Sunday, January 17, 2010

Academically Creative.

This is something that I have been concerned about for a very long time. Perhaps expression will put me more at ease. There is something of a mantra among those who teach writing-- though this is universally applicable to any creative field-- that only those who work on their craft outside of their classwork will become what they're studying to be. The rest are simply academically creative. Writing or doing because they must for the grade.

I don't dispute that this has credence. Of course it does. It is its simplicity I find dubious. This notion suggests that there are writers and there aren't. Which, if we can be base about this, is true. There are people who will write, and people who won't without the pressing thumb. However, if there are people who write that aren't good writers, which of course there are- they write fan fiction, flowery or emo poetry and paperback genre fiction- then there must therefore be good writers who don't write.

Now. Would it be surprising if I considered myself an academic creative? I do for the most part. I, on my lonesome as I often tend to be, feel few creative impulses. This is not the case, however, when I have creative people near me. I feel competitive. Driven. It's a feeling doubled when I feel someone depends on me. This is why I like you, unnamed thing. You're just for me. But now that I've graduated from college, how often am I going to feel that way? How often will I be challenged by a peer creatively? So perhaps I am an academic creative.

The source of the problem, I think, is that I have little regard for myself. What do I loose if I let myself down? Not much. If I let someone else down? Well. That's another matter. Respect. Trust. Admiration. Those mean a lot to me. The connection here, I believe is the importance of real people.

I am far too self-conscious about writing this conclusion. I have erased what I've written four times. I don't believe I'm meant to be a creative academic. I fear my way of life makes me one. I am choked by isolation, and complacency.

The surprising thing though is that I wouldn't mind being a creative academic. If I didn't create ever again, I could be okay with that so long as I was writing something, I had good life company, and I was in a thriving place. The irony, of course, is that if I had those I imagine I wouldn't be able to stop.

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