August 26, 2010

Everest Bound

Ahh college. Student's faithfully trekking to class everyday. Frolf on the greens. Coffee at Margies. Beer pong. So far it's been a good experience.  I love my classes. I love trekking to my classes. I haven't experienced Frolf yet, or beer pong. But I have started joining clubs, meeting friends. It's been my dream college experience already. I love the structure, the late nights, the friendly people. Above all else I love how our campus feels like a family brought together by an allegiance to Clawz the Bear (GOOOOO BEARS!) I can't wait for September 4th. Our first football game. Everyone in blue and gold. Cheering on our football boys. It's..well great. You all know how big I am on patriotism, throw some football into the mix and I'll be a Bear for life. So I have to sit back and wonder where my anxiety came from. Why I didn't think I could handle this. Why I was so afraid to move to Colorado and do something new. And I realized...

I'm deathly afraid that I will be one of those girls who peaks in college.

I don't want that. I want to move higher and higher.. I want to be a lifelong learner. I want to always be learning something new. Always achieving something new. My first assignment for my English class was "What is Good Writing" I wrote my opinion and everyone I've asked about it tell me it's so far above the 120 level it isn't even funny. Some have even suggested with a little more meat to it, it's graduate level work.


Me? Capable of graduate level writing? psh. I dunno about that. I learned to write by...well writing. I've been at this blog for almost a year now. And that's all the "formal" writing I have done in years. I admit. I panicked when I considered this. Does this mean I'm already peaking? Is it all over from here? Well I don't know. I know I certainly have a lot to learn, and I know I can be better. 

Maybe that's enough.. recognizing my potential for greatness. Perhaps like in my paper, I can peak...and then move on to the next mountain's peak...Everest here I come!

(here's the writing btw. tell me what you think!_

To ask “what is good writing?” is like asking “why is blue your favorite color?” It is not as simple as asking “what is your favorite color?”, because it cannot be answered easily or with one word. It is not a straight fact that is true for everyone. Yes, you may find a group of people who like blue because of the ocean, or blue because of blueberries, but in that select group you will find each has a different “sub-reason” so to speak. It could be related to childhood memories, inherent desire or a reflection of their daily life. One could gather from this that the why of favoritism is directly correlated to the what of good writing. Both are relative to each individual, to their perception of imagination and its relation to reality.
A more simple definition may be that good writing has an effect on you. This can be in a positive or negative way. A piece of literature, no matter the form, may cause you to laugh or cause you to cry. Great writing on the other hand has a deeper affect in that it forces you to think, and this can eventually bring about a change in you.
I firmly believe that we can all become good, even great writers. For some it is an innate gift, for others it is an inclination that can be cultivated into a desired habit. All writing is a journey that involves diligence, encouragement and eventually reward. As you traverse the writing path you must accept the lessons in stride and apply them when you leap off of the highway of classical writing.  Here you will find that the mechanics of classical writing are still vital. Sentence structure and correct use of vocabulary still plays a part, however here you make a discovery. A discovery of the significance of your own thought, your own style and what your writing really means to you. When you reach the destination you set, you will be surprised to find that not only have you put your heart on the line, but you have put your heart down on a page. What started out as a rough dirt path quickly evolved into an interstate of discourse and thought. Here you realize that your destination wasn’t an end after all but a checkpoint along the way.
However the process is not as simple as I have described it. In reality you may need to scramble back up the bank onto the highway to establish a firmer foundation before traveling on. Writers block will waylay you along the way. Good writing grows from finding the joy in frustration. When you seek the joy in your frustration you find how your struggles have bettered you. It can be assumed therefore that writer’s block is a hidden joy that has bettered you.
Good writing rarely means good reading. Yes, mechanically and structurally it will be good reading. I simply mean that truly good writing is that which affects you deeply, whether by association or by confusion. To truly think and be changed your world’s axis must tilt and you must ascertain your own opinion. Whatever the genre of writing; fiction, biography or an essay, it must include a certain amount of confusion in its depth. In a society that requires being on the fast track, the confusion in good writing slows us down physically but mentally speeds us up. As we gain speed we learn more of why we are instead of what we are. That realization is the first step on a new journey. A voyage we all seek called living a life of challenge. 

August 1, 2010

And After All, You're Still My Wonderwall....

