the pressures of writing

Over the weekend, I made several decisions that have begun to make my life a bit easier, even now. The first was to cancel the GRE's. The second was to keep a journal.

And when I say journal, I don't just mean this blog. Blog implies audience, which leads to some rhetorical, subconscious insincerity (yes, I do try to impress)--so that won't get me anywhere in terms of figuring out what to write for a creative thesis. I'd have to say though, the selection of diaries and notebooks at B&N is quite impressive. I settled on a simple $8 cream colored notebook because it reminded me of Austen (if I can't write with ivory, I can at least write on it, yes?).

The B&N at Union Square is multi-leveled, and Zoey and I explored a bit during our lunch hour, then decided to scout out the "Self Help" aisle..just for fun. When we finally got to it, we found a snoozing bum below the "Relationships" section, a mid-aged woman with a big perm, and a teenage boy with his face screwed up, studying the diagram of a clitoris with the intensity of a Proust scholar. He wasn't even trying to hide it, and for some odd...odd reason, it made me respect him, just a little bit.

After we got back, I received a much-needed reminder that writing is what I do, and, despite any insecurities I may have regarding the quality of my own work, I should just shut up and keep doing it. See, as an Editorial intern, I frequently have to reject manuscripts, and it makes me feel like the biggest bitch in the world. We sometimes get these 700 pagers which, doing a quick estimate, could've easily taken the person several years to write. Then all I have to do is write "Pass," and the chances of publication are shot--though, of course, I don't have the final say. Unfortunately, it's not so simple as a "Yes" or "No" stamp. No matter how bad the book turns out to be, we still have to, respectfully, write a one-page report stating its pros and cons. I write about 4-6 of these a day, and I was beginning to think that no one really read them, and it was more practice for my own benefit if I ever decided to go into publishing.

So imagine my surprise when Cara, my junior editor, tells me that her boss wanted to talk to me in his office. His question was so simple: "Are you a writer?" he asked me, and suddenly a switch in my head clicked. I knew exactly what I had to do. I know, I know...we shouldn't take compliments or criticism too heavily, but the way he continued to compliment my writing was just something I needed to hear, especially with senior year creeping closer and closer each day. So if I want to write two theses, then goddammit I'm gonna do it.

I would've started writing in my journal on the train ride home, but I made friends with the guy sitting next to me, and we chatted until he got off at Metro Park. Afterwards, I began thinking about the movie "Sabrina," both the 1954 and 1955 versions, and how she found herself in Paris amidst all her sorrow. Then I remembered Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard" and Blake's quote on melancholy as a telescope. From there, I thought of one of the interns who'd lost her mother this week. How could I ever relate? For me, with my small life, and even smaller tragedies, the greatest victory of the day consisted of catching one of the most morose people in the office, who had never returned my greetings, crack the slightest of smiles and grunt the quietest of 'hello's as I passed.

I won't even attempt a concluding message; if you need inspiration, I suggest you check out the "Self Help" aisle, if only to observe the different kinds of people who frequent those dark, socially shameful corners of the bookstore. I left the store with two books today, both of which made me laugh uncontrollably, not out of humor, but subtle, almost inscrutible, joy.