Finished my paper...

Well, I have finally completed my application form for The Guardian. I finished the last section earlier today, and to be honest, I am quite relieved. I had to type an example review on some piece of entertainment, the kind of review that I would be writing on a more frequent basis if I was to get hired. I'm relieved solely because I finished the piece, not because I'm satisfied with it. Although my writing has improved dramatically in the past year, it has merely improved on a superficial level. Sure, my vocabulary has grown, my grammar improved, and my overall control of tone more noticeable, but these are all relatively minor and insignificant compared with the other major aspects of writing that I still need to work on. For one, I still write in a voice that I wish to be heard in. I still want to try and sound like Anthony Lane, or Michael Dirda, or Joan Didion, and I don't believe this sort of strategy ever really works. In other words, I still need to find my own voice. But finding this "own voice" of yours is much more difficult than I thought. When I speak, the voice comes naturally, and the personality, too. But, when I try to transfer that personality onto the page, it becomes much more difficult. Why is that? I'm not sure. I wonder why I can't communicate in the written word with the grace that I display when speaking. It's a tricky issue, but I'm sure it's an issue that many writers face. Perhaps I should read more memoirs by different writers. I mean, the only book I do not own of Dirda's is his memoir. Why is that? I guess I just find reviews more interesting to read than memoirs. But, memoirs are the genre that, by nature, allow the most room for empathy. I would hope that the writer is intentionally writing with the hope that someone could relate with them. You don't think like that when writing critcism. It's a completely different animal.

Revisiting a neglected friend...

It has been many a sunrise since I last typed in this little ol' blog of mine, but that all-important need to express myself in the written word never truly came up in these past few months. And isn't that why most people write in the first place? There's usually a need, festering inside one's bodily cage of epidermis and striations, striving for some opening to escape (Isn't that how most good art gets made?). However, for me, that need was just not there... until today.

For the last... few months, really... I have been devoting a larger percentage of my time to the reading of non-fiction, criticism specifically. All of this reading has made me realize more and more that the writing of criticism is what I truly want to do, perhaps even what I was born to do. I do not mean to imply that I am good at writing criticism, or even good at criticism itself. However, by trying to live the life that I was blessed with as actively and openly as possible, I basically realized that what I truly am, that the best way to describe and most accurately characterize my infinitely variable person would be that of "a fan of life". Cliched, yes, but so what? I have realized that it is true, and I currently find that more important.

However, I will make it known that my love is not an unprejudiced love, for some things in life requires the responsible individual to make judgment upon. Indeed, I would say that some aspects of life are not worth loving at all. Bad art, for one, is quite annoying. Heartless individuals are also another aspect of life that most people have to deal with, but could most definitely do with less of. And what is the critic's job? Specifically that. To pass judgment. Although, let's be clear, it is not judgment of the kind that is meted and doled out arbitrarily; on the other hand, it should be the complete opposite: the opinions and thoughts of a critical, well-meaning mind.

So yes, I realized at some random point (possibly when I began to realize the public power of the critic through the reading and watching of Christopher Hitchens) that I needed to be, and establish, myself as an important public intellectual. However, that is not why I am writing in my blog again. Rather, this quarter (alas, my final one) at UCSD, I am taking a non-fiction writing course with one relatively amazing professor, a lady by the name of Halle Shilling who possesses that rare but infinitely important quality as a teacher: she seems to genuinely care for the well-being of her students (or at least their writing). Honestly inspired by her and the work she has had us read so far (mind you, it has only been two lectures), I've decided that I need to improve the quality of my writing. And what better way to improve than by reading more and writing more? Thus, I have decided to, in a sense, revive my blog from the graveyard of used up, burnt out blogs, and give it some more active attention and loving from now on. Let's see how I do....