I'm home.
Possibly one of the most depressing realizations I've had since I turned fourteen and I ran out of new things in life to angst about. I - aspiring novelist, college bound Asian, hobbyist musician - am staring at a computer screen and lounging on a queen-sized memory foam bed all day, fretting about my driving test in four days as I twirl my pen idly. The colors, the noise, the enthusiastic conversations about the nature of beauty and truth are now swept under the rug of Yesterday. I am home.
Really, I ought to get up and do things more. Take a walk. Build a card castle. Bake a cake. Now I understand the term "everyone needs a hobby." Even though my mind is finally free to frolic in the realm of my imagination, my body can't keep up - it gets so bored, sitting here. It gets in the way of my writing.
My writing, I hope, has improved. I have difficulty judging that, though - after all, it was only two months of learning, and I haven't gotten round to writing anything substantial since I got home last Friday. Besides, my personality often leads to inconsistent work: what I write tomorrow might be the best thing I've ever written; what I write in a month might be the worst. But after going to both EPGY and CSSSA I now know that only a small portion of the experience was geared toward cultivating actual technical skills. Most of it was about the process and the approach, and in these areas I am confident I have grown.
Writing scares me. Terrifies me. That's the main reason why I used to keep putting it off, procrastinating on projects until just before the deadline, then slapping together something crappy that I would sheepishly call "art". It's a weakness of mine, trying to hide from things that scare me. But the programs, CSSSA in particular, forced me to sit my ass down and just puke my guts out (metaphorically) no matter what prompt I was facing. The process of writing is not some mysterious beast with rainbow-colored wings. It's just writing. Ideas are gold nuggets, words are nothing but things that shape the gold into jewelry. Got something to say? Then say it! (EPGY had a rather more scholarly answer to writer's block: first becoming one with a character, and then simply letting the character carry the story, which leads to a very natural flow and more often than not surprises even the writer with a resounding conclusion.) Refinement and polishing can come later.
Of course, if you aren't double-checking every sentence in the first draft, the rewrite and revision process becomes much more important. EPGY had a pretty heavy emphasis on this. I wrote a character sketch that I had absolutely no intention to use as an actual story, but then I rewrote it and touched it up a little, and everybody loved it. (It's little Tito's story.) CSSSA's workshop model helped me learn a great deal about how to evaluate other people's work and how to take criticism myself. For long works especially - I used to nitpick like crazy when reading other people's novels-in-progress. Now I know that, for the moment, grammar and stylistic differences really aren't that important, and comparing someone else's writing to your own writing is the worst thing possible you could do. What's important is the big picture, and the integrity of that person's idea and voice. I really like that phrase, so I'll repeat it: integrity of the writer's idea and voice. It's the soul of the writer's work.
Okay, that's enough blabbing for now. I'll get off my ass and do something fun, like, oh I don't know, blowing up the kitchen. Now, where to find that cake recipe...
Showing posts with label Stanford EPGY Summer Institutes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stanford EPGY Summer Institutes. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
In Summation
Let me tell you about EPGY.
A small group of brilliant kids all around your age come from incredibly diverse backgrounds all around the world meet in Stanford to study something you love. You have a plethora of counselors who also work as teacher assistants and your awesome older siblings, so they can help with both life problems and academic questions. The first few days you're given a tour of the campus structured as a game and led cheerfully from place to place so even the most directionally challenged person won't get lost. Activities and having fun and making friends are strictly enforced, with plenty of student input of course. The food is great, the campus is beautiful, the dorms are homes away from home, the instructors are among the best. It's impossible not to enjoy your stay.
For me, EPGY was probably the most incredible writing experience I have every had, not just because it revolutionized the way I see short stories and poetry (particularly poetry), but also because of the atmosphere of freedom, friendship, and pursuing a passion together. After the first few days counselors didn't follow us around to class anymore, so it was remarkably easy to skip class - but it never even crossed our minds. We have our fun, but we all know what we're here for. When I sat down to dinner and for the first time saw all my friends start talking about the art of literature, I realized I was exactly where I wanted to be. The camp felt like a bubble of intellectual delight. I was also lucky enough to be in (we call ourselves) the best house in EPGY: the Creative Writing and Anthropology people were so sweet and funny and smart, and the counselors too. I still talk to the people I met there and still love them very much.
