For the last two months I've gone back and forth on my career goals. I started this to improve my writing by studying in depth great writers of the past. I wanted to know what literature professors see when they read, wanted to understand.
I achieved much of that goal. I know the difference between fiction and literature, I have an inkling of the effort put into such pieces. I expected to find it mostly bullshit, some system set up to make those lucky enough to achieve higher learning feel good about themselves. I was wrong.
(My ego is such a curse!)
I've learned much and can't wait to learn more.
I discovered the importance of passionate teachers too. This semester exposed me to people who LOVE what they do. The room shines with the passion they have for the subjects they teach. If thier words have such an effect on me, what if I can do the same? I'd only given lip service to the idea when considering school, as a possible way to pay back loans but now? It's definitely on the table.
But lateIy I've remembered what I went for, to become a better writer, to create my own stuff, not critique someone else's. I had wandered off the path. Two months with no personal writing done. Jason warned me it could happen.
I wrote a few lines yesterday in a space story I put on hold for school. It felt like coming home, like "Hey guys! Let me show you all the things I've learned since I been away!"
A paragraph deleted in other versions as too whatever, begged to be fleshed out in new ways. There was so much yet to be said, there, in the cracks. The old me would have skipped blithely over it as something the reader would never read.
There is still much work to do school wise. Next semester will be a year. Only one more to get the masters. The demands for writing and reading remain overwhelming. Still, I will find a window to do MY things.
I REMEMBER MY REAL NAME.
