Today's post (well, second post...) is about you, the readers, and me, the writer.
I would love to get emails or comments. The content on this blog will vary greatly from humor, serious pieces, comics, etc. I am open minded even to things such as product reviews and advice column moments. However, as readers you should be open minded that I may write such responses in a humorous format. Product reviews will seldom be serious unless I rather like the product and some philanthropic company wishes to reward my stunning review with a truckload of their merchandise. So that being said I adore Sketchers Shoes and Lee Jeans- companies you may obligingly deliver truckload of said goods at my house tomorrow. Thank you.
A frightening journey into the mind of an American woman.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Episode Three: The Torrid Love Affair
So what IS this blog about? Since the start of the Curve Zone I've been trying to articulate what this blog is about. The challenge of expressing what this blog is about is that the blog's origin is very personal, but my intent is for the blog to be more universal in nature. I wish for this blog to be one people can read and relate to; eventually I wish this blog to become semi-interactive.
The Curve Zone, for lack of a better explanation, is about one woman's (mine) rekindled love affair with writing. It is my chance to take the keyboard for a spin and see where it leads.
When I was young I wanted to be a writer. Essentially I had a fascination with stories and therefore I wanted to translate the stories in my head onto the page. The apex of my writing was closely linked to the demise of said writing. In high school I had a small circle of very artistic friends: writers, artists, musicians, and dreamers. My friends would read my poems and short stories in the mornings before class. We exchanged our pages and feasted on the thrill of our creative spark. High School was also the time in which I lost the confidence to be a writer.
My English teachers were not flesh eating monsters worthy of Hollywood sensationalism by any means. The problem was, I received grades and red ink instead of feedback in which I could foster the evolution of my writing. The main goal of essays at my High School was the presentation of proper MLA formatting. Understanding when to use a semi-colon instead of a colon in citations is the death to the real purpose of writing- communication. Writing was my first true love, my great passion of my youth. But as the unsatisfying B's without instruction on how to temper my words flooded in my love affair turned sour.
It was too painful to fancy any sort of career or future in writing. There was always someone more talented than I. Yet, writing remained the secret lover with whom I would often have chance encounters. Passionate longing was always there in the back of my secret heart. Longing to move an audience with my words; to transform the vivid creations of my imagination into literary works. However, my low self esteem always tattered the delicate fibers of my love affair. I would look back on things I had written dissatisfied and disenchanted.
Writing quickly took reading with it in the downward spiral of hopelessness. Reading the works of authors more talented than I was discouraging. The benchmarks seemed insurmountable. Paired with the drudgery of college reading assignments, for several years I read nothing for entertainment. The less I read the less my exposure to the nuances of decent writing, to a more expansive repertoire of words. It seemed as though my mind itself was beginning to atrophy and wither into oblivion.
So here I am, a recent college graduate, flirting with the idea of rekindling the old romance once more. What is the Curve Zone? The Curve Zone is a chance for a jaded woman in her late twenties to present her life experiences, humor, thoughts, and opinions in a medium intended to be generalizable to other people.
The Curve Zone, for lack of a better explanation, is about one woman's (mine) rekindled love affair with writing. It is my chance to take the keyboard for a spin and see where it leads.
When I was young I wanted to be a writer. Essentially I had a fascination with stories and therefore I wanted to translate the stories in my head onto the page. The apex of my writing was closely linked to the demise of said writing. In high school I had a small circle of very artistic friends: writers, artists, musicians, and dreamers. My friends would read my poems and short stories in the mornings before class. We exchanged our pages and feasted on the thrill of our creative spark. High School was also the time in which I lost the confidence to be a writer.
My English teachers were not flesh eating monsters worthy of Hollywood sensationalism by any means. The problem was, I received grades and red ink instead of feedback in which I could foster the evolution of my writing. The main goal of essays at my High School was the presentation of proper MLA formatting. Understanding when to use a semi-colon instead of a colon in citations is the death to the real purpose of writing- communication. Writing was my first true love, my great passion of my youth. But as the unsatisfying B's without instruction on how to temper my words flooded in my love affair turned sour.
It was too painful to fancy any sort of career or future in writing. There was always someone more talented than I. Yet, writing remained the secret lover with whom I would often have chance encounters. Passionate longing was always there in the back of my secret heart. Longing to move an audience with my words; to transform the vivid creations of my imagination into literary works. However, my low self esteem always tattered the delicate fibers of my love affair. I would look back on things I had written dissatisfied and disenchanted.
Writing quickly took reading with it in the downward spiral of hopelessness. Reading the works of authors more talented than I was discouraging. The benchmarks seemed insurmountable. Paired with the drudgery of college reading assignments, for several years I read nothing for entertainment. The less I read the less my exposure to the nuances of decent writing, to a more expansive repertoire of words. It seemed as though my mind itself was beginning to atrophy and wither into oblivion.