I'm writing this in CSSSA, actually. There are 73 creative writers here, not fifteen. Yesterday for orientation we were told, "Your roommate is not your best friend, so don't tell her you're having sex with your boyfriend," and then we were lectured for another twenty minutes not to use drugs (but if we hand over whatever drugs we brought by 9:30 pm they'd turn a blind eye). Yeah, I miss Stanford.
A small group of brilliant kids all around your age come from incredibly diverse backgrounds all around the world meet in Stanford to study something you love. You have a plethora of counselors who also work as teacher assistants and your awesome older siblings, so they can help with both life problems and academic questions. The first few days you're given a tour of the campus structured as a game and led cheerfully from place to place so even the most directionally challenged person won't get lost. Activities and having fun and making friends are strictly enforced, with plenty of student input of course. The food is great, the campus is beautiful, the dorms are homes away from home, the instructors are among the best. It's impossible not to enjoy your stay.
For me, EPGY was probably the most incredible writing experience I have every had, not just because it revolutionized the way I see short stories and poetry (particularly poetry), but also because of the atmosphere of freedom, friendship, and pursuing a passion together. After the first few days counselors didn't follow us around to class anymore, so it was remarkably easy to skip class - but it never even crossed our minds. We have our fun, but we all know what we're here for. When I sat down to dinner and for the first time saw all my friends start talking about the art of literature, I realized I was exactly where I wanted to be. The camp felt like a bubble of intellectual delight. I was also lucky enough to be in (we call ourselves) the best house in EPGY: the Creative Writing and Anthropology people were so sweet and funny and smart, and the counselors too. I still talk to the people I met there and still love them very much.
I'm writing this in CSSSA, actually. There are 73 creative writers here, not fifteen. Yesterday for orientation we were told, "Your roommate is not your best friend, so don't tell her you're having sex with your boyfriend," and then we were lectured for another twenty minutes not to use drugs (but if we hand over whatever drugs we brought by 9:30 pm they'd turn a blind eye). Yeah, I miss Stanford.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Lesson 8
7/3/13
"the heart sang in the head" - Song, Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Today was basically trying to define poetry.
Oh God my head.
(Enough said.)
After lessons I drew Henna on myself and then an Anthropology professor came to visit and it was frickin awesome he gave a college lecture and talked about his past and he personally knows Tobias Wolff or something, and it was fascinating learning about human perceptions of other humans and eugenics and the Pueblo Revolt and archaeology. Cool stuff. Fed two poems and a couple story eggs. I might stick them in the incubator later.
"the heart sang in the head" - Song, Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Today was basically trying to define poetry.
Oh God my head.
(Enough said.)
After lessons I drew Henna on myself and then an Anthropology professor came to visit and it was frickin awesome he gave a college lecture and talked about his past and he personally knows Tobias Wolff or something, and it was fascinating learning about human perceptions of other humans and eugenics and the Pueblo Revolt and archaeology. Cool stuff. Fed two poems and a couple story eggs. I might stick them in the incubator later.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Lesson 7
7/2/13
"Sometimes you feel like a scientist in the middle of an experiment that no one else believes in." - Sam Beckett, Quantum Leap
Today was the last day of the short story unit. The teacher gave an inspirational talk using the above quote from Quantum Leap, and then somehow we started talking about how to maintain a lifelong marriage, and then we talked about ambition and faith and the meaning of life, and it was in my opinion a great way to end the unit.
When you get down to it, the life of an artist is really quite depressing. Rejection abounds; stories you've worked on for so long and so hard die in the blink of an eye; and even though a good story has the ability to change the world, society shoves most writers in the back corner of the room just as it uses classical music as background noise. Look over your shoulder; you are alone. There is only you and the page. The great beauty and great futility of a writer is that we must have absolute faith both in ourselves to create a work of art and in our readers to appreciate it. Before the experiment can be complete, we must go through a long and difficult process. But we keep waking up every morning, we keep setting word after word down until the blank page is full, because we are in love with the craft and there is nothing we can do about it. Nothing else completes us.
Yupyup. That was me being sentimental. You'll have to excuse me - I'm a writer. Anyways.
