dreadedcandiru2 (dreadedcandiru2) wrote,
dreadedcandiru2
dreadedcandiru2

Elly's recipe for a crappy life

It’s not simply Elly’s refusal to admit that she doesn’t actually like the idea of writing that ensures that she’ll blow off the course she’s taking now only to repeat the cycle until she finally purges the need to be literary out of her system. Her lack of any real imaginative capacity and ignorance of how things actually work has led her to believe that learning to be a writer is similar to learning how to cook tuna cardiac-arrest casseroles and greaseburgers with extra bacon; instead of following Connie’s ham-fisted suggestion of simply writing things, Elly sincerely believes that she needs a degree of some sort to prove to the world that she’s allowed to be an author. The odd thing is that she had to wait until the jerk publisher of the Valley Voice decided to guilt trip her into working for free to part-way disabuse herself of this Tab-A-into-Slot-B way of thinking; since she got her name in print and even got her Elegy for Broken Washing Machine published, she got her literary itch scratched and was able to stave off the desire to go back to school for a few years….whereupon the cycle repeated itself. Where Elly strays from the path of common sense is by making the assumption that a writing class will do more than teach her technical skills; the woman who whined about the insanely high number of essays required by the last course she took doesn't seem to realize that she not only needs to practice in order to hone her skills, she also has to have something to say in the first place. No course can make ideas appear where none exist. As an example of that, I'd like to talk about something I saw on a late-evening walk a few weeks ago; it was overcast for most of the day but in the last hour or so of daylight, the sun appeared through breaks in the clouds as it started to clear up. I like when that happens because the angle of the sunlight shining on the cloudy eastern skies made it look as if the trees, leaves and houses weren't being illuminated solely by the Sun. It was as if they had an inner light of their own that was waiting for that moment to shine. This thing that I don't have a name for doesn't last long because the clouds always recede in a few minutes but it is something that makes me feel good. Elly would look at that and simply see that she needed to pester John about raking up leaves.

Tags: amazonian catfish tinfoil hat, educating elly
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