writing about writing

I am on a quest to become a "blogger." I don't know what has sparked this. Perhaps starting to write a bit again has brought some itch to the surface. I was reminded by something I heard a friend say a few years ago: "My fingers are possessed by the will to write." I used to be like that. Words were just so big and so powerful I couldn't contain them.

WHAT HAPPENED?

I think part of it was that I used to think poetry was my "thing." I've had this unfinished novel that has the potential to be great stuffed in a drawer for years with well over 200 pages written, but poetry was my forte. Or so I thought. Nothing like a poetry class to squash that dream. It's not that my teacher or even having to create in a structured environment stifled my creativity. Nothing just ever came, and I can honestly admit that my best piece of writing was a parody on the 3 little pigs that modernized the Big Bad Wolf to a 1920s gangster. And my sister was the one who thought of that idea (It turned out very good though I must admit...) Maybe it was because within that structured environment there were suddenly all these rules for what I had always viewed as a medium of free expression.

Yes, I know writing has rules and have learned some new ones over the years. Adverbs suck, write about what you know, most rhyming is cheesy unless you're a rapper then it's great (no, that's not right...). I understand. But ever since I began writing I was all about breaking the rules. Not in some attempt of fruitless rebellion against my junior high and high school english teachers. More than anything it was an effort to write how I speak. Formal, academic writing is a personal pet peeve. I use slang when I talk; I speak in fragments; why should I be a different person on paper than I am live? So this whole regimented poetry thing was just not for me.

On the other hand, I thrived in my Creative Nonfiction class. So awesome; take it if you get the chance at ASU - ENG 217. (Professor Camille Newton rocks). Writing about myself and my experiences was so easy and refreshing and being (almost) completely let loose while at the same time being equipped with so many new tools of expression - exhilarating. Even producing work that was not my best left me in awe of a freshly new discovered talent.

The problem is though, I don't want to just write. I want to be read. I kept a journal pretty religiously for 2010 and I still write down for myself my most private thoughts. But for goodness sakes, I want someone to read my material besides my husband and mom. So in an attempt to scratch this itch I'll blog obsessively about...random? Probably. Oh well.

I think this itch also has to do with the fact that I've decided to double major in Print Journalism and Education when I get to BYU. Hooray!

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wisdom from dad

Each of us makes his own weather, determines the color of the skies in the emotional universe which he inhabits.

- Fulton J. Sheen

I got a letter from my dad a few weeks ago. I opened the envelope to find a half sheet of paper with this tidbit of wisdom typed up. No "Hi, how are you?" or even a "Dear Cozette," coupled with a "Love, Dad." He offered no explanation of where he found this quote, who Fulton J. Sheen was, or any kind of normal letter-writing behavior. Yet in the lack of explanation, of colloquial small talk, I realized that although sometimes I forget, my father knows me better than almost anyone. He may not be the person I tell all my problems or chat up with my girl talk, but he understands the way I think and feel.

During junior high I started collecting quotes as a kind of hobby. I wrote anything I deemed worth remembering down in a spiral bound notebook with Napoleon Dynamite on the cover which my sisters gave to me. I carried it around everywhere, whipped it out during movies, conversations, school. I added to my collection over the years with higher quality journals and a Quotes section in the Notes application on my Blackberry. One time while rifling through my parents books and stuff in their office, I found a small green book with gold outlining on the cover. I flipped it open and found pages and pages filled with my dad's scrawly, impossible-to-read lawyer handwriting that scribbled out quote after quote after quote. Some were funny, others inspirational, many were from Sherlock Holmes novels. And I realized we had never really talked about quote-collecting and this was a trait and habit I had inherited unbeknownst to either of us. Now that I come to really think about it, the book that first sparked my interest in quote collecting was called "Wisdom from Dad," a father's quote journal published by his son after the father died. It was arranged topically, filled with quotations from presidents to prophets, anonymous proverbs to what the author called "Dad-isms." Coincidence?

In one sentence, my dad addressed what hours spent on the phone with other family or friends, or Facebook chats, or talks with Travis on the couch or in bed during restless, stressful nights could sometimes only help to achieve. In one sentence, he established not only pathos but ethos by relating to me in a deeply personal way that I've used as a medium nearly my whole life - written word.

I am the kind of person who truly believes, "it's the thought that counts." Not as an excuse for a lame present or unfinished presentation, but as a quality that is just as important as what is physically given. One of the best presents I ever received was a book of classic American poetry, a journal, and a pen from a dear friend. In that small bundle, the flattery and excitement came from the depth of understanding this person had of me rather than from the gifts themselves.

Although my dad may have merely sent this short letter to suggest we begin a new pen-pal tradition, his small token of affection resulted in much more. In a period in my life full of change and turmoil and feelings of one of the few things I truly fear - inadequacy - I needed these words of wisdom. During times of adversity I often look to my parents' examples for the will to carry on. They have overcome unbelievable trials and pains and have come through scathed but strengthened. Hearing their stories, however, I often put their abilities on a pedestal. I would never suggest their struggles were somehow easier to bear than mine, but sometimes I catch myself thinking that they were able to deal with them because my mom and dad are just better, stronger, more faithful than I am. And even though I know this is not necessarily true, I still fear sometimes that I will never rise to their level and become a person that my children and others will revere and respect as much as I do them.