I'm oddly tired, so I'll be brief now. Made ice cream in the afternoon. Ran out of plastic bags - had to stir with a spoon. Cream never iced. Drank it in liquid form. It was still sweet.
Pretty sweet, no?
"Sometimes you feel like a scientist in the middle of an experiment that no one else believes in." - Sam Beckett, Quantum Leap
Today was the last day of the short story unit. The teacher gave an inspirational talk using the above quote from Quantum Leap, and then somehow we started talking about how to maintain a lifelong marriage, and then we talked about ambition and faith and the meaning of life, and it was in my opinion a great way to end the unit.
When you get down to it, the life of an artist is really quite depressing. Rejection abounds; stories you've worked on for so long and so hard die in the blink of an eye; and even though a good story has the ability to change the world, society shoves most writers in the back corner of the room just as it uses classical music as background noise. Look over your shoulder; you are alone. There is only you and the page. The great beauty and great futility of a writer is that we must have absolute faith both in ourselves to create a work of art and in our readers to appreciate it. Before the experiment can be complete, we must go through a long and difficult process. But we keep waking up every morning, we keep setting word after word down until the blank page is full, because we are in love with the craft and there is nothing we can do about it. Nothing else completes us.
Yupyup. That was me being sentimental. You'll have to excuse me - I'm a writer. Anyways.
I'm oddly tired, so I'll be brief now. Made ice cream in the afternoon. Ran out of plastic bags - had to stir with a spoon. Cream never iced. Drank it in liquid form. It was still sweet.
Pretty sweet, no?
Monday, July 1, 2013
Lesson 6
7/1/13
"Language is fossil poetry." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
Dialogue today. Finally discussed those snippets of speech we harvested during our eavesdropping sessions - it was both hilarious and hurt my brain a little. I love dialogue, but I usually do it without actually thinking; today I learned about all the elements that go into dialogue to make it not quite real (putting conversations verbatim onto paper is impossible to read) but a fabrication of reality, and it was hard. As my piano teacher always tells me, if I want to be good I have to stop relying on inspiration and start perfecting my craft. It applies to everything about me, really.
I went shopping today, haha! Imagine. I realized that it was probably not the best idea, even to go with CW camp friends, when I was sitting on the bus staring out the window and all the girls were yammering about cute clothes and then about cute boys. I don't know why girls use the word "cute" so much. I tried it, but it felt like wearing a woolen sweater over my brain - I prefer using a diversity of adjectives when I talk, thank you very much. Especially if I'm trying to describe things I like.
Generally, shopping is an unfortunate necessity to me. Browsing is alright - in fact, I love looking at the different personalities stores have and all the pretty clothes and jewelry and tidbits and decorations. But shopping with actual goals in mind makes me anxious, and wears me out really quickly. I also hate changing clothes. I like looking at clothes. I hate trying them on. I'm too lazy to be a barbie doll, even if (and that's a big if) I had the looks. Haha.
But whatever the case, I went shopping because I was looking for birthday presents for my older sister and my best friend. My older sister's is kinda late (like, two weeks late); but neither of us were home then, anyways, so I think she'll forgive me. She's turning 21. I browsed Urban Outfitters and was sorely tempted to buy her this alcohol case - the kind you see old men drinking from in movies about the Down South - that said "Happy F** Birthday!" on it in bright happy letters. But I figured it would look highly suspicious for me to buy that under the supervision of our counselors, and besides, it didn't quite match her sense of humor. I got her a bar of chocolate instead. It says "I LOVE YOU" and then about fifty "very"s and then "MUCH." and then "MORE THAN CHOCOLATE." and then "NOT MORE THAN CHOCOLATE." There was a better one that was like, "I love you thiiiiis much! Now give me a piece." but it looked possibly molding.
I'll write her a letter too, of course; a proper handwritten one.
I ended up not getting anything for my friend. There was a section that I absolutely adored and that I think she would too, which held all these posters and could be summed up by the big label on the top which said "CARPE THAT F** DIEM" (I swear I don't cuss in my everyday speech). I almost, almost, bought this one poster with the backside of a painted cadaver that was decorated with flowers and birds and a few anatomical labels. But it cost over twenty bucks. And I didn't exactly want to buy my friend something more expensive than my sister's present. So in the end I shied away from it. I'm going to write smth awesome and send it to her by email tomorrow.
