Reflection: One Thing Lead To Another

It was like any other late fall day in Tallahassee. The morning was chilly. The dew still sat upon the blades of grass and windscreens of cars as I hurried to the bus. I hadn’t been able to sleep that much as my mind was too busy thinking and working away. It was less than a week until my ‘Keyword Project’ was due for my WEPO class and I hadn’t gotten further than the layout. I had searched the internet far and wide for ideas and some input on my ‘keyword’ but dealing with ‘audience’ in the composing process seemed like to bland of an issue for anyone to really discuss. I sat on the bus as it ran through the campus loop while listening to my iPod trying to relax for the long day I had ahead of me. I couldn’t get my mind of my lack of progression in this project. I was stumped.

Later that afternoon as I was headed back to my apartment I was determined to get moving. I sat at my desk. Read through the project guideline sheet maybe three or four times. Watched TV as I couldn’t resist the urge to procrastinate. Sat back down and read through the guidelines once more and finally established that I was fed up. So I did what I always do when I’m fed up. I put the kettle on and made myself a cup of tea. It was probably the longest cup of tea I’ve ever had. I sat there, blowing the steam from the top of the cup and taking a careful sip each time. Between sips I would try and think of where to take this project. How was I going to be able be informative, interactive, and still reach my target audience. After falling out with my good friend Google the first two or three searches I decided it was time to put down my cup and try one last time.

I thought of every little detail I could think of to do with audience and it’s importance in the composing process. I searched websites that lead me to other websites and images that lead me to blogs and found myself hitting the same wall, until I stumbled upon an extract from Russian theorist, Yuri Lotman’s journal. What grabbed my instant attention was Lotman’s example he used to explain the importance of audience. He spoke about a college professor who’s lecture, though about fashion, sifted his audience and resulted in mathematicians attending instead of designers and tailors. The professors opening remarks, though about fashion, spoke solely of the mathematics involved in fashion and scared away his intended student audience. I thought this was perfect. I wondered how lucky I was to have stumbled upon something I thought was pure gold to my project. I quickly began making notes, taking notice of other theorists Lotman spoke about and worked from there. That night I slept so much better, despite my neighbors deciding it was a good time to host a beer pong tournament on my balcony.

The next evening, I got to work. Analyzing my notes and really taking notice of how it is difficult to really define where audience fits in any composers composing process. I began to draw parallels to the composing process I was using for the project itself. I didn’t let my writing choose my audience for me like I normally do, I was told to write to certain people. I began to worry and finally agreed with myself that it was time for another cup of tea. This time, the cup seemed like the quickest cup I had ever drank. The whole time I was too anxious to get back to my work and make sure I didn’t lose my train of thought. I probably was a little too anxious as I quickly took a sip and burnt the roof of my mouth and my tongue. It did give me a reason to step back and realize I needed a break.

After recovering from the second-degree burns I had inflicted upon myself I got back to work. I began to sail through the letter, coming up with new ideas as I went along. “How about an interview with an author? Or maybe a ‘Students Think’ section?” I thought to myself. My thoughts were pouring out now. By about midnight I sat back and looked and the collage of words, pictures and colors that now occupied my once blank canvas of a page, well pages at this stage. I felt satisfied. It seemed to all mesh well and flow. The layout was easy enough for me to follow so any freshman could. And to top it all of my mouth was feeling much better, not because I was finished but the tub of ice cream I sat down with was. I looked at my bed and then glanced back at my computer and decided to call it a night.

It had probably been two or three hours that I had been asleep for when I suddenly awoke. I can’t remember if it was a dream of something in the room, but I got up with a deep feeling that I had forgotten something. I quickly threw the sheets off of me and sat down at my desk, almost knocking my chair over. I opened the newsletter and starred eye to eye with it for about two or three minutes before realizing I had forgot to go back over it. I looked at my alarm clock. It was 2:30 am. I thought to myself, “Go to bed.” No I just couldn’t, despite the project not due for another two days, I had to go through it one more time and settle my soul knowing everything was ok. I read through it as carefully and slowly as I knew how, resisting the urge to fall asleep. When I finally finished and made the changes I felt necessary, I felt as though the world had been lifted from my shoulders. Without even considering going to bed, I printed my newsletter, shut my computer, folded my hands and rested my head upon them.

digital racket that woke me the next day seemed like walking up to a flock of seagulls pulling at your hair and chirping in your ears. As I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes to the sunlight that broke through my blinds, the glow, the smell, the pristine-ness of my project greeted me like a pancake breakfast in bed. It seemed perfect. Flawless in every way I could think of. I sat back for a little, rested my hands upon my head and just starred and realized how thankful I was. I was thankful to myself, I was thankful to Mr Lotman. His work got this train rolling. His thoughts and his theories opened up a part of me that I thought was forever locked. It’s often amazing how one thing can lead to so many others.