{"componentChunkName":"component---src-templates-article-tsx","path":"/primewritingandediting","result":{"data":{"primeArticle":{"slug":"prime.writingandediting","excerpt":"An aspiring novelist, PRIME writer Sanjana Chadive recounts her journey overcoming writer’s block and acute self-criticism, rekindling her passion for storytelling in college.","headline":"Woes of the written word","author":"Sanjana Chadive","authorbio":"","authoremail":"","authortwitter":"","coverimg":"https://assets3.dailybruin.com/images/prime.writingandediting/9.2.prime.editing&writing-8eef83c89ecdd56dd626dff76a1ea74f.png","covercred":"Sid Francis","coveralt":"Illustration of hands typing on a typewriter on a desk. The typed words are falling off of the page.","articleType":"article","updated":"","content":[{"type":"text","value":"“Tens of thousands of people began cheering, their voices drowning into one.”"},{"type":"text","value":"I had deliberated over the opening sentence of my short story for the past couple hours. Every time I worked something out, I would quickly delete it – leaving me staring at an empty document once more. It was a cycle I had become all too familiar with. I’d remain at odds with the blank screen of death for hours at a time – trying to craft the best string of words."},{"type":"text","value":"Mumbling a curse to myself, I impatiently slid my fingers across the slick gray keyboard as I struggled to think of a new beginning. I dueled the blank screen for another two hours before my phone buzzed in my pocket. One of my writers for the Jaguar Journal, my high school newspaper, had completed their first article."},{"type":"text","value":"Swiftly opening another tab on my laptop, I took a closer look at their story highlighting our local quiz bowl. Some flowery words were out of place, but the piece was satisfactory for the most part."},{"type":"text","value":"After inputting all my edits, I pulled up my Wordpress account and hit publish. The article was up – potentially reaching 30,000 residents of Garnet Valley, Pennsylvania and beyond – to read."},{"type":"text","value":"The whole process took about 20 minutes."},{"type":"text","value":"Why could I spend less than half an hour molding someone else’s work, when it took me days just to figure out how mine should begin? I couldn’t help but feel frustrated; my lifelong dream was to write a bestselling novel, yet I was unable to translate my ideas to the paper. This problem lasted for years, and I became determined to put my writerly ambitions behind me as I entered college. However, I soon realized leaving the written word altogether symbolized losing a part of me I knew was essential to my being."},{"type":"text","value":"My parents always told me that since I could hold a book, I found pure joy in simply flipping the pages. After I learned how to read, I fell in love with storytelling and transporting to different worlds. Come middle school, I immersed myself in the classics and began to appreciate how these fictional texts reflected our own world. My desire to explore the human condition through words made me realize I wanted to pursue a career in writing – whether as a novelist or a narrative journalist."},{"type":"pull","value":"{\"caption\":\"Why could I spend less than half an hour molding someone else’s work, when it took me days just to figure out how mine should begin?\\\"\"}"},{"type":"text","value":"In eighth grade, I decided to channel this deep passion and started writing my own fantasy novel. It was a typical day in the fall – leaves sporting autumnal colors were scattered on the ground as the November rain continued to pour. I was scrolling through Tumblr and found a random fantasy name generator. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out, so I spent a couple minutes going through it and came across “Ashdown.” Although I still can’t pinpoint why it was memorable, I started scribbling down a scene centered around a family with the same name. One scene turned into two. Two turned into three. Three turned into four, and a story was born."},{"type":"text","value":"No matter how busy I was, I made time to put my pen to paper. Every night, I would sit in bed with my black composition notebook and transport myself to the world I had begun to build. It was the perfect escape – my sense of time and space completely diminished, as I would be up well past midnight interacting with these characters that only I knew."},{"type":"text","value":"Around six months after I wrote the opening line, it had evolved into 200 handwritten pages about a royal murder mystery in a world ruled by dragons and griffins. In retrospect, the plotlines were haphazardly done and the character development could not have been more inconsistent, but I was proud nonetheless."