And then, forgetting it for good
Out of all the pastimes I have picked up during my first year at UofT, my proudest would have to be creative writing, and my least proud would (unfortunately) be doomscrolling on Instagram. Having only started using the app last year out of a desire to be as fully integrated into the university community as possible, this more acceptable alternative to Samsung messenger eventually turned into yet another time void. Hours dissolving into days like sugar cubes, accelerated by the teaspoon of my stirring thumb. My algorithm has taken note of these hours, and, noticing how I enjoy reading, began recommending me posts with a certain phrase that I am proud to say I can no longer find relatable.
“I ___ the God complex English class gave me,” is a sentence accompanying all varieties of reels and images. Whether missing, loving, or mourning, the decrepit wasteland of a life after high school unrelated to literature persists. High school English class not only gave these users a space to freely engage with literature unafraid of sounding ‘pretentious’ or like they are ‘trying too hard,’ but was also where they would be systematically rewarded with good grades and validation from teachers and peers for their hard work, who were perhaps surprised by their level of interest in a subject often dismissed. Now, these experiences are no longer mandatorily facilitated by institutions unless you are studying English or creative writing, which is understandably not for everyone. They must be sought out independently by taking the initiative to either find a writing and reading community or make one yourself. When one comes to believe that high school English class is the only meaningful opportunity for serious engagement with literature, or that pursuing these hobbies becomes pointless after that time, the countless opportunities offered can begin to feel effectively nonexistent.
I cannot help but see another phrase hidden under the wistful sheen: “I don’t want to take any of the risks associated with actually participating in writing by sharing my work or even just continuing to read outside of class and discuss my opinions with others. However, I do want to /appear/ intellectual, creative, cool, and like someone who has good taste, so this level of required effort upsets me.”
Stop it. Get that image out of your head: your 16-year-old wordplay-obsessed self riding the high of changing the lyrics of a song to make it from the perspective of a character in A Streetcar Named Desire, making Blanche bawl “River” by Joni Mitchell (“I wish I had a riiiver full of liquor to driiiink from”). Because you don’t have to ride that high forever. You can still get praised for your writing, you just have to write! Not even all that well (at least by your own distorted standards), just in a way that the sincere curiosity, spark, enthusiasm, joy, angst, spite, fear, whatever emotion you want to go for, shows. No matter how bad I considered my personal essays to be, that timidity never seemed to appear in my writing—at least not based on how others responded to it. Simply releasing your work for others is enough for it to be recognised for the effort that it is, and once that initial fear is defeated, letting others see your writing becomes infinitely easier.
I was shocked the first time I sent a draft of an article to a student paper and received feedback complimenting my work. I became even more shocked at the sheer enthusiasm editors have for getting articles to be refined and published, and for authors to develop their writing voice. I’ve also received criticism, lots of it, and had to restructure significant chunks of my work. I’ve even gotten some of my proposed drafts straight up rejected from publishing. That’s the thing about the God complex. The moment when you feel you have earned it back, you must lose it again.
If getting external validation from having your ego confirmed was the only reason you read and wrote, then maybe it is over. Maybe the challenge with starting to get back into literature and creative writing is that it goes against a God complex; that it is a constant working process to improve and to create and which involves being not above the world but firmly within it (and, at times, even under). Judged. Perceived. Known. But through that comes the objective which was being sought after in the first place. Appreciated. Recognised. Understood.