So here I am, a recent college graduate, flirting with the idea of rekindling the old romance once more. What is the Curve Zone? The Curve Zone is a chance for a jaded woman in her late twenties to present her life experiences, humor, thoughts, and opinions in a medium intended to be generalizable to other people.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Episode Two: SWFSFW (Single White Female Searching For Wardrobe)
Like many I have thirsted since I was a little girl to find that magical doorway to another world- a world of adventure, magic, beauty, and heroism. My parents owned a waterbed when I was a child which sported a large wooden frame, and at the bottom there were two doors. I used to crawl through those doors into the space beneath the bed. Time after time, the same hope- but to no avail. No magical worlds.
I have searched for magic lamps, fairy godmothers, special doors, and four leaf clovers since I was able to walk. But what is it about the magical that is so fascinating? For those of you who are still anxiously awaiting your Hogwarts letter at the age of 35, eyed suspiciously your wedding ring for any potential Mount Doom day trips, or have written nasty letters to NIMH about their mistreatment of Nicodemus- you may be able to relate.
I suppose it is because it is so hard to derive meaning from the everyday, from the mundane. It is not hard to see the purpose behind epic battles between good and evil. In the worlds of fiction the fate of the world/kingdom/your friends hinges upon your ability to rise against the odds with courage and determination. In the office your heroics beside the copy maker have gone unnoticed...
In fact, no one has sung accolades of the way you braved the perilous journey known as "commute", nor have statues been carved in your likeness for your triumph over your alarm clock. You get up, you work, you get off, you sleep, and it begins again.
Truth be told we need to bridge the disconnect between our daily toils and the bigger picture. In all honesty some things really are pointless. None the less, this world is what we make of it. So there are a few less centaurs and dragons than could be... but we are the masters of our fate whether we choose to pursue it or not. Maybe we won't be dueling a Hydra anytime soon, but our greatest prison is our dependence on the familiar, on the reliable. Risk is the great Genii of the Universe- it may grant you your heart's desire or it may cost you everything.
As for this single, white female searching for my wardrobe, well... I shall just be contented to curl up with a good book and a warm cup of coffee.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Episode One: The Conspiracy
It all started, like many things in my life, when I was talking my fiance into a blinded stupor. Though I should note that during this particular conversation with him (or perhaps, at him) he was in fact still conscious. At this time I professed my overwhelming excitement at an upcoming wedding of an old college friend. At said event I would be seeing the girls again. It was then that I admitted to him the long-standing female conspiracy.
See it is imperative that I participate in a "Ladies Night" once every so often or I shall relinquish my amazing feminine powers which befuddle and thwart the male species. There is a reason that women become refreshed after Ladies Night, why we insist on traveling to bathrooms in packs, and why we bother with the Twilight Saga. Yes, the Twilight Saga, a guarantee to keep Estrogen levels at a maximum to ensure the communal interlinking process.
That's right, we, women of the world, have a secretive communal interlinking process in which we gain telepathic powers! Have you ever wondered how your female friends can exchange an entire dialogue without saying a word at the dinner table while you gape on in baffled fear? Like the Borg from Star Trek we are a collective unit known as The Femme, and our existence hinges on the periodic gathering to link up our thoughts.
Movies such as The Notebook, City of Angels, Lakehouse, etc- they contain subliminal messages from the Great Mother who controls the hive mind of The Femme, and they help us remember what we must do to succeed in our never-ending quest to subjugate the male species. The Great Mother will someday have the enslaved male race toiling at her chocolate farms and stitching together her designer high heels.
So the next time you're at dinner with female companions and one says "I'll be back" and the other chimes in "I'll go to the restroom too" just remember that you are witnessing a truly sinister conspiracy at work.
(Post is being Facetious, except the part about people liking Twilight because it is the anti-male, that's actually rather true.)
See it is imperative that I participate in a "Ladies Night" once every so often or I shall relinquish my amazing feminine powers which befuddle and thwart the male species. There is a reason that women become refreshed after Ladies Night, why we insist on traveling to bathrooms in packs, and why we bother with the Twilight Saga. Yes, the Twilight Saga, a guarantee to keep Estrogen levels at a maximum to ensure the communal interlinking process.
That's right, we, women of the world, have a secretive communal interlinking process in which we gain telepathic powers! Have you ever wondered how your female friends can exchange an entire dialogue without saying a word at the dinner table while you gape on in baffled fear? Like the Borg from Star Trek we are a collective unit known as The Femme, and our existence hinges on the periodic gathering to link up our thoughts.
Movies such as The Notebook, City of Angels, Lakehouse, etc- they contain subliminal messages from the Great Mother who controls the hive mind of The Femme, and they help us remember what we must do to succeed in our never-ending quest to subjugate the male species. The Great Mother will someday have the enslaved male race toiling at her chocolate farms and stitching together her designer high heels.
So the next time you're at dinner with female companions and one says "I'll be back" and the other chimes in "I'll go to the restroom too" just remember that you are witnessing a truly sinister conspiracy at work.
(Post is being Facetious, except the part about people liking Twilight because it is the anti-male, that's actually rather true.)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)