I only signed up for Creative Writing because I didn't want to take any sort of painting or drawing class. I burn myself and everything I touch when cooking. Study hall doesn't earn me any graduation credit. I don't aspire to be a mechanic or an engineer. So I chose Creative Writing.
I realize I should be grateful that my upper-middle-class high school even offers all these classes, but I'm starting to regret my choice. I've always fancied myself a writer, and I don't want to shatter that illusion. Fiction I can do half-well, and I've been conditioned to write complex critical and persuasive essays. But the first unit is creative nonfiction, and I'm scared. Scared I'm going to have to reveal how dull my life really is, how I haven't sucked the marrow out of life enough to have any stories worth retelling (I'm too young and too timid), scared that even if I find a suitable topic, my writing will be horrible.
Yes, I've seen this video. But I feel that's really more about writing fiction (that time will come, I will then have similar anxiety. . .). What in hell am I supposed to write about when we were prompted to write 13 short pieces on 13 experiences that were extremely happy, sad, frightening, difficult? Newsflash: This is my life. I spend it in my room, listening to music, reading, and writing. Not writing writing much, either. Writing blogs and tumblr posts. Having an elaborate typed conversation with the inside of my computer to keep my mental health in check. Making half assed passes at my novel. I'm not good at finishing things. (Theoretically, these should ultimately be helping me to improve my craft. But this class is different. Someone is going to have to see this, read it, judge it. Do not want. In the passages I submit, I can't swear or reference memes or use excessive parentheses or just let sentences trail off. Do not want.)
Sure, I occasionally venture out into the real world to get an "education", interact with people, eat. But I'm happiest where I am right now. I'm content, but contentment doesn't lend itself to well-defined, well-described moments. It's a routine state of being and I try to keep it that way. It's my life. Maybe it's dull on the surface, but it's really all I can handle.
Now please excuse me while I go scour previous blog posts for suitable material. (It's not plagiarism if I take it from myself, right?)