Progress

Pilgrim's Progress Image from here.

It's been a frantic couple of weeks, but also -- a quiet period for the most part. The holidays were pleasant and almost idyllic, actually; it's been I that has been pushing myself into a rather frenzied state.

I have spent most of the past few weeks cloistered, and writing, always writing. I plodded on with my usual writing assignments and then I did my papers for my school work (the minor ones first). Then, I managed to buckle down and "finish" my first fiction short story so that I could have something to submit for my first ever fiction workshop. As luck would have it, my name was drawn up first and so it was with bated breath and half-eaten nails that I awaited the fate of my work. After all the drama and tension and self-doubt that I had put myself through -- it wasn't all that bad. It was pretty good actually.

But to fully appreciate the sentiment, I wanted to share how horribly depressed I was getting at the start of the year -- because all I could do was to question whether or not I was ruining my life with this jump into creative writing. I took so long to write, and then managed to write so little (a measly 6 pages compared with the others' hefty 15 and 20 pagers) and then to be left out and uninvited to a wedding of someone I once knew (she is a grownup, successful version of herself now, while I remain seeking). When 2012 began, it all of a sudden dawned on me how close I was to turning 30 and how far I was from the person whom I thought I was going to be at that time. I threw myself into writing (thanks in part to the fact that I was broke and had run out of better things to do - another sore point with me, actually) and attended to my classes with new-found vigor. I lost my stride a bit after I had attended one of my classes and my most idolized professor called my ideas pedestrian. I cried all the way home after that. I stared at the sky for long periods of time asking God for a win; I needed one so badly. I am happy to say that God delivered.

First, he delivered in the form of a new project -- one that paid and had more exposure. Second, he delivered in the form of a good workshop. I was so happy (though not tearfully so) after hearing my professor's comments and those of my classmates. My teacher called my writing rhythm a gift, one that usually had to be learned precisely by going to writing school. My classmates told me that they liked the way I write - one of them was so nice to say that he wished he could write like me. It felt very much like the hug that I needed, that workshop day. I know that there is so much more I need to learn, and I think that it gave me the inspiration I needed to push until the end of the semester at least.

For now, a few weeks into 2012, the lesson is that work is the only way I can truly learn and improve. So here's to more work, to less questioning, to more learning, and to more discovery. I am open, I am ready.