Looking at Past and Future

I’ve spent this past week doing approximately nothing.

Actually, that’s a lie—I’ve done a fair amount of stuff. Very little of it was actually useful, though. The only thing beneficial I did was editing for my internship. I’m not going to be able to finish this last project before I leave, but I’m going to make a valiant effort at it anyway.

I tried to edit an old poem of mine into something better, and came to the conclusion that you had best let old works stay as they are, and simply work on new things instead. Trying to bring them up in quality doesn’t work so well, most of the time. For the most part, though, I played an old video game entitled Bahamut Lagoon, and pretended that it was okay that I wasn’t writing.

I spent yesterday and today reading some of my old fiction that I have lying around in the bowels of my computer. It was terrible—sloppy, full of stupid, unforgivable typos, and overall bad. And yet, somehow, I was very encouraged reading it. The stories were bad, but enthusiastically so. They had an amateurish charm to them, and through all the sloppy prose (including such lines as: “the raven-haired girl rolled her warm, chocolate eyes”) I could see that there was some good ideas embedded in there, somewhere.

And there was so much of it. I’ve been reading nonstop for the past five hours, and most of yesterday. From the end of my freshman year of high school to the beginning of college, I’ve written almost 300,000 words of fiction–that’s some six hundred pages. I’ve given Tad Williams a run for his money. It is nice to know that, even if I don’t right now, I have the willpower in me to write, and write a lot.

I remember the sumer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school—I would wake up each morning and dash the half-mile from my house to the Houghton College Computer lab, just so I could spend my day writing. In those days, I really enjoyed the stringing of words together. I was proud of anything I wrote, whether it was good or not. It was wonderful time.

I was talking with Cameron earlier today, about this. He was wondering if we were missing that now—the willingness to take pride in writing absolute drivel. I wonder if he’s not on to something. But then again, I don’t think I want to be proud of some of the things I’ve read in the past day.

But still, I must face the fact that something has changed—for one, I’m so out of shape that I couldn’t run down to the computer lab, even if I wanted to, and even if I were to do so, I would write for half an hour, and then spend the day playing video games. I wonder what’s happened?

Five days till I go home. I have the entire weekend planned—Friday, I’ll probably get home between six and seven. I’ll spend that evening with my family, and that night with my playstation, my bed (not an air mattress, I’m happy to say), and a fresh pillow. Saturday, I’ll go and buy my books for the semester, and then go to the titanic garage sale that happens at the start of every school year to scrounge up whatever useful junk I can find. I’ll ride my bike to Shenawanna, my old dorm, and say hello to all the freshman. I’ll help people move in.

Sunday, when all my friends arrive, I’ll go down to campus again, and say hello to them. I’ll have them up to my house, and we’ll have cake. Then, on monday, I’ll go to classes, and begin the year.

I’ll try to convince myself to write, sometime in there.

I’m nervous about Calc three and physics, and Dr. Hu, my computer science professor, wants me to do an Honors Project, and I really don’t want to do an Honors Project. I have to think of a way to tell him ‘no,’ when he already assumes I’ll say ‘yes.’

And so it goes, and so it goes, I guess. I’m not the only one who knows, though. Just about everyone does—it’s one of those human things.


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