Fear of Writing

I remember my high school and college days, being given a writing assignment by word count. Now I’m showing my age as there was nothing more than my eyes and finger to count the words. Interestingly, I was given one of the first portable Smith-Corona electric typewriters for my high school graduation, by my Aunt Lorna, God bless her. She bought it and used it to go to college in the early sixties.

In that low-tech age I wrote my paper then had a typewriter lending list as long as my arm. I tended to wait for pressure before starting, editing and finishing the paper. All done in longhand, of course, to save on essay paper and ribbons.

OK, in high school my sister and I traded homework. In French class we had assignments to write a personal story in French. My sister was better at tenses than I and didn’t know what to write, so I wrote the stories and she translated. Now my sister is a great writer and poet!

My point is that after years of fear of blogging, I’m doing it. And thank goodness you like my writing. I got up the other night at three, scared for us and the economy and am much better now. Getting up in the middle of the night and putting oneself to use by writing 500 words in a half-hour or so for personal enrichment and enjoyment is something I wouldn’t have imagined in my youth.

My 20-page thesis in high school was a daunting endeavor. My teacher and mother tried to break it down into steps. This was Mom’s shining moment in my life, when she coaxed the writer and researcher out of me. She never gave me an idea or wrote a word, and was only concerned that I place my bullet points on index cards, organize them and write headings, then write the title of the piece.

I chose Title IX, equality of women in sports. I was involved in sports and the boys had a wood floor and we had linoleum squares over concrete. When the boys’ gym was being resurfaced they took our entire gym (folding door down the middle would have worked) and made us sit in portable classrooms for six weeks but then the poor guys would have had to walk 200 feet to their locker room, boo hoo. This was in Virginia where real classes were dumbed down so much I was penalized moving back to the northeast to repeat French II.

So here I am at a high-achieving HS in upstate NY and doing the research, I found my niche, organized my cards, named my headings and called it Horses Sweat, Men Perspire, and Women Glow.” A feminist theme in a male-dominated culture. Perhaps my rebelliousness was seeded way back then. It only took 20 years for it to flourish. I wish I had a copy of that paper today. If I go through my aunt’s attic I may actually find it.

It frustrates me that in my haste to complete dinner, I’m unable to attribute that quote but say many have quoted it. Total copout. Mom would not be pleased. So after I put on the pasta I’ll try again and get back to you. Cheers! Dee