State of Obvious

I was in seventh grade the first time I felt like maybe I was a writer. My language arts teacher coaxed it out of me. She was a young, pretty, newly-minted college graduate with blonde hair that fell softly to her shoulders. Funnily enough, I can’t remember her name or another other features, but I do remember that she would read to us from chapter books almost every day. At the time, I kind of felt like I was too old for story hour – but, our whole class would sit transfixed while she read books like Matilda , and The Witch of Blackbird Pond . Somehow, those stories would transport me from the classroom into a wide world completely constructed from words. It had never happened before. My teacher also read some of her own creative works. The one I remember best concerned the despondent life of a house fly. So convincing was her portrait of the measly, black fly that I spent years believing flies really did want to be swatted so they could end their miserable existence as quickly as pos...

Oh, hello again. I'm taking a creative non-fiction class right now at school.  It's pretty interesting, and I feel all the time sort of like "I've done this before."  Because, essentially, that's what blogging is.  Sometimes it's maybe not so creative, but it's usually non-fiction.  Although, I do make things up a lot.  I don't let credibility get in the way or anything. Anyhow, one of the most interesting things I've learned is that there is no right way.  Sometimes, for my class, I spew out what seems like trash.  But it ends up working.  I've also noticed that my real problem is not so much that I don't have material, but more that I'm afraid to explore it.  Disecting the goods and bads that make me is downright frightening.  But, it ends up working.  Besides the non-fiction class, I'm also taking a regular fiction class and 3 other online courses.  Plus working as a tutor.  Also, Eric keeps going out of town f...