},{"type":"text","value":"Once I entered high school, I joined our school newspaper to hone my craft, becoming the editor in chief two years later. I embraced my new role, as I loved helping my peers strengthen their own writing. I also offered to proofread my friends’ essays, which they would happily take me up on. Through editing, I thought I would learn how to better wield my pen."},{"type":"text","value":"Yet no matter how much joy I experienced when a writer told me how much they appreciated my edits, I thought my writing wasn’t improving. If anything, I thought the exact opposite was occurring. Because I was such a meticulous editor, I became overly critical of my own work – academically and creatively – often getting rid of a nearly completed piece after dedicating several hours to it and redoing it entirely."},{"type":"text","value":"For a number of reasons, I do not like looking back at my high school experience. However, slowly falling out of love with the written word is probably the most painful memory of all. As the years progressed, my hypercritical mindset only increased. In turn, my keyboard collected hundreds of tears that transpired from frustration. The pages of my notebook ripped as a consequence of how aggressively I erased the words."},{"type":"text","value":"I always knew perfection was a fallacy, yet I forgot that when I was writing. If I took qualm with one word, the sentence it was in would vanish from my screen almost immediately thereafter. And if the transition between two phrases or sentences was disjointed, the entire paragraph was at the mercy of my authorial execution blade."},{"type":"text","value":"I was in a true state of writer’s block. When the COVID-19 pandemic struck and we had to stay home, my mind would flutter with vivid scenes from my fantasy novel. However, I found great difficulty translating my ideas onto paper. As I sat around at home, I thought I could shatter my predicament. Much to my disappointment, the slow and endless cycle of writing and scrapping only continued."},{"type":"text","value":"Conversely, engaging with the work of others persisted. My classmates shared more of their essays with me. Members of the Jaguar Journal started writing again for the newspaper. I was editing more than ever, which I thought should have made me a better writer."},{"type":"text","value":"But my writing wasn’t improving – and my desire to write was dwindling. Four months into lockdown, I mustered myself to write a 15 page chapter, a meager result from my never ending duel with the blank screen. Yet, I remained unsatisfied. For the amount of time I dedicated to the piece, I still felt like I should have written more."},{"type":"text","value":"At this point, I knew I didn’t enjoy writing as much as I used to. But I kept telling myself I still enjoyed editing, although I questioned whether that was true. If anything, editing was the chain that weighed down my writing in the first place. My excessively harsh mindset while writing was a result of editing. Not to mention, the flood of proofreading requests I received drained my writing time."},{"type":"text","value":"After I wrote the final lines of the 15th page, I highlighted the entire text, and once again pressed  “delete” on the keyboard."},{"type":"text","value":"My goal during quarantine was to have written 10 chapters of my novel before college applications opened. Now, the page was blank – just as it had been when the lockdown began."},{"type":"pull","value":"{\"caption\":\"Once upon a time, nothing brought me more joy than creative writing. Now, I was struggling to find the writer in me to get through basic coursework.\\\"\"}"},{"type":"text","value":"Worse still, I was drowning in college applications – both my peers’ and my own. The requests were seemingly never ending. Even after I told my classmates that I could not proofread their personal statements, some of them continued to send them. Editing my peers’ applications was an almost mechanical task at this point – I remained numb during the process, but I got it done quickly."},{"type":"text","value":"I was even failing to write in my academic pursuits – something that had never occurred before. In my AP English Literature and Composition class, my teacher assigned us to write a short story. Hours before the deadline, I was staring at a blank document, which needed to become a 1000-1200 worded narrative before midnight. Tears welled up in my eyes. The words and ideas, which used to flow effortlessly, had come to a standstill. So, I rummaged through my old documents, submitting a short story I had penned years prior."},{"type":"text","value":"Once upon a time, nothing brought me more joy than creative writing. Now, I was struggling to find the writer in me to get through basic coursework."},{"type":"text","value":"I told myself I still loved the written word as I slowly completed all my college supplemental materials. Truth be told, I loathed it. Just a few years prior, I dreamed of studying English or comparative literature in college. Now, I only put those down as my intended majors because it was my best subject – I thought it would improve my chances of acceptance."