It will arguably be more difficult than buying that poster. And arguably worth more.
Yup. What else? Oh, yeah, Monterey Bay was amazing. Sunday was even more lax than I expected, but I got writer's block and spent the whole day alternatively mentally stabbing myself and writing the first chapter of Sun Road.
Also, I missed the college essay deadlines.
(Shh. Don't tell my mom.)
"Language is fossil poetry." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
Dialogue today. Finally discussed those snippets of speech we harvested during our eavesdropping sessions - it was both hilarious and hurt my brain a little. I love dialogue, but I usually do it without actually thinking; today I learned about all the elements that go into dialogue to make it not quite real (putting conversations verbatim onto paper is impossible to read) but a fabrication of reality, and it was hard. As my piano teacher always tells me, if I want to be good I have to stop relying on inspiration and start perfecting my craft. It applies to everything about me, really.
I went shopping today, haha! Imagine. I realized that it was probably not the best idea, even to go with CW camp friends, when I was sitting on the bus staring out the window and all the girls were yammering about cute clothes and then about cute boys. I don't know why girls use the word "cute" so much. I tried it, but it felt like wearing a woolen sweater over my brain - I prefer using a diversity of adjectives when I talk, thank you very much. Especially if I'm trying to describe things I like.
Generally, shopping is an unfortunate necessity to me. Browsing is alright - in fact, I love looking at the different personalities stores have and all the pretty clothes and jewelry and tidbits and decorations. But shopping with actual goals in mind makes me anxious, and wears me out really quickly. I also hate changing clothes. I like looking at clothes. I hate trying them on. I'm too lazy to be a barbie doll, even if (and that's a big if) I had the looks. Haha.
But whatever the case, I went shopping because I was looking for birthday presents for my older sister and my best friend. My older sister's is kinda late (like, two weeks late); but neither of us were home then, anyways, so I think she'll forgive me. She's turning 21. I browsed Urban Outfitters and was sorely tempted to buy her this alcohol case - the kind you see old men drinking from in movies about the Down South - that said "Happy F** Birthday!" on it in bright happy letters. But I figured it would look highly suspicious for me to buy that under the supervision of our counselors, and besides, it didn't quite match her sense of humor. I got her a bar of chocolate instead. It says "I LOVE YOU" and then about fifty "very"s and then "MUCH." and then "MORE THAN CHOCOLATE." and then "NOT MORE THAN CHOCOLATE." There was a better one that was like, "I love you thiiiiis much! Now give me a piece." but it looked possibly molding.
I'll write her a letter too, of course; a proper handwritten one.
I ended up not getting anything for my friend. There was a section that I absolutely adored and that I think she would too, which held all these posters and could be summed up by the big label on the top which said "CARPE THAT F** DIEM" (I swear I don't cuss in my everyday speech). I almost, almost, bought this one poster with the backside of a painted cadaver that was decorated with flowers and birds and a few anatomical labels. But it cost over twenty bucks. And I didn't exactly want to buy my friend something more expensive than my sister's present. So in the end I shied away from it. I'm going to write smth awesome and send it to her by email tomorrow.
It will arguably be more difficult than buying that poster. And arguably worth more.
Yup. What else? Oh, yeah, Monterey Bay was amazing. Sunday was even more lax than I expected, but I got writer's block and spent the whole day alternatively mentally stabbing myself and writing the first chapter of Sun Road.
Also, I missed the college essay deadlines.
(Shh. Don't tell my mom.)
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Field Trip
6/29/13
At the moment that I am writing this, it's actually Saturday morning already, and we're about to go on a field trip to Monterey Bay Aquarium! I'm so excited - but I want to start working on writing Sun Road this weekend, so this is the last blog post until Monday. I wrote some diary-scribble-things for the previous weekdays, though, so I might also clean those up and post them.
I feel like I've learned so much in these short five days. I had so much fun, and now I realize both how crappy my novel is and a way to fix it. My friend suggested I write a book jacket summary blurb thing, which I did, and it was surprisingly really difficult - but it helped me straighten out key plot points and, most importantly, enabled me to respond if somebody asks "Awesome, you're writing a book! What's it about?" It still sounds corny though, haha. I pasted it below. Welp, that's all. See you later!
