Unspired
I must objectively state that graduate school has become incredibly...
...humdrum.
When I occasionally get the chance to open my journal and try for a poem, I quickly get this irrational fear that the artsy parts of my brain are atrophying, due to neglect, and the rigid, science-y parts of my brain are overcoming who I am. Several times this semester I've opened the journal only to write the date and a brief detail from the day--then shut it. It's terrible feeling so right-brained numb. Perhaps I just need some good writing prompts or creative warm-ups? Last semester a professor of mine began an introductory powerpoint with the statement that the field of Speech-Language Pathology is "equal parts science and art." And silly me drew a heart next to that line.
I don't know. Cleverly adapting therapy sessions on your feet and vowing to attend as much to the human side of a patient as you attend to his/her symptoms are inspirational notions, to be sure. But neither is the art that I miss.
So I went to a talk that Inklings hosted last night by an author from Chicago, Lauryn Allison Lewis, about writing, how to begin a writing career, and the importance of reading your stuff to an audience. She was not professional, as in her speech felt like a cartoon full of thought bubbles and she chewed gum while she spoke. But she was not unprofessional the way my power-trippin' professors are, who discourage us students and gossip about us to each other. She was a welcome pause.
And it got me thinking about the difference between critical thinking and creative thinking. In an ideal world, I think one should be always be doing both; the two should be seamless processes. Maybe you find something you read wildly fascinating for how wrong it is, so you blog about it. You dissect it. You make a point and you feel satisfied about working out a kink in your mind. Then vice versa, whenever you create something--writing, drawing, conversation--you always think critically about it to make it polished and true. But I'm stuck in a grad program where I feel like all critical thinking leads to a dead end. You have to be careful about what questions you ask because the professor may react like you're stupid, due to hearing what they want to hear from your words or due to sheer hubris. You fear for your performance on assignments and tests because you fear the professor's tantrums, instead of fearing that you won't serve a client well because you're not capable. There weren't any mind games like that in my English classes. You asked whatever and you thought crazy things.
I guess I miss what's beautiful.
Lauryn Allison Lewis began by reading portions of her chapbook, "The Beauties." She explained that she wrote these stories with a larger novel in mind, printed and hand-bound 100 copies of them, and vowed to sell all 100 while holding public readings. And that's how she found an editor who wants to publish the novel-length version.
So I'm thinking gee, last summer I wrote enough to fill a chapbook of my own. And as she read her writing I thought my first self-confident thought in a while: gee, I think I can write with that clarity and quality of narrative, if I sit long enough. Last summer I did. I sat long enough.
Well, if it's true that my right brain is atrophying in the meantime, thank goodness for the neuroplasticity our professors are praising in class!
I don't know. Cleverly adapting therapy sessions on your feet and vowing to attend as much to the human side of a patient as you attend to his/her symptoms are inspirational notions, to be sure. But neither is the art that I miss.
So I went to a talk that Inklings hosted last night by an author from Chicago, Lauryn Allison Lewis, about writing, how to begin a writing career, and the importance of reading your stuff to an audience. She was not professional, as in her speech felt like a cartoon full of thought bubbles and she chewed gum while she spoke. But she was not unprofessional the way my power-trippin' professors are, who discourage us students and gossip about us to each other. She was a welcome pause.
And it got me thinking about the difference between critical thinking and creative thinking. In an ideal world, I think one should be always be doing both; the two should be seamless processes. Maybe you find something you read wildly fascinating for how wrong it is, so you blog about it. You dissect it. You make a point and you feel satisfied about working out a kink in your mind. Then vice versa, whenever you create something--writing, drawing, conversation--you always think critically about it to make it polished and true. But I'm stuck in a grad program where I feel like all critical thinking leads to a dead end. You have to be careful about what questions you ask because the professor may react like you're stupid, due to hearing what they want to hear from your words or due to sheer hubris. You fear for your performance on assignments and tests because you fear the professor's tantrums, instead of fearing that you won't serve a client well because you're not capable. There weren't any mind games like that in my English classes. You asked whatever and you thought crazy things.
I guess I miss what's beautiful.
Lauryn Allison Lewis began by reading portions of her chapbook, "The Beauties." She explained that she wrote these stories with a larger novel in mind, printed and hand-bound 100 copies of them, and vowed to sell all 100 while holding public readings. And that's how she found an editor who wants to publish the novel-length version.
So I'm thinking gee, last summer I wrote enough to fill a chapbook of my own. And as she read her writing I thought my first self-confident thought in a while: gee, I think I can write with that clarity and quality of narrative, if I sit long enough. Last summer I did. I sat long enough.
Well, if it's true that my right brain is atrophying in the meantime, thank goodness for the neuroplasticity our professors are praising in class!
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