Hello all! Danielle here. I am a sophomore majoring in Philosophy and, of course, minoring in writing. A little bit about me: well, nothing brings me more happiness than sitting at a coffee shop with a friend sharing our favorite quotes, though I also simply love reading, writing, doing yoga, and, of course, long walks on the beach. (Yes, that was meant to make you smile, but—even more comically—I am actually being serious). Born and raised in California, I am new to all this cold, snow stuff. Growing up, I spent hours sprawled out in the sun, soaking up all that life-giving vitamin D. While I miss home, everyday I am truly happy to be here, surrounded by lovely people such as yourselves.
My friends, by the way, call me D. Surely it started as a way to shorten Danielle, but I like to think it’s because I provide the sunshine on all these cloudy Michigan days.
And, last week, on one of the types of dreary Michigan nights I am still adjusting to, I wrote the following about how I write:
Here I hunch, on the side of the street, scribbling disgruntled thoughts into my journal in below freezing, snowy weather. Admittedly, a substantial portion of my weekend was spent worrying. I spent the slow hours at work contemplating what to write for this first assignment. But now here I am: wind whipping my face, fingers turning too numb to finish my thought, yet anxiety finally easing. As soon as I stopped actively questioning, I approached on some answers.
So what did I realize about how I write? Well, to start, how I write, how I would like to think I write and, moreover, how I would like to actually write are overwhelmingly discrepant.
I had imagined myself telling tales of my careful writing process, detailing how I begin my first drafts and proceeding to proclaim how the rest of my process progresses, soundly, steadily. Now, this idea makes me laugh. My mind does not move when I call it to. Sitting and staring at a blank screen never gets me anywhere. Sometimes I have an idea immediately and other times it takes until the last minute, but regardless the work that I tend to be able to proudly put on paper come to me when I am simply living: walking home after a long day, sitting in a large lecture hall, and singing in the shower.
… Now, enjoy this awkward picture of me smelling one of the first flowers last spring: