JOURNAL NO.1

Since my arrival in Paris about two weeks ago, I’ve had an extremely difficult time putting my words to paper. I expected that once I got here words and thoughts would be flowing through my head like water flowing through a stream. The problem is that there are so many of them that it’s becoming near impossible to write them out. 

A big reason why I came here was for inspiration. Back in New York I noticed that my writing was beginning to go nowhere. I would start a piece, be unable to complete it and then start another. Leaving what felt like hundreds of stories left alone that would never blossom into more. But once I started rereading  A Moveable Feast, I remembered something. In the first chapter of his memoir Hemingway wrote, “Maybe away from Paris I could write about Paris as in Paris I could write about Michigan” (59-60). 

Similar to the saying, “You never know what you’ve got till it’s gone”, what Hemingway is noting seems to ring almost unbelievably true to me. I think that the troubles I faced writing in New York came up because I hadn’t had a chance to get away. I was stuck there and I then became stuck with my writing. I haven't tired to write about New York since I got here, because I was too determined to write about Paris. I think, however, like Hemingway I must take a step back and write about New York away from New York and Paris away from Paris. 

This strategy doesn’t necessarily have to be the one and only way I write for the next five months — I just feel like I have to try it out that way I can get passed this feeling of confinement within my writing. 

I haven’t read any Hemingway in about four years. I fell in love with his writing when I was a freshman in high school, after reading The Sun Also Rises and The Old Man and the Sea. My English teacher saw that I couldn’t put either book down, and gave me her copy of A Moveable Feast. Since that time, though, I have barely touched or thought about Hemingway’s work. Rereading A Moveable Feast at my age now and physically being in Paris, his words seem even more relevant and important to me as a writer and a foreigner living in this amazing city. 

Ever since I first encountered Hemingway, I’ve loved his work and I always will. This past semester I had to read Gertrude Stein’s The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas. To my disappointment I didn’t finish reading it because I just didn't like it much. Stein’s style of writing just isn’t my personal favorite and her language didn’t captivate or motivate me to continue reading. The excerpt assigned to us for this class had a similar affect on me, however, some of the things she was saying seemed to make a lot of sense. They actually caught my attention and made me think — so I hope to reread The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas and hopefully I will enjoy it just a little more. 

As I stare out of the window in my living room in Paris, I think about all of the possibilities that are waiting for me out there. Possibilities for my writing, my life, my personal growth and my education. I want to know this city like I know my own — New York City. I want to know the people here like I know the people there. The past couple weeks have shown be that both of these feats won’t be extremely difficult to achieve. 

I think about the many true sentences that will come to my mind and help me begin a story that I know I’ll finish. I plan to learn from Hemingway and all other expatriate authors that have spent time in Paris. But I mean really learn. I want to take something from their writing, something that will help me to shape my own personal style and voice. At times that sounds like the easiest thing I could possibly do and at other times it sounds like the hardest. Its always difficult to distinguish between learning and copying. I don’t want to copy any expatriate authors’ voice and style exactly. I just want to take from it something I can incorporate into my own style/voice. 

Writing this blog entry has helped me realize why I’ve been struggling so much to write since I arrived in Paris. I wrote it a little earlier in this piece, but again, it’s because there are so many different thoughts and words and ideas going through my head that I can’t decide on one. I can’t decide on what story seems to be the most true or the most inviting to me. Its almost easier to write something when you have one specific idea or thought and are just trying to expand on it, compared to when you’re trying to chose one idea out of eighty that are racing through your mind. 

But I think I also have to focus on writing about somewhere or something else — not Paris I mean. I think once I’m able to start, work on and finish one story about something completely unrelated to Paris and my time here, I’ll be back in the zone and ready to write anything. Who really knows though? 

This whole struggle might be for a good reason — maybe writing isn’t something that I am as excited about as I thought. Since September I’ve been having problems writing. I couldn't finish anything in New York. And now I can’t even start something. That’s a scary thought, though.

I’m a writer and I always have been. In any situation that I’ve faced; good, bad, scary, happy, funny, etc., the first thing I need to do in order to fully understand and wrap my head around it is write a story. The story doesn’t necessarily have to be exactly what the situation was, but based off of it somehow. I need to write to get through hard times and figure out how I really feel. Since I haven’t really been able to write for about four months, I’m scared to find out the reason why. I’m scared that it’s for a big and important reason that I’m just too stubborn to allow myself to realize. Writing this isn’t even really helping me.

But maybe this is just the beginning, you know, acknowledging that there’s a reason why I’m have such a hard time. I feel like there’s no way for me or anyone to rush the process of getting passed this problem. I just have to let things unfold and push myself to keep writing and get through it on my own. If that doesn’t work I guess I’ll need to take a step back. Away from my notebook and away from my computer. Just bask in my thoughts and sort them out until one thought turns into an idea that I can write out. 

I have no doubt in my mind that taking this class and taking the Urban Walking Tours class will help me in more ways then I can imagine. And being here in Paris won’t hurt either. Its about patience, timing, and effortlessness. The harder one tries, the faster one fails. 

Now I know I have to start with one true sentence and write about Paris when I’m away from Paris. Let’s see how that works out.