Writing Down the Bones

Lately, for not much reason at all, I have begun to consider grad school again. I suppose I could pick reasons out of an imaginary hat: after two years in AmeriCorps, I have nearly $10,000 in education money waiting for me to take advantage of it; my husband and a few friends are going back to school; I feel others expect it of me; I feel myself getting older, I can extrapolate to see my wandering, self-absorbed years coming to an end.

Society holds an overriding sentiment that grad school should be functional, tied to promotions and salary renegotiations. I just want to delve into a practice or a field, devour it down to the rind and come out a more well-rounded person.

Lately (read: over the past few days) I have wondered about a program at University of Baltimore called Creative Writing & Publishing Arts. Lately I have renewed my love of writing, my desire to write outside of what I do at work every day.

Yesterday I got out an old book, one that Oli and I read in early high school, if not middle school. It's called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, and I still feel like it speaks to the kind of writing practice I value.

I feel this could apply to far more than just writing -- it certainly has for my life:

There was no great answer outside ourselves that would get us an A in school anymore. It was the very beginning of learning to trust my own mind.

Or:

To do writing practice means to deal ultimately with your whole life.

I also appreciate any artist willing to lay out their struggles with practice and motivation. Here, Goldberg compares writing to running:

Like running, the more you [write] , the better you get at it. Some days you don't want to run and you resist every step of the three miles, but you do it anyway. You practice whether you want to or not. You don't wait around for inspiration and a deep desire to run. It'll never happen, especially if you are out of shape and have been avoiding it. But if you run regularly, you train your mind to cut through or ignore your resistance. You just do it. And in the middle of the run, you love it. When you come to the end, you never want to stop. And you stop, hungry for the next time.

Yesterday I went out and bought a new big notebook and filled the first page, even though I hate the first page and I didn't know what to write.