Ramblings on Writing

every writing class i took started with a hardcover book, each with a familiar chapter on form and style and voice. i learned to place commas and how to organize my argument - every year. each paper had a grade. some had comments scribbled in ink. and there were the two english teachers - 12 grade and sophomore year of college. both of these women were in the practice of reading aloud the superior papers. a few of my own papers made the cut and, of course, every time i was proud. in fact, i think i became obsessed. that was when i quit writing - real writing - and started lying.

it's taken a few years, but it's more clear i was only writing to make the cut - it got to that point - and the harder i tried to make the cut, the harder it was to write. i wanted praise. i wanted to be a "good" writer, good at something. i was sacrificing my voice, something that came very natural, to form and organization and structure, something that didn't.
the only thing i can compare it to is crack. writing became like being on crack. my focus was the high - hearing the professor read the first line of my paper - that one's mine with heart beating fast, trying not to look obvious, i'm a good writer.

it wore me out and beat me down. now, i see that. writing to do it "right" was empty and, for that matter, a bloody sacrifice. i couldn't get down to truth for overanalyzing and talking myself out of every sentence. everything i turned in was organized for the third or fourth time. each sentence flowed into the other in a beautifully forced way. it was obvious that i'd made sure of that.

to be honest, i don't really remember anything i wrote in those classes. nothing stands out. nothing went deep. all of it just sits there on the surface of whatever i was really getting at - every word gliding laterally, floating.

all this has me thinking, is there really a right way to write? do we value truth over form? when form gets in the way of voice, do we put form aside?