Student Sydney Schreiber responding to a writing prompt in First Draft.

“Zoom writing class on the horizon,” I said to myself as I woke. I felt a kind of let-down. Well not really a let-down, more of a doubt, and the usual questions came to mind. “Is it worth it? Can you do something more with your time? What's the use?"

After my chorus of doubt was over, I said, "Come on, get with it. Look how great it's been. How cool, getting online with other people, watching them, listening to them, and sharing with them all without leaving the living room."

I proceeded with my morning: a 5 am swim, dog-walk, coffee, breakfast, phone calls, wash and then, yes, write. This time I took my notebook and didn't turn on the computer, afraid to attract the internet research procrastination genie. A composition book and a pen has always seemed to work better. Forty-five minutes of writing seemed like suspended time. When I was finished writing what was in me, it seemed like much more time had gone by.

After that, I started doing all the things that I usually did when I was procrastinating, things that I absolutely had to do before I sat down to write, but now rather than feeling guilty about them, I felt pleasure. Pleasure in making something to eat. Pleasure in chasing the robotic vacuum cleaner, pleasure in doing laundry, writing emails, and then at noon, pleasure at the prospect of my Writing Class Radio’s Zoom class.

The reading has started, and I look at and listen to a narrator. Wow, I am listening to these people and I realize that my take on them changes as I listen to their stories. At first I see the outside—brunette, blond, reticent, vulnerable, shy, open, confident or doubtful—the physical or personality characteristics I perceive. But once I hear the story, I see the inside that is real and often under-appreciated by the person. When this narrator reads, she seems to discount her work even before she starts reading. Does she really want to be seen and heard? Is my perception of her demeanor accurate? Then, as the story unfolds, I begin to see a heroine. “Yes. Aha,” I say to myself as she opens the can of alphabet soup and pours it out. I see in her, the human story of self-acceptance, self-love, and it makes me feel very kindly towards the narrator. And as I have this feeling for her, I begin to feel it for myself.

I think back to my first thought of the day and realize it wasn't me who had doubts about the Zoom class, but instead a part of me I need to put back to sleep.