Rhea's life is luxurious, if isolated - until she wakes up one night to an ashen wasteland where the sun never shows through the clouds. Accompanied by a self-righteous defected soldier and a boy whose origins are as shadowy as his footsteps, Rhea must journey to the mythic Glades in order to find a way back home.
At the moment that I am writing this, it's actually Saturday morning already, and we're about to go on a field trip to Monterey Bay Aquarium! I'm so excited - but I want to start working on writing Sun Road this weekend, so this is the last blog post until Monday. I wrote some diary-scribble-things for the previous weekdays, though, so I might also clean those up and post them.
I feel like I've learned so much in these short five days. I had so much fun, and now I realize both how crappy my novel is and a way to fix it. My friend suggested I write a book jacket summary blurb thing, which I did, and it was surprisingly really difficult - but it helped me straighten out key plot points and, most importantly, enabled me to respond if somebody asks "Awesome, you're writing a book! What's it about?" It still sounds corny though, haha. I pasted it below. Welp, that's all. See you later!
Rhea's life is luxurious, if isolated - until she wakes up one night to an ashen wasteland where the sun never shows through the clouds. Accompanied by a self-righteous defected soldier and a boy whose origins are as shadowy as his footsteps, Rhea must journey to the mythic Glades in order to find a way back home.
The world she encounters is falling to pieces, however. Swollen cities defile the land, old animosities threaten to spill over and rip the nation of Alsooth apart, and above it all, hovering in the black smoke-stained skies, the elusive dragon menaces. In the midst of the turmoil a new Vassal of the Lord is inducted, but even he may not bring the hope the nation so needs. As Rhea delves deeper into this troubled land, she must learn to navigate a maze of revenge, retribution, and ultimately, redemption.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Lesson 2
6/25/13
"[Poetry is] a momentary stay against confusion." - Robert Frost
"Don't plan," we are told. The characters should be allowed to grow organically on the page, without our say; don't plan. Let them do as they please. "No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. No tears for the writer, no tears for the reader."
Prepare for a lot of tears.
Anyways, this afternoon for Activities I was introduced to a fascinating aspect of Stanford culture: fountain hopping. There are several fountains around campus, and I went with a small group to each of the big ones. We kicked off our shoes (I was wearing my flip flops) and dipped our feet in; a couple girls sat down in there and got completely soaked, and one guy stripped off his shirt and just dove in. I assume those shorts were in fact swimming trunks. About halfway through our adventure a group who looked like Stanford students came running, equipped with swimsuits and sneakers, and inadvertently provided us with a convenient showcase of all the ways one can fountain hop: i.e. at the one shaped like a cup, sit inside it spa-style; at the one that shoots water, spray each other with the water pressure, plug all but one shooter, and parody Old Faithful; at the jagged sculpture one, climb.
The weather is getting hotter; at last the clouds have passed, and the sun is beginning to grace us with its glorious rays.
By the end of each day I'm always so worn out. The Scav Hunt left me completely sore today. Every step is half torture.
Tomorrow my writing group for class has to turn in up to three pages of writing, which the instructor will give feedback for. I already finished (which is why I'm on here) - one hour of intense writing, and no revision. I wonder what he'll say.
"[Poetry is] a momentary stay against confusion." - Robert Frost
"Don't plan," we are told. The characters should be allowed to grow organically on the page, without our say; don't plan. Let them do as they please. "No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader. No tears for the writer, no tears for the reader."
Prepare for a lot of tears.
Anyways, this afternoon for Activities I was introduced to a fascinating aspect of Stanford culture: fountain hopping. There are several fountains around campus, and I went with a small group to each of the big ones. We kicked off our shoes (I was wearing my flip flops) and dipped our feet in; a couple girls sat down in there and got completely soaked, and one guy stripped off his shirt and just dove in. I assume those shorts were in fact swimming trunks. About halfway through our adventure a group who looked like Stanford students came running, equipped with swimsuits and sneakers, and inadvertently provided us with a convenient showcase of all the ways one can fountain hop: i.e. at the one shaped like a cup, sit inside it spa-style; at the one that shoots water, spray each other with the water pressure, plug all but one shooter, and parody Old Faithful; at the jagged sculpture one, climb.
