Today is one of those days I wish I could just sit and write. It’s raining outside. I love rain and treasure it. We’re gonna get rain here in Utah for only another month or so and then we’ll get nothing until September.
The rain we’re getting smells just so good, but all my homework and study needs keeps me from sitting next to a window and writing. I just spent three hours catching up on my French homework (no deadline on this work). I did some financial aid. I did some research for a paper I need to finish outlining by the end of this weekend (I should be okay). I also did some exercise so I can reverse my getting fatter habits.
But I have written anything important all week. I’ve written an essay a day all through spring break, except last night when I got to fight with a backed up toilet for three hours. Essays are nice, but the essays part of my GRE prep regime.
I need to write a poem or outline a short story or brainstorm a novella. Something. Nope. I got reading to do for the rest of the night. I’ve got academics who’ve been dead for decades calling for attention and demanding grey-matter.
I guess I’ll have to put it off some more. I read about some of the complaints people have for MFA student about how they are forced to write. I love the idea. I can’t wait. Before I started school in the fall, I was writing a hiaku or a tanka a day and posting them to twitter. I haven’t done that since August, but in August I had a poetry class to write for. Not this semester. I have a lit class, a rhetoric class, a philosophy class, and two French classes. Nothing that demands creative attention.
I’d love to have an MFA workshop whip snapping behind me. I’d love to sit next to the window and write for me, the cosmos, my grand-kids, God, and maybe no one.