I haven't opened my journal since June 12, 2010. The date of my last blog. And when I opened it tonight I was surprised to find an unfinished letter. All it said was 
"Dear Katie Butcher,
Change is in the air. Can you feel it? And no it isn't Obama's change...."

I was so overjoyed to tell her of my decision to go to Greeley. Of my decision to move past Jeremy and really live the exciting challenging life that was before me. I think even then I was afraid to tell her and so I chose to write a letter...Because the spoken word is so often misunderstood, but in the time it takes to read a letter one can normally take the time to really get it.

However I never got the chance. I never finished the letter because I was busy at work with some Calvert Crisis and later than night she dropped by. I was so excited that I blurted out my news and I could literally feel the disappointment and the disapproval rolling off of her. The stony glare she gave me told me all I needed to know. She held all the cards and she knew it. I immediately doubted my decision because if she didn't approve...who would approve? Looking back I'm sickened that that was my response. 

Fast forward almost two months. I'd like to expound more on those two months... but it's not worth it to me. The biting words and immaturity is in the past, thankfully where it belongs. Partly it was serious busyness and partly I was just so over it, and over her it is now August 1, 2010. In 16 days I move to Greeley Colorado to pursue a degree in Journalism with a concentration in Public Relations and Marketing at the University of Northern Colorado. Not only is that a mouthful its a lifeful. 
Tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. I pick up long time friend Chris at the airport for three days
 full of tattoo's, long drives and concerts. 
I'm giving Ghost back to her owners.
I'm desperately searching for a home for Percy.
I'm starting to sand Brutto on Thursday so I can paint him.

So once again change is in the air. Can you feel it?

Everything in my life is changing. But I guess there will always be a twinge in my heart that makes me long for older more complex times. I'll always wonder how he is fitting into my life at the moment. When he is a jackass and rips his thumb to shreds I'll always cry and worry for him. That much hasn't changed. 

He will always be my wonderwall and I'll always wonder if he was supposed to be the one to save me.

There wasn't this pull a few weeks ago I swear. Until I heard his voice for the first time in week in that crowded parking lot in Loveland, Colorado. Or when I naively looked at the picture Eric showed me, my violent reaction of tears and the quick coverup of shouting "jackass!" was as much a surprise to me as anyone. When he came up in a recent conversation with a guest and  I looked away and closed my eyes his softly whispered words of "it still hurts doesn't it?" told me all I needed to know. 

I still love you Jeremy.

No matter how much you distance yourself from me, no matter how many reckless decisions I make and no matter how many boys I try to distract myself with; it's still you I think about when I'm not even thinking. Other guys may make me smile and my heart flutter, but on St. Patricks Day 2010, you became the guy to make all my butterfly's fly in synchronization unlike anyone else in this universe.  

 I know that isn't okay with you and that isn't how you wanted this to go. And it isn't how I wanted it to go either. To be honest I wanted you for your dangers, booze and body. That quickly morphed into wanting you for your quick wit, raunchy humor and your body. Before I could identify it, 

I wanted all of you, your brokenness, flamboyant heart and your understanding. 

Until you said those three fatal words I didn't realize how strong of a connection we had unknowingly built. Now I'm left with a desire that hasn't been quenched and invisible threads that tie us together. There are so many things I would like to say to you, but the most important has already been said. But that is so hard for me to accept that it won't change anything. 

I strongly believe that our words matter, spoken or unspoken, written or unwritten. 
For our words are a sound wave of the heart. 

But as much as those fatal three words mattered to me that rainy spring day and as much as they changed me, those same fatal words won't change you. They will matter, but they won't change anything. They can't change anything. So you keep telling yourself and so I keep repeating to myself 
like a broken record of chinese water torture.

Those words keep repeating over and over. 
"Your love doesn't change anything. Your love doesn't change anything."
But sometimes a spy from the enemy camp called my heart invades and softly whispers,
"why not?"
And for the briefest of interludes I am once again sitting in your truck with a pug chewing on my thumb as I stare into your eyes and listen to those three fatal words fall from your lips. Emery's teeth were the only thing I felt in the moments that followed, and so in what should have been the happiest moment of my life, all I remember is the pain of puppy teeth. And the needle falls back on track and the broken record starts again.

"Your love doesn't change anything. Your love doesn't change anything."

My love doesn't change you.But your love changed me. The fire in my heart was out. But an ember remained and it softly flickers in the dark. Even though the chinese water torture is ongoing, the water cannot help but reflect the light of the ember.

And after all, you are my wonderwall....