},{"type":"text","value":"Months later, when I shook my principal’s hand as he handed my diploma on a blisteringly boiling day in June, I thought it was time to officially close the chapter on my writerly dreams. When New Student Orientation rolled around, I immediately asked my New Student Advisor how I could change my major. Soon enough, I was a psychology student."},{"type":"text","value":"Now that I’d put the written word behind me, I thought I could forge a new identity at UCLA. Instead, I felt a lack of purpose. My hobbies now included doom scrolling through TikTok and taking frequent walks from the Hill to Westwood Village. I couldn’t remember the last time I read for pleasure and my writing was limited to the occasional essay for class."},{"type":"text","value":"When I returned home for winter break, I wandered around my sunroom, staring at the wall aligned with six tall bookcases filled to the brim. As I gazed at the colorful book spines of varying lengths – many of which I hadn’t taken out in years – my heart sank."},{"type":"text","value":"The written word truly defined me for pretty much all my life. Who was I without it? Like Dante Alighieri, I “found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost.” After spending a few hours sifting through notebooks filled with my old writing, I knew I had to revive my passions."},{"type":"text","value":"I joined a couple of on-campus organizations where I edited essays and poems. I found some enjoyment helping others with their writing again, but I still didn’t feel complete. I truly did miss putting my own ideas to paper. If I could enjoy editing again, maybe it would be possible for writing as well."},{"type":"text","value":"I never thought I would return to writing outside of academia, but I thought I would take the gamble. The painful memories of my high school writer’s block remained fresh in my mind, but so did the joy I had while using my pen."},{"type":"text","value":"At the beginning of sophomore year, I was perusing through the student clubs and organizations list and came across the Daily Bruin. Just a year prior, I had vowed to never apply to my college’s newspaper, since the Jaguar Journal consumed so much of my high school experience."},{"type":"text","value":"Nevertheless, I was intrigued by the myriad sections in the paper. I was particularly interested in arts and entertainment because I was curious about the creative processes behind different modes of storytelling – specifically literature. I applied and was pleasantly surprised when I opened my acceptance email."},{"type":"text","value":"To say I fell in love with the work is an understatement. By the time winter quarter came around, nothing was as rewarding as listening to artists across mediums, from film to music to literature, talk about their work. Telling their stories was just as exciting, as I would quickly fill the page with anecdotes and quotes. I especially loved speaking with alumni authors, who wrote across a variety of genres, about how they brought their stories to life."},{"type":"pull","value":"{\"caption\":\"Repairing my relationship with writing was like rekindling an old friendship that fizzled out because of a past misunderstanding.\\\"\"}"},{"type":"text","value":"By uplifting the storytellers around me, I remembered my childhood dream and knew I could not leave it behind."},{"type":"text","value":"I pushed myself to write as much as I could, experimenting with different styles and subject matters. During the winter quarter of my sophomore year, I realized that my writer’s block was no more. I no longer overthought every word during the writing process. Instead, I would simply put the words down onto the paper without doubting myself. Once I finished, I would edit from there. My writing process remains the same today."},{"type":"text","value":"Repairing my relationship with writing was like rekindling an old friendship that fizzled out because of a past misunderstanding. All the baggage had finally been lifted, and as a result, the dynamic was stronger than ever."},{"type":"text","value":"As I transitioned into editorship within the paper, I started writing less to focus on my new duties. Not to say I dismissed writing altogether, as I have channeled that energy into my own creative project. My files dedicated to my fantasy novel and the world I built are no longer collecting dust. I will share this story with the world."},{"type":"text","value":"I entered my senior year of high school wanting to put my pen down."},{"type":"text","value":"Now, I enter my senior year of college knowing I never will."}]}},"pageContext":{"term":"summer24","slug":"prime.writingandediting"}},"staticQueryHashes":[]}