Bruised Ego
I've been trying to write for a project in my drama class. I've had writer's block for a few days. But it's not because I'm uninspired. I am deeply motivated to write but I'm afraid.
See, a few years ago, I joined my school's speech and debate team. I wanted to compete in original prose. I had just finished an original short story and I was very pleased with myself. Delusions of grandeur haunted my mind. When the first debate tournament was up, I decided I would dive head first into the mess without much training from anybody in particular. Needless to say I gloated to my speech and debate coach about my work. She didn't disagree with me and told me to go right along with it. So I did.
Early Saturday morning I got up, got dressed and had my mom drive me to the high school where the tournament was being held. I was not informed of the dress code. I came in casual clothes to a formal event.
Taking my fashion faux pas in stride, I decided to go along and compete. I signed my name on the roster went to the classroom, took a seat and noticed that I was the only one representing my high school.
As I listened to their stories, cold dread was creeping up my spine. My prose was not in the fashionable way, that is, in first person and memorized. I find it fascinating how in one fell swoop, one's confidence can burst into flames, turn to ashes, and blow away like dust in the wind. As I stood up in front of my smug audience, I could feel my poor little knees shaking. Even as I read my melodrama I found it sufficiently disgusting and loath able. I only had ten minutes to read 6 pages. I cut it dangerously close. As I finished my totally unlikable drama I heard snickers.
Then I heard my heart drop and shatter into a thousand pieces. I screwed a smile on my face and heard the rest of the stories out. Afterwards I went up to the people whose stories I was really moved by and shook their hands. While I was devastated, I was determined. Someday I'd be like them. I'd learn from my mistakes and become great. That's why I joined drama in the first place. I wanted to be able to speak in front of people without sounding like a stuttering Stanley or some nerd who just locks herself away in her room and writes stories.
But now comes the test. Can I just stop crying about all this that happened so long ago and get over it and get to writing? Well. I guess only time will tell that.
See, a few years ago, I joined my school's speech and debate team. I wanted to compete in original prose. I had just finished an original short story and I was very pleased with myself. Delusions of grandeur haunted my mind. When the first debate tournament was up, I decided I would dive head first into the mess without much training from anybody in particular. Needless to say I gloated to my speech and debate coach about my work. She didn't disagree with me and told me to go right along with it. So I did.
Early Saturday morning I got up, got dressed and had my mom drive me to the high school where the tournament was being held. I was not informed of the dress code. I came in casual clothes to a formal event.
Taking my fashion faux pas in stride, I decided to go along and compete. I signed my name on the roster went to the classroom, took a seat and noticed that I was the only one representing my high school.
As I listened to their stories, cold dread was creeping up my spine. My prose was not in the fashionable way, that is, in first person and memorized. I find it fascinating how in one fell swoop, one's confidence can burst into flames, turn to ashes, and blow away like dust in the wind. As I stood up in front of my smug audience, I could feel my poor little knees shaking. Even as I read my melodrama I found it sufficiently disgusting and loath able. I only had ten minutes to read 6 pages. I cut it dangerously close. As I finished my totally unlikable drama I heard snickers.
Then I heard my heart drop and shatter into a thousand pieces. I screwed a smile on my face and heard the rest of the stories out. Afterwards I went up to the people whose stories I was really moved by and shook their hands. While I was devastated, I was determined. Someday I'd be like them. I'd learn from my mistakes and become great. That's why I joined drama in the first place. I wanted to be able to speak in front of people without sounding like a stuttering Stanley or some nerd who just locks herself away in her room and writes stories.
But now comes the test. Can I just stop crying about all this that happened so long ago and get over it and get to writing? Well. I guess only time will tell that.
posted by Marissa @ 7:54 PM
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