living as a writer

things i noticed during my spring quarter at stanford

during the final quarter of my freshman year, i took english 190: intermediate fiction. one of my homework assignments was to take note of at least one thing i noticed each day. whether it was the way a tree bent or the stale smell of beer in a frat, i had to take note of the world around me. i had to live as a writer.

this task wasn’t completely foreign to me. even before taking the class, i often found myself jotting down little details that stood out to me, whether internal or external. the difference? intentionality. now, i was required to pay attention to the world. things i would have never given thought to suddenly grasped my attention. every smell, every word, every idea found itself in the notebook.

these notes are the basis to the majority of the stories i am currently working on. in fact, i am starting a short story today based on a compilation of these minute details.

i provided my SUNHOUSE literary mentee the same assignment—to notice, and to take note. to actively be a writer, even when not writing.

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here are just a few of the notes i took:

4.13 a group of three people playing frisbee even though its raining outside. they’re in a grassy area under a tree and it feels very coming-of-age. not to mention they’re really good

4.15 why do people no longer write for the sake of writing, but only for the prestige of it?

4.17 i want to do everything, and so i do nothing

4.28 wanting, in your heart, to do one thing, then actively doing the other—why don’t we listen to ourselves? show this by eyeing something else, seeming disinterested, fidgeting, etc

4.29 light shining through trees onto pathway, golden honey pouring, slabs of yellow, almost a sort of religiosity to it

4.30 the way writers view the world is so beautiful—a sort of observant, protective solemnity that sees wonder in all things, even those that are not wondrous

5.1 a meerkat, head swiveling/face postured/open toward the sun

5.10 love is everywhere!!!!

5.13 life low-key sucks lol. temporality and frailness. nothing is meant to last forever, a notion filled with beauty and sorrow at the same time. why are birds a sign of hope?

5.15 your favorite time of day is not when the sun sets but right before that, when the sun is making its descent and peeks out through the foliage until the sky turns a shade above navy and the air cools just a little and the cicadas are whirring owls chirping and you smell the fresh air because there is a distinctness to it; i am starting to realize that when you are first getting started, you have to write for the sake of writing. this desire is what continues to fuel you, sure—but in the moments when your words are hesitant and ideas are hanging on by a thread, that is when writing matters most; seeing the world in a literary way; quick to think that people hate me

5.20 head throbbing! can’t stop sleeping! people too close

5.22 loving so much your heart swells and you dread loosing the person

5.23 taking train every day

5.25 watching someone come into themselves over the course of a year from afar

5.28 watching dirt swirl in water, steam swaying off fried eggs, silverfish infestation

6.9 peaking in between the rows of crops within a barren wasteland, the small glimpses where uniformity comes into play; voice falling into the background the more you talk; gambling

6.10 people love you more than you realize

6.11 cutting into mushrooms, slicing through soft underbelly

6.15 tandem biker without their partner

6.16 making choices but they’re “wrong” so then you get to redo them—about free will and what defines it. because the choices you make are automatically correct because you made them and you can’t go back?

6.24 dream: spontaneously going on a 12 hour road trip to be front row at a chappell roan concert

6.26 a story about loneliness; ghosts in a car; dragonfly on the ground

6.27 i wrote a poem about you