The weather is getting hotter; at last the clouds have passed, and the sun is beginning to grace us with its glorious rays.
By the end of each day I'm always so worn out. The Scav Hunt left me completely sore today. Every step is half torture.
Tomorrow my writing group for class has to turn in up to three pages of writing, which the instructor will give feedback for. I already finished (which is why I'm on here) - one hour of intense writing, and no revision. I wonder what he'll say.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Lesson 1
June 24, 2013:
"CHARACTER IS ACTION" - F. Scott Fitzgerald
I was, embarrassingly, nervous before the first day of class. After leaping out of bed (literally - it's about three feet high, I assume to leave room for a suitcase underneath in addition to a dead body), my roommate and I got ready for the day and the whole House went to breakfast together. After breakfast the group split up into Antho and CW, and we all went straight to class.
The Creative Writing instructor is a smooth-talking blue-eyed poet in his late twenties or early thirties, and after a round of introductions, we set into the reading and lecture. The days are structured like this: first the instructor gives the day's lecture/lesson, with one or two breaks interspersed between, then it's lunch, followed by study hall led by our two counselors for individual writing exercises and other varying activities.
Today's topics were Introduction to fiction and Characters. We got a bunch of handouts that I still need to read, and discussed in depth "The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin. I'd actually read Chopin's short story in English class just last month, but this was different; the instructor pointed out the range of techniques Chopin uses and the perfectly formed character arc condensed in those brief two pages, and then the group talked about the effects and reasons behind the techniques. After this, the genius of the story became so much more apparent. In school we just kind of skimmed over it and said, "Yeah this is about women's rights." Needless to say, I much prefer this type of reading.
In the afternoon is Activities. Today was the great grand Scavenger Hunt that all incoming EPGY students must go through, as a kind of induction to the Stanford campus. The House split up into groups of six and walked and walked and walked for over an hour, going through a list with 30 tasks that included "Make friends with the librarian and take a picture with him/her (note: no photography is allowed in the library)", "Stop by the on-campus Starbucks and buy coffee", and "Build a human pyramid in the Oval". My personal favorite was "Take a picture with an Asian tourist." It's funny because it was one of the easiest tasks to accomplish, there are so many Asian tourists. It started raining halfway through the Hunt, though, so by the time it was dinner I was soaked through and starving. I wolfed down five more pieces of chicken than usual.
Stanford meals are surprisingly delicious. It took a little to get my bearings at first - the cafeteria is large, and when the crowds set in it's near impossible to navigate - but once I found the right places I knew I wouldn't go hungry here.
CW class provides a Coursebook containing all the short stories, poems, essays and handouts we'll need, but we are expected to provide out own notebooks and stencils. I only brought my little journalism notebook because I thought all materials were supposed to be provided (it said so online); I'll have to buy it tomorrow when we go to the Bookstore.
"CHARACTER IS ACTION" - F. Scott Fitzgerald
I was, embarrassingly, nervous before the first day of class. After leaping out of bed (literally - it's about three feet high, I assume to leave room for a suitcase underneath in addition to a dead body), my roommate and I got ready for the day and the whole House went to breakfast together. After breakfast the group split up into Antho and CW, and we all went straight to class.
The Creative Writing instructor is a smooth-talking blue-eyed poet in his late twenties or early thirties, and after a round of introductions, we set into the reading and lecture. The days are structured like this: first the instructor gives the day's lecture/lesson, with one or two breaks interspersed between, then it's lunch, followed by study hall led by our two counselors for individual writing exercises and other varying activities.
Today's topics were Introduction to fiction and Characters. We got a bunch of handouts that I still need to read, and discussed in depth "The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin. I'd actually read Chopin's short story in English class just last month, but this was different; the instructor pointed out the range of techniques Chopin uses and the perfectly formed character arc condensed in those brief two pages, and then the group talked about the effects and reasons behind the techniques. After this, the genius of the story became so much more apparent. In school we just kind of skimmed over it and said, "Yeah this is about women's rights." Needless to say, I much prefer this type of reading.
