will gerdes-mcClain

Dr. ~~~~~

ENGL-6026

1 May 2019

Introduction to My Work

               The focus of the semester, writer’s journals, was really useful for me. My goal for my writing, when I started in the MFA program this past fall, was to make a concerted effort to write about myself explicitly. This is not something I’m necessarily comfortable doing, and not something I’ve done in the past, so having these journals to read, with multiple writers doing this exact thing I’m trying to do and providing multiple models of how it might look, was pretty dope. I appreciated it. I also appreciated the directive to keep a journal throughout the semester, as I will almost always avoid doing anything unless obligated to, and this, combined with the focus of the class, was extra ill, because it obligated me to write regularly and it gave me a way to start posting on my blog regularly, as a bonus, since I used that to compose my journals. (I was kind of surprised at the idea that some people actually wrote theirs out with pen and paper—not because I think it’s quaint or anything dumb like that, but just because doing it that way takes away a lot of functionality that writing on a blog affords. Though I guess it does just open up a lot of options that typing takes away. Hm. Maybe I am just being condescending. Don’t tell people.)

The idea of writing about myself directly was meant to encourage me to be more genuine and sincere, but it turns out that that’s easier said than done (which I suppose I expected). I found myself, in my blog/journal posts, saying quite a lot of really honest, raw stuff, but I also consistently undercut that stuff by ending entries with jokes that, I guess, tried to end the thing by forcing attention back towards irony or absurdity, which are much more comfortable for me. I wasn’t doing this every single entry, but it was happening more often than not. After noticing that I was doing this consistently, I actually forced myself to do the reverse, ending a seemingly silly entry with a super raw, out-of-nowhere admission. It made little sense, content-wise, but that’s one of the things that’s nice about the journal format—you can do whatever, because there’s no clear rules, and the expectation is that you’re just trying stuff and riffing about whatever comes to mind.

The more frustrating side-effect of the continued attempts to be sincere was actually evident during our class sessions, where I really felt like I was being one of my worst selves. (My last journal entry that I’m including in the portfolio addresses this.) I was being really an ass, performing and just being terribly glib and lame. I hope I also said some useful stuff, but I was really surrendering to my worst, basest instincts to act like a sarcastic ass, and, looking back over my journal entries and how much I was really trying to avoid giving in to those impulses, it makes me wonder if that just made them come out in a different context.

This sort of explains the workshop piece I shared, which kind of careened back and forth between sincerity and irony, and in the end had no real point. I don’t necessarily feel bad about it not having a point—I submitted it precisely because I wasn’t sure if it had a point and I was interested if other people might see something in it that I was missing—but it is really frustrating to see how the piece bounces between sincere expressions of emotion and responding moments of discounting of that emotion. I’m a lot more comfortable suggesting emotion than owning it, and when I reread this first draft now, that’s what I see. As I revise this piece, and as I (possibly) continue to write entries for my blog, I want to keep working on this, focusing on being sincere and genuine and trying not to immediately deflate those moments as soon as I, like, do them.

I am suspicious of emotion. I distrust sincerity. I think they can easily lead us away from reflection and insight. On the other hand, I also don’t know how much further I can go with ironic detachment. It’s hard to see some things clearly from too far away, even if shit does tend to get a little blurry up close.

Am I the asshole?

I love my cats.  (•_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■)