I have absolutely no idea why I suddenly decide to try my hand at poetry. Especially when my dear, lovely friends are all blogging in nice, witty, decidedly prose posts about their adventures abroad.
But really: still don’t know what I was thinking. Except perhaps I wanted to try at writing one before I have to do so for my creative writing class, because I’m an overachiever like that. Also because I’m mildly horrified by the prospect of 17 people critiquing my writing! Ah! Tomorrow, my prose is up for workshop, and this will be the first time – ever – that anyone other than my darling best friend and one particularly talented English teacher have given me writing criticism.
Wow. I apologize for how uppity that statement sounds; it wasn’t intended that way. I know my writing can improve! I also know I’m pretty good. So both of those together makes for one nervewracked, anxious me because I’m very unprepared to deal with criticism of my writing. Essays are easier than this. Even if you get critiqued on essays, you didn’t pour your heart out into them. It’s only an essay on some dead guy, or a war, or some sociological concept. This is different, this is writing about me and someone I loved, and love, and I poured a whole lot of me into that story.
And that makes tomorrow one hell of an intimidating day.