In the afternoon is Activities. Today was the great grand Scavenger Hunt that all incoming EPGY students must go through, as a kind of induction to the Stanford campus. The House split up into groups of six and walked and walked and walked for over an hour, going through a list with 30 tasks that included "Make friends with the librarian and take a picture with him/her (note: no photography is allowed in the library)", "Stop by the on-campus Starbucks and buy coffee", and "Build a human pyramid in the Oval". My personal favorite was "Take a picture with an Asian tourist." It's funny because it was one of the easiest tasks to accomplish, there are so many Asian tourists. It started raining halfway through the Hunt, though, so by the time it was dinner I was soaked through and starving. I wolfed down five more pieces of chicken than usual.
Stanford meals are surprisingly delicious. It took a little to get my bearings at first - the cafeteria is large, and when the crowds set in it's near impossible to navigate - but once I found the right places I knew I wouldn't go hungry here.
CW class provides a Coursebook containing all the short stories, poems, essays and handouts we'll need, but we are expected to provide out own notebooks and stencils. I only brought my little journalism notebook because I thought all materials were supposed to be provided (it said so online); I'll have to buy it tomorrow when we go to the Bookstore.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Arrival
(The next month's posts will all be about my EPGY summer institutes experience, so...enjoy.)
June 23, 2013:
"Make as many friends as possible!" - camp counselor
I forgot to give my parents a goodbye hug, and they chased me to the security check-in and took about a dozen photos of me awkwardly standing in front of a statue made of paper airplanes, backpack over my shoulders and a small suitcase in my hands. And then they were gone.
The line moved slowly, as lines usually do when there's nothing entertaining going on. I could talk about my purchase of a Whopper from Burger King for lunch and the subsequent 2+ hours we waited before the plane could safely take off, and I could describe in detail the character sheet I drafted on the plane after a half-hearted attempt to finish my Why College and Why Major essays; but let's fast forward to what you actually want to hear. (Or, well, read.)
I dorm with the Anthropology students and the Creative Writing students (a remarkably larger number of the former, I am happy to say). The house has two CW counselors and two Anthro counselors, one Tech Guy, and one Supplies Guy. They're all really easy to talk with - lots of friendship to go around! The first night, barbecue was served, which was about as good as any barbecue really, and we did a few Name Games and Ice Breakers (some absolutely hilarious and fascinating stories to go around between all 28 of us) before tumbling, exhausted, into bed.
Sudden overcast weather greeted us when we arrived, and it rained in the night. It's not too cold though, so I'm comfortable enough. Palo Alto weather is slightly more humid than the weather at home, but that's all.
The only thing is, there isn't a whole lot of time for internet use (which is a good thing when you're supposed to be socializing with everyone else in person, but this means my blog will be updated a little sporadically and what little free time I have left will be used writing short stories and Sun Road.
Looking forward to class tomorrow!
June 23, 2013:
"Make as many friends as possible!" - camp counselor
I forgot to give my parents a goodbye hug, and they chased me to the security check-in and took about a dozen photos of me awkwardly standing in front of a statue made of paper airplanes, backpack over my shoulders and a small suitcase in my hands. And then they were gone.
The line moved slowly, as lines usually do when there's nothing entertaining going on. I could talk about my purchase of a Whopper from Burger King for lunch and the subsequent 2+ hours we waited before the plane could safely take off, and I could describe in detail the character sheet I drafted on the plane after a half-hearted attempt to finish my Why College and Why Major essays; but let's fast forward to what you actually want to hear. (Or, well, read.)
I dorm with the Anthropology students and the Creative Writing students (a remarkably larger number of the former, I am happy to say). The house has two CW counselors and two Anthro counselors, one Tech Guy, and one Supplies Guy. They're all really easy to talk with - lots of friendship to go around! The first night, barbecue was served, which was about as good as any barbecue really, and we did a few Name Games and Ice Breakers (some absolutely hilarious and fascinating stories to go around between all 28 of us) before tumbling, exhausted, into bed.
Sudden overcast weather greeted us when we arrived, and it rained in the night. It's not too cold though, so I'm comfortable enough. Palo Alto weather is slightly more humid than the weather at home, but that's all.
The only thing is, there isn't a whole lot of time for internet use (which is a good thing when you're supposed to be socializing with everyone else in person, but this means my blog will be updated a little sporadically and what little free time I have left will be used writing short stories and Sun Road.
Looking forward to class tomorrow!
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