In one sentence, my dad not only demonstrated that he knows me better than I ever thought he did, but that he does because he has faced similar trials and has used this wisdom to aid in overcoming them. He knows me because he has walked where I'm walking and seen what I'm seeing and felt what I'm feeling. In one sentence, he has empowered me to become who I want to be right now instead of waiting for something to change or get easier.

This morning was just one of those mornings. Even though I slept for way too long and was no longer sleepy, I woke up so tired. Exhausted from the day-to-day stress, loneliness, and uncertainty of life right now. Getting out of bed seemed too big a feat. I was already conquered by anxiety and sadness by 7:02. A lack of physical sickness forced me up and to work where I could just feel a dark raincloud hovering over me, drenching me in the blues. As I fought through my melancholy mood, I remembered this quote, the feeling of overwhelming emotion as I read it for the first time and my choked-up voicemail on my dad's cell later that day expressing my gratitude and appreciation for this small but very influential gesture of kindness.

Remembering that, I decided to paint my skies blue and sunny, and I was happy.

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Weekend

This has been a sports-filled weekend. Travis finished filling out his March Madness bracket on Thursday, in which he has Louisville and Kentucky playing in the championship game. He made me fill out a bracket about a bunch of teams I know/care nothing about, so I based my decisions off of which school had the best uniforms, mascots, a cooler name and cutest players. #3 seed Syracuse is the winner! On Friday, Travis's brothers Matt and Aaron, came over to watch the games. Travis and I made dinner - chicken tenders dunked in Asian Zing sauce (I miss you, BWW's...), salad with carrots, cucumber, peppers, and cucumber ranch dressing, and homemade guacamole with one part mashed avocado to one part mashed peas (amps up the flavor, color, and nutrients to add peas. Also gives you 2x as much guacamole for less than half the cost).

After a RIVETING (sarcasm, but only a little) 6 hours of whiplash from switching from basketball game to basketball game, I hit the sack leaving the Mark boys to their male bonding. During that period, basically all of Travis's hopes of winning the Mark Family Tourney were squashed when Louisville surprisingly lost to Morehead (which, if I was creating my bracket purely on the names of schools, I may have had Morehead going all the way. Instead I listened to Travis who said there's no way a 3 seed would lose to a 14 seed...) So, Travis is basically done. To be honest, I never had a chance. Nicole is killing all of us in the 99.4th percentile, and that's that.

Yesterday, after sleeping in until almost 10, the grocery store, errands, and Travis's DB appointment, he made ME dinner! Broiled salmon and mashed potatoes - Dad, you would have been proud. We watched The Proposal (hilarious. And Travis admitted it was "a good movie." Ahem - not "chick flick." "Movie." The difference between legit and...not). We got ready and headed to Karson Wood's house for UFC 128. It's become such a tradition in our relationship, it seems silly now that I even tried to refuse to go because I didn't want to intrude on "boys night." It was really good to see him and Justin Smith again, and the fights were alright I guess. Some guy with corn rows and I swear is the older version of one of my preschool students beat some other ugly guy in the new-to-the-UFC Bantam Weight 135 lb. division. Then Jon "Bones" Jones fought Shogun Rua (who could very attractive minus the unibrow). Jones wore Shogun down, threw in some very cool back handed elbows and punches, which of course Justin complemented with jokes about how that's the same backhand he uses to hit his girlfriend with. Good ol' Justin. The fight was called by TKO, making Jones the new champion. Rashad Evans came into the octagon for some stupid WWE style drama courtesy of Joe Rogan: "Ooh you guys are such good friends and train together blah blah. You said a while ago you'd never fight but now there is nowhere else to go since you're the next contender for the title." To which Rashad replied, "Well I guess you should never say never!" I half expected some midget to jump in and start talking trash. Blah blah the end of that.

Today after church we keep trying to watch movies On Demand but our stupid DVR thingy is broken and Travis is talking to the Comcast support lady who keeps making small talk and calling him "Trav" (?) and we are trying to watch "The Blindside" (continuing our sports/Sandra Bullock weekend). Later, dinner with Teri and Spencer, maybe some homework, maybe a little lesson planning, probably another movie. Typical sunday.

Coming up: April 1st - Russia, Samara mission reunion with President and Sister Davydik, flying all the way from Belarus thanks to the Davydik fund that's been growing for a year and a half. Oh and President and Sister Bennett will be there too. Andy and Mikenna Winn are going to crash at our place that night and Travis is super giddy about it.

April 2nd - GOODBYE UTAH, HELLO ARIZOOOONA! I'm flying down to AZ for Challenger's Spring Break and will be there for a whole week. Travis is driving down the following Thursday to be there for the weekend. I'm SO excited to see my family and friends and enjoy the beautiful AZ weather. 13 more days!!!

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