Micro essays?

In my attempt to find something worthy of blogging about this week, I began to stumble, randomly and haphazardly about the internet, and came upon a very interesting new concept that I couldn't have fathomed, had I not found it! At creativenonfiction.org, the website for the Creative Nonfiction Foundation and their publications, I found among their submission calls a unique one. The call reads, "Can you tell a true story in 130 characters (or fewer)? Think you could write one hundred CNF-worthy micro essays a day? Go for it. We dare you. There's no limit. Simply follow Creative Nonfiction on Twitter and tag your tiny truths with the trending topic #cnftweet. That's it."
My curiosity piqued, I followed a link to their "favorites" of this category (found here), and found a world of fascinating little stories. This is a project that seems quite interesting to me, as it combines the unique elements of Twitter (which, of course, we've been working with in Communications) and the world of creative nonfiction to create a very interesting set of limitations. This set of limitations forces writers to think in terms they obviously would not have to otherwise. I think that it would be quite an interesting experiment to see just how many "micro essays" I might be able to come up with, and I am considering making this concept into a personal project. Of course, this concept works not just for creative nonfiction, but for all types of writing. What kind of stories would any of us write, limited to 130 characters?

I'll give my best shot at coming up with one of these micro-essays here:
#cnftweet 10 years old, he lay sprawled out, arms and legs lazily rest on wood chips, motionless; I worry, tap the glass; he moves. Relief.

So now, tell me what I've written about (if I've done a good job, you should have a basic idea), and see if you can write your own 130-character story.

Full circle, part 2

My English class that first quarter was English 101, and my instructor was quite thorough. In retrospect, I can thank her for caring so much about her job, as I have seen many instructors since who clearly do not have the amount of passion that this one does. Everything was very well-explained and she had a multitude of material available weeks in advance. The work load, however, was quite heavy. On the first day of class, we were all required to post an introduction of ourselves, and given an assignment to write briefly about our strengths and weaknesses in writing and what we hoped to get out of the class. To me, this seemed like a silly question. What I hoped to get out of the class was a decent grade so that I could move on to the next. The instructor anticipated this reaction and asked us to specify what, other than to pass, we wanted. I avoided the question as well as I could and hoped that would be the end of it. When I received a response pointing out that I had not answered the question, I frowned. What could I say to pass this first, intimidating test? I decided to say that, because I used to love reading and had not picked up a book for pleasure in more than five years, I wanted to renew my love of reading and, by extension, writing (as I used to journal and write poetry in high school). This was a cop-out. Sure, it would be nice if it happened, but I didn't intend to expend any of my precious energy on making these things happen. The quarter progressed and I became more comfortable in all of my classes; I learned the expectations of each of the instructors (some far higher than others), and I threw tantrums when I became overwhelmed with work. Several times, I threatened to give up, frustrated that there was just too much to do, or the work (invariably math) was too difficult.

As I came to the end of the quarter, I could confidently say that my writing skills had improved. I was more confident in my interactions with peers, and beginning to think that I may actually have some sort of real talent at writing, beyond what I could trust my friends and family to reveal. I still had not picked up a book, and still preferred to occupy my free time playing computer games and watching television. I could recall that reading a book once brought me great pleasure, but when weighed against the arsenal of electronics at my disposal, the written word paled in comparison.

On March 5th, I had the great pleasure of boarding an airplane to Maui. It was my fourth trip to Hawaii, but it was my boyfriend's first. There were two weeks left in the quarter, and I had spent the previous one working overtime in attempt to get a week ahead on all of my class work so that I would be able to take this vacation. Generally, I can't stand sitting on an airplane for longer than five hours, but when you're heading off to Hawaii, everything else seems inconsequential. Still, I needed something to do, and my general policy is to bring a book. The only books that aren't packed up in storage are the few that I took in my bag when I moved out of my mom's house more than three years ago. The book that I took with me was Barrel Fever by David Sedaris.

Sedaris is an author that I fell in love with when I first began to read Me Talk Pretty One Day more than eight years ago. I had all but forgotten this love when I opened this book on my flight to Maui. By the time I returned home, I was rereading the other books of his that I have, and shortly thereafter, buying new copies of all the others that I had packed up. Just days after my return from vacation, I was in turmoil trying to decide what to do with my life, knowing that pastry was not the final stop for me. I worried and fretted and weighed my options; I did research and talked to counselors and made myself sick with stress. Throughout it all, it kept coming back to writing. I would ask myself questions, like, "What do I really like to do? What would I do as a career if I didn't limit myself with fear?"

As the final assignment for English 101, we were required to reflect on the statement we had made at the beginning of the quarter and determine whether we had met our own goals, and what still needed improvement. I found it quite ironic as I wrote, sincerely, that my goals had been met. I had supposedly set out to renew my passion for reading and writing, and had accidentally accomplished both with much greater vigor than I could have imagined.

