Creative Writing 112
When I was a uni student in Australia, I opted to take Creative Writing as one of my electives. Yes, I was (and still am) an aspiring writer who dreamt of writing my book one day.
In retrospect, I was surrounded by people who read immensely and had profound respect for writers, thinkers, artists and any creative individuals. Having such people in my uni crowd influenced me greatly to read widely and explore other form of writings and to discover new and old writers. Nevertheless, in my final year, I automatically signed up for an elective in creative writing.
The year was 1995 when I enroled in Brigid Lowry's creative writing class. I still remember the building where the class was held- Communications 501 building. The moment you step into the building, you are immediately transported back to the 70s. Formica chairs and tables that had a strange, dull, plasticky scent. The musty green carpets. The grey concrete block-like walls of the hallways. It was a bare, functional, sparse and industrial building with a strong utilitarian feel. Not surprisingly, it was freezing cold inside.
Brigid, however, was a contradiction. She was a wonderful teacher with warm, brown eyes and a deep, earthy voice. She was a true creative spirit who radiated much joy to those around her. Her clothing were always colourful - deep purples, vivid blues and brilliant greens. It was apparent that she loved teaching the class, from the way she gently prodded us to stretch our creative self and reminded us to get a grip on the truth when writing.
I still steal time to write every now and then. Especially when I'm alone, when I'm waiting for someone in a public place, when I'm waiting in airports, when I'm bored at social gatherings.
Here's a peek at my work which I did exactly 10 years ago, in Brigid's class.
In retrospect, I was surrounded by people who read immensely and had profound respect for writers, thinkers, artists and any creative individuals. Having such people in my uni crowd influenced me greatly to read widely and explore other form of writings and to discover new and old writers. Nevertheless, in my final year, I automatically signed up for an elective in creative writing.
The year was 1995 when I enroled in Brigid Lowry's creative writing class. I still remember the building where the class was held- Communications 501 building. The moment you step into the building, you are immediately transported back to the 70s. Formica chairs and tables that had a strange, dull, plasticky scent. The musty green carpets. The grey concrete block-like walls of the hallways. It was a bare, functional, sparse and industrial building with a strong utilitarian feel. Not surprisingly, it was freezing cold inside.
Brigid, however, was a contradiction. She was a wonderful teacher with warm, brown eyes and a deep, earthy voice. She was a true creative spirit who radiated much joy to those around her. Her clothing were always colourful - deep purples, vivid blues and brilliant greens. It was apparent that she loved teaching the class, from the way she gently prodded us to stretch our creative self and reminded us to get a grip on the truth when writing.
I still steal time to write every now and then. Especially when I'm alone, when I'm waiting for someone in a public place, when I'm waiting in airports, when I'm bored at social gatherings.
Here's a peek at my work which I did exactly 10 years ago, in Brigid's class.
Face Value
"Don't ever do anything to lose face," says Aunty Bo, respect the elderly, watch how you talk and act.
Must follow the rules,
must follow the tradition,
must not talk back.
Swept the floor on the
first day of the Lunar Year,
stony glares and silences
and sharp elbow protests.
Disobeyed therules.
Shame, shame, shame.
Broke the tradition,
can't go back there,
lost face and
myself.
posted by Cupcake Queen at 9:58 AM
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