I’m going out on a limb tonight and posting what could quite possibly be my first and last “literary” (and by literary, I mean “kind of creative”) post. With that said, a disclaimer: throughout my 3 years in college, I’ve developed a comfortable writing style/tone that waxes more academic than poetic. Which, of course, probably explains my hesitance to blog on a regular basis – I craft my words carefully because sounding casual doesn’t come as easily. (In fact, I reworded that sentence about 3 times. Writing takes me a long time, yes.) This inability to write casually might also be symptomatic of my high school years, which were filled with attempts at “poetry” (I cringe to admit this), emotional confessions of unrequited love (cringing, again), and not-so-subtle LiveJournal allusions to the fact that I REALLY WANTED A BOYFRIEND. Considering a certain one of my past “poetic attempts” showed up in an online archive of a certain poetry website last year (I naively submitted it years ago, but deleted it from the site when it resurfaced), I am still reeling from the embarrassment.
Okay, I’m done making excuses now. The following is a piece I wrote for my writing seminar, during my first semester at NYU (fall 2006, crazy.). The assignment asked us to choose a passage from Mrs. Dalloway and imitate Virginia Woolf’s writing style. Though I may not have my own creative writing skills, I definitely enjoyed imitating hers. After the jump! Read the rest of this entry »


















