Writing 200 Blog Post 2 - Memory

Prompt: Write about your first memories as a writer. Was there a particular moment you remember when you knew you could write? Or that you wanted to be a writer?

The first memory I have of wanting to be a writer was when I was about 10 years old and decided I wanted to write a novel. Being the sheltered, homeschooled Christian child that I was, I of course settled on a crime noir featuring a chain-smoking, day-drinking detective whose crime-fighting laboratory needed no scientific explanation—it just worked. I think I got about 12 pages in, albeit 12 pages of large handwriting that was most likely double spaced. I have only the faintest memory of plot, to the extent that it even existed—one detail that stands out in my memory is the protagonist's connection to his dog, likely related to my family's recent adoption of one.

Though I know I wrote quite a bit before this, being an early bloomer in literacy, there are a few reasons this might stand out. First is that I don't recall taking on any major creative writing projects on my own initiative before this. I certainly wrote for school, though my style back then was cringe-inducing, loaded to the brim with words I barely understood, taken from vocab lists I'd been given in class. 

I haven't ever become much of a consistent writer, preferring to operate in fits of inspiration that die out and let half-finished first drafts be buried in the avalanche of Google Docs. This first experience, which illustrates a similar level of dedication, was nevertheless formative. In a similar way that the process of learning to talk unlocks the capacity to communicate about the actual world, it seems to me that the process of writing fiction unlocked my capacity for self-motivated creativity.

Writing 200 Post 1 - Intro

 The new school year has begun, and that means it's time to dust off the blog and start screaming into the void once more. This semester I'm taking Writing 200, the class everyone assumes I took last year—I honestly don't remember why I didn't. But regardless of the reasons, this is where the inertia of life has dumped me and I'll do my best to have some fun with it.

Since this is supposed to be an introduction, I guess I should introduce myself at least a little. I'm Aidan, a college sophomore, currently of the George Fox University English department but contemplating switching to Exercise Science. Besides taking classes here, I also compete for the George Fox cross country and track teams as a distance runner. Finally, I'm trying to learn how to play the guitar in my spare time. That's about it right now.

As a writer, I've dabbled in a lot of things—poetry, short stories, those times I was sure I was going to write a novel and ended up with 6000 words of something and nowhere left to go with it. I've been a reporter for Linn-Benton Community College in high school, and for the Crescent here at George Fox last year. I started college as an English major largely because that's what I liked in high school, but I've realized—in part through my experience as a reporter last year—that while I would love to cultivate a consistent writing practice and keep writing for fun, I don't believe it's what I want to do for a living. 

Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to this class—if it's my last hurrah as an English major, I'll try to make it count. And if after a semester of Anatomy and Physiology I come crawling back bruised and bloodied, I might as well learn something.