Saturday, November 24, 2007

Today I found out that I didn't get that government position in the policy leader program, whatever that is. After yesterday's obsession with after-school career plans it made me panic and do superficial searches for jobs, browse college programs and think about taking French courses. After awhile I calmed down a bit. My brain is so fucking active sometimes it makes me dizzy. I want to do everything all the time, and while that can be a good thing for creative output, it can also frighten me into not doing anything or doing things poorly.

One thing at a time. School is my priority now. I have, however, decided not to apply for a CCA grant for Ottawa Art Bazaar funding. I don't think my "organization" qualifies anyway, since calling it an artist collective would be a stretch and would require me to seek out detailed member profiles from at least three people (at most the "collective" consists of two - myself and Kat). We're just not grown up enough to count yet.

My goal right now is to get my Master's degree. After that, I'll move back to Ottawa and figure out what I'm getting myself into. I might not stay in the city depending on the kind of work I find or what I become involved in. I do know there are a few things I want to accomplish artistically there, along with people I want to work with and get to know better.

I spent the day in front of the TV. I did write a poem, however, and I think I'm coming to realize why I more or less stopped writing after I finished my undergraduate degree: I don't spend as much time with writers. People who write inspire me to write. The story I wrote last month was prompted only by requests from Cameron and Peter. I need that sort of direction to sustain my output. Otherwise, I grow bored of my ideas and think that they're too dull or meaningless to write out. I need someone there to DEMAND meaning from me, either directly or by virtue of their own work.

2 comments:

katie said...

I could feed you the anecdotes and you could write them. It would alleviate my guilt: I've been mining my parents for accounts of their pasts and significant moments/feelings. What I've been told could form several rather interesting books but I'd feel like a shit putting it onto paper, even adapted and shaped around different people all together. I don't want to do them an injustice or air their lives in public - most of what I've learned is not for mass consumption, nor even the rest of my family.

I've never looked into the issue, but how does a writer cope with this sort of ethical dilemma?

David said...

I think writers run the risk of offending people close to them if they write out of honesty, but it can be worth it. I've written some pretty personal things in poems and stories, about myself and others, and it's always served as a way of coming to terms with them. The way you're affected as a person may not always be understood, but it should be appreciated by the people you care about. Ideally, anyway. Wouldn't you lend those people the same degree of appreciation?