acquainted with old friends.
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