Tag: Capstone – Babcock

Pursuing a corporate career, I often ask myself: “Why Writing?” The business world is moving away from writing as a valuable skill. Even in professions that do value writing, appreciation comes few and far between. Why in the world did I dedicate countless hours to a Minor in Writing? To the Michigan Daily?

As my journey isn’t finished, I can’t say I have an answer for it. But I am getting closer, and excuse the cliches when I share my possible answers.

I furthered my understanding of what constitutes a community. through writing I felt something strangely tribal at the MiW showcase as I listened to fellow classmates share their projects after students from others. I felt proud of what we accomplished even when there was no overlap between what any of us did.

Similarly, the minor showed me that writing can build relationships. I think people better understood who I was after my workshop in the class. I certainly felt the passion that others had when I saw pieces of their work. Finding a voice and looking to be unique is what drove me on the Daily and in the class, and I am grateful the opportunity to further figure out what that means for my writing.

Finally, my time spent writing showed me my potential when I work on something that I am passionate about. When will I get the freedom on an assignment like I did with the gateway and capstone? When I am working, will I have to put passion projects to the wayside? I’ve certainly gained an appreciation for the variety of projects I saw and the fun I had making mine.

So why writing? There isn’t one good way I can put it. I may always wonder if the good I gained from it really would make a difference later on. But maybe it doesn’t have to. I can appreciate that there was something good to be had at all.

When I was younger, I was really into old Western movies for no particular reason. From classics like A Fistful of Dollars to more recent entires like No Country for Old Men, I was always drawn to the genre. Maybe it’s the tumbleweeds, or the desolate landscape, or the eerie soundtracks, but I found Westerns simply incredibly compelling.

One of the hallmarks of many of these classic Westerns is the ending. Typically, in many of these films, the final shot features the protagonist riding off into the sunset, having successfully overcame their adversaries or or otherwise resolved their conflicts. Seeing that shot at the end of each of these movies was reassuring in a way. It felt like everything was right with the world when a gunslinger acknowledged their success, while simultaneously deciding it was time to move on to a new challenge.

That same feeling has dominated much of my thinking lately. Between finishing the Minor in Writing and graduating from Michigan, it feels as if I, too, have overcame my own obstacles. Like many of those fictional characters, I feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and pride in my success. Yet, I also feel a strong sense of sadness and unhappiness. Being the one actually riding into the sunset, I now realize the pain that accompanies leaving or finishing something of real value. Deep down, I ache for the story to go on, for another capstone project to come along, for another opportunity to develop more as a writer at Michigan.

It’s why these past few weeks have been so difficult. I want to keep going–to keep pushing, to take another course, to create another piece, to do anything to prevent that solitary sun from finally setting and from the screen fading to black.

At the risk of assuming another person’s emotional state, I think some of those characters felt the same way. Or, at least, I like to think they do. Really, I struggle to believe that these tough-guy gunslingers can all move on without feeling a twinge of sadness at leaving an entire place behind, regardless of how tantalizingly exciting the future may be. It’s this specific act–the moving-on–that I think reveals much about a person’s character.

For me, my difficulty in moving-on shows how much I’ve enjoyed my time at Michigan and, more broadly, how resistant to change I am. I’ve always struggled to adapt to change, and finishing the Minor and graduating represent massive changes to my life–to all of our lives. Yet, I’m still hopeful that this will ultimately be a positive change. I may be being shoved into the sunset, rather than going voluntarily, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t enjoy it.

Into the sunset we go.

It’s almost legendary. They say it can be perilous. Until now, I thought it was some trite saying, rather than a real problem.

I’m talking—of course—about the fabled “rabbithole” and the cliché “down the rabbithole” phrase. While I began my capstone project “The Narrows” with minor concerns about the scope of my short-story choose-your-own-adventure, I am now significantly struggling to determine when and how to conclude my dystopian story. With the sheer amount of ideas and possible twists and turns I’ve sketched out, I’ve found myself deep in the rabbithole.

In grappling with the scale of my fictional universe, I repeatedly have trouble with trying to limit the amount of possible pathways in “The Narrows.” Since I want my final product to have multiple endings, I’ve encountered issues with choosing how to structure the pathways so that decisions are impactful within the context of a short-story—I’m not writing a novel here. It’s a delicate balance, I think, and one that I’m trying to achieve by reviewing some of the dystopian short stories I read during the initial research phase of my project, including Ray Bradbury’s “The Pedestrian” and Kurt Vonnegut’s “2 B R 0 2 B.” So far, I’m still trapped in the rabbithole, but I’m hoping these professional examples can stimulate me to make some concrete decisions about the scope of “The Narrows.”

As I continue updating the story’s pathways and dramatic possibilities, I’m eager to hear any advice or thoughts any of you might have on my situation. If there’s some hidden formula you’ve found to solving this rabbithole dilemma, I’d love to hear it.

As the clock is ticking down, I have made significant strides in the creation of my entire project (content, web page, emotional well-being about the state of my project and my entire future). I imagine many of you inherently feel the same way. But like Zeno’s Paradox, this kind of progress has been a Russian nesting doll for other problems.

I write a piece for the website. Great! Where does it fit? Do I have to reorganize how the links are being displayed? Now I have placed it and I continue to look at my website. Should I have made another tab? Do I even like the color scheme that I used? If you work like I do, you can make these annoying changes whenever a free time opportunity comes up. A few changes here and there and then off to class, rinse and repeat.

Some times these small changes pose unnecessary introspective questions like if I should have picked another topic to start with or a different medium or if I should have simplified or gotten even more complex.

But I argue that these thoughts are good. Thoughts about where to add a new piece on my website is good. It forces you to notice and perfect everything. There may never be a true conclusion to the project since it will be submitted no matter what whether you are completely satisfied or not. In this instance, where you may never feel at ease, you can practice coping with that realization. And beyond all that, these nuanced questions can make you appreciate all of the progress you have made. I had an idea, and I wrote words and made a website. And I am worried about color and a button size? That’s awesome!

The near completion of my website, in reality, doesn’t totally alter how stressed I can be to actually finish it. But I am more comfortable that I have something to show. I can smile at the thousands of words in my google drive. I can smile at my Wix page that somewhat resembles a nice website.

Good luck and work hard in these next few weeks!