Full circle, part 1

Today, I offer not instructions, for my repertoire is small in that department, but an anecdote about how I came to decide that writing was what I really wanted to do. Also, as a note, I realize this is quite long, despite being broken into parts, and I apologize, but hopefully it is interesting enough to warrant reading. I suppose this is technically a short story.

On December 2nd, I walked out of the pastry building at South Seattle Community College exhausted but triumphant. I had passed my practical test, the infamous and dreaded final exam of pastry school, and was free. I couldn't help but to feel an enormous wave of relief crash over me as I quickly made my way to the parking lot, eager as ever to be home. Yet, the entire day had been shadowed by a melancholy whisper; I had grown accustomed of the place over the two and a half years I rushed and sweated within its intestines. The pastry lab, and life as a pastry student, had become a comfortable part of me, including the frustration and anger I had grown accustomed to feeling with myself, school, and ultimately, life in general. As I left the pastry lab for what has, so far, been the last time, I felt overwhelmingly relieved, but just a little bit sad, as I knew I'd miss the routine and all the little things.

I opted to take my academic courses after the hands-on program. I did this mainly because I had the means to do so, and as a college student able to make decisions like this, you can bet I would sway things in favor of more time to myself. I spent a good two weeks laying around doing absolutely nothing after I finished pastry school, and then I decided that for the following quarter, I would register for online classes and eliminate the drive I'd dreaded waking up to every morning for the past two years. Again, I did this for less than admirable reasons. I had been driving out to SSCC five mornings a week for over two years, and I didn't want to anymore. It was also a way of easing myself back into academic classwork, as I hadn't done any since high school. It actually proved to be more beneficial than I could have ever imagined.

As I began my first online classes, I was intimidated and had no idea what to expect. I registered for four online classes that quarter, and quickly learned that such a thing was surprising to hear. Most people reacted to me as if I had told them I was also working fifty hours a week. The workload was heavy and I'll admit that I didn't always thoroughly read everything, but I did the work and managed. It was an incredibly stressful time for me, but among it I found renewed passion where I sincerely didn't think I would.

What the hell is creative nonfiction?

Creative nonfiction is one of my favorite genres and a personal favorite to write, though I don't claim to have any authority on the matter. To be honest, though, I hadn't actually heard of the term until somewhat recently. Creative nonfiction has been around for quite some time, though it has recently been getting an extra special amount of social attention as of the past few years. I've had several people ask me what the hell it is. It's a good question! Creative nonfiction is, as the name might suggest, a factual account which employs literary styles and techniques. The most accurate description that I have found to make sense of this comes from Barbara Lounsberry in The Art of Fact (1), and states, "Verifiable subject matter and exhaustive research guarantee the nonfiction side of literary nonfiction; the narrative form and structure disclose the writer’s artistry; and finally, its polished language reveals that the goal all along has been literature."

So, creative nonfiction is essentially a story which must be derived from fact but employs literary techniques so as to be read like fiction. The most popular books of this genre are most likely memoirs, which have gone through phases of popularity in the past ten years or so. My absolute favorite author in the world happens to primarily write creative nonfiction and is no doubt partially responsible for the boom in memoir popularity, as he has gained a truly inordinate amount of attention for an author. Perhaps unsurprisingly, if you've glanced at my list of favorite books, I am speaking about David Sedaris, and I would recommend all of his books to anyone. When I think about creative nonfiction at its finest, perhaps I do a disservice to all of the authors who came before him when I acknowledge Sedaris first and foremost, but over the years, his books have won a place in my heart which I can now label "creative nonfiction," and which I look forward to expanding.

1. Lounsberry, Barbara. The Art of Fact. Conn: Greenwood Press, 1990. Wikipedia. Web. 18 May 2011. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creative_nonfiction#cite_note-Louxiii-2>

Beginnings

My name is Nikkolas Mullin; I am a 23-year-old student at South Seattle Community College, and I spent the last three years learning Pastry and Specialty Baking. What I discovered through all of this is that, amazingly, writing is what I want to do. Throughout my life, I have received praise for my "way with words," and have enjoyed the various aspects of writing, but never took them seriously. As I began taking academic courses at South, I had the fortune of having a very demanding English 101 professor, who at first drove me crazy. As the quarter progressed, I began to realize the value of an instructor that cares. It was during this time that my love for reading and writing was renewed, and since then, I have decided to pursue writing as a career. The next step for me in my path is finishing up my academic transfer credits, as I intend to apply to the University of Washington's Creative Writing path under the English major as soon as I am able. My interests lie primarily in fiction and creative nonfiction, and this blog will deal with the variety of challenges and circumstances I face as I begin my journey to find my place in the world of literature.

I can be reached at nmullin342 @ southseattle.edu.