Wow, so tonight I polished off the third ten-page paper I've written in the last two weeks, and I came to the realization that I've really found my groove in terms of academic paper-writing. It seems the first two years I've written papers for class that were good, you know - ones which acceptably met the guidelines for length, content, amount of analysis, whatever - but not above par.
And finally I've snagged it, the grace of writing that feels natural even in the confines of the academic voice. Length doesn't phase me because it's simply another border within which to work, but doesn't really change the level of 'difficulty' in writing the paper. It would sound blasphemous to the student of my times past, but I can proclaim now: "I enjoy it! I thrive off this stuff. I'd be absolutely content spending the rest of my life churning out pages filled with ideas and dance these words around to infinity." There must be a scientific basis for this "writer's high." Once I pushed through the muck of tentative freshman- and sophomore-year writing, those countless essays of stop-and-go, half-formed arguments (which felt like
pointless essays then), I hit my stride here, this fall of my junior semester. However, history can't be written as it's occurring, right? Time'll tell.
Maybe the sheer number of pages I've subjected myself to writing this semester, taking three English classes and another two which involve several essays, has forced me to break the ennui. Last week, I had felt utterly drained: as if all the words had been taken out of me. But then I knew, it's a part of the writing process and it's a part of what makes writing so damn difficult sometimes - when there's nothing left, still you must take more from yourself. And it's probably why so many writers have a psychotic break. Heh, I kid... maybe.
Next week I've got final exams. This winter break is going to feel niiice.
