Metacognition: Short Story Process

For me, the process of writing a short story didn’t come as easily to me this time as it used to. The entirety of my eighth grade year English class was spent composing short stories, and I remember it as being the most free-flowing, enjoyable writing I had done up until that point. Short stories allowed for so much more freedom of style, topic, and setting that I had been denied in previous years of English, and I relished every second I spent writing them. However, it’s been two years, and writing a short story now was not nearly as simple.

           

Not to say that writing this short story was an arduous, burdensome task, but the writing didn’t come to me as easily as I remember it used to. I spent a lot more time planning this story out; a lot more time shooting down ideas rather than acting on them.  I attribute this to all the research that I had to do before writing this story, as well as everything I learned about what makes a good short story. There were so many more things to consider this time; it wasn’t just as easy as writing down the first idea that came to my head. The struggle was frustrating to me at first, and overcoming it wasn’t easy.

           

I shot down quite a few possibilities, until I finally arrived at something I thought was at least worth exploring. I picked a character, named Jim, and a setting, urban Chicago, and started off with a story fragment. It wasn’t perfect at this point, but I thought that later phases of writing would give me more time to deepen the story.

           

Next I expanded on this fragment. Then I did it again. Each time I discovered a little more about my character and my story, like how my character didn’t like living in the city at all, why he was forced to move there, and if he had any loved ones.  For a while, I was content to let the pieces unfold themselves as I just kept writing, hoping that the story would pull itself together.

           

Unfortunately, after a while, I realized that I was being fooled. What I had thought was a strong story idea was really leading me on and not going anywhere significant. Maybe if I had time to write a novel I would have discovered the importance on this story, but it just wasn’t going to be my best short story.

           

Thankfully, if there’s anything my English class has taught me, it’s how to start from the beginning again without beating myself over the head for doing it. I know how to go back to the drawing board in order to do things the right way. This is something that I find incredibly valuable now, and I’m so glad I learned how to do it. However, I again had trouble thinking of a premise for my story.  What I had to realize was that going back to the drawing board doesn’t mean starting over; there were things in my old story that I liked, so I carried them over to my new story.

           

I kept my main character (we had bonded over the last few weeks and it seemed rude to let him go), but I ditched my setting. Some creative part of my came up with the idea of using a call center to stage my story, which turned out to be a very interesting thing to write about.

           

In the end, I found a way to start over without losing the parts of my work that I liked. I got to develop my character more, and actually put him in a setting that turned out to be far more suited to his personality. Going back through my eighth grade short stories, I couldn’t help but notice how amateurish they were. I found them to be lacking way too many of the things I had learned should be included in a short story.  This just shows that my writing is improving because I am keeping my mind open; something I would like to continue. Writing this story may not have been as easy as eighth grade, but it was certainly more interesting, and I ended up with a much greater story in the end.

                

Change of Mind: Gym Class Feminists

             Before a few days ago, the feminist movement an artifact of the distant past that didn't really impact my life very much at all . Sure, I’d heard about the women who struggled for women’s suffrage, but as someone who’s still too young to vote, that fact didn’t really leave an impact on me. To be honest, I had genuinely thought that without feminists, I would still have all the rights I have today. I mean, isn’t it common sense that women should be able to vote? Wouldn’t people have eventually come to the rational conclusion themselves? I was completely ignorant about how unequivocally crucial feminist struggles had been to everything about how I live today.  

           

            In a class discussion that blossomed out of themes in the novel Jane Eyre , it was brought to light what my classmates and teachers attitudes about feminism actually were. Let me preface this by saying that it was a rare experience for me; feminism isn’t exactly the trendiest, most current issue right now, and I’ve never really discussed it in depth before.

            

           It soon became clear that a lot of people had differing attitudes about the topic of feminism. Some called out the feminist hypocrites who demanded equal rights for women while at the same time expecting preferential treatment by men.  Others pointed out how much feminists had actually accomplished, and how little thought people give those accomplishments today. All of this information was interesting to me, but it still failed to leave a lasting impact.

           

           Finally, my English teacher chimed in. He revealed to us his first hand experiences with feminist ideals, like how he had to watch his own mother struggle to even be allowed to work and do something interesting with her life. Afterwards, he declared himself proud to be a feminist. It wasn’t a viewpoint I’m normally exposed to; not a lot of the adults around me have a lot to say about feminism. Actually, perhaps it’s because I’ve never asked? Either way, this was something that reached me. If my English teacher, who isn’t even a woman, could feel so passionately about this cause, where was my appreciation for these revolutionary feminists?

           

            By then end of class, I had developed a genuine appreciation for feminism, but would not go so far as to call myself a “feminist”.  The actual catalyst for my complete change of heart came in the form of my track coach, Karyn Weber.

            

           Apparently the topic of my day was feminism, as it just happened to be brought up at track practice, and Weber had a lot to say. Her thoughts on the subject stemmed mostly from the frustration she had over female student’s complaints about running in gym. Running laps to her was a blessing, not a punishment. She told us all about how not too long ago; girls weren't even allowed to PARTICIPATE in gym. She herself had struggled to be allowed to play all the sports and run all the marathons that literally define her today. 

This struck me; hard.

           

            Sure, I’d known about how feminists before me had struggled for suffrage, but I’d never heard about the ones who had struggled for gym class. As an athlete, I cannot even imagine the possibility of not being allowed to play sports. PLaying sports has become a crucial part of my personality, and without realizing it, I’ve taken the opportunity to do so completely for granted.

           

             It’s official; I’m a feminist now. No, not the kind to go out and protest in the streets, but at least one that understands and appreciates all the struggles of women before me that now allow me the completely, unquestionable freedom to do things like go to university, play sports, and vote.  Never again will I take for granted, or underestimate the efforts of the revolutionary men and women who fought so hard for my rights today.