On Writing

As part of my intention to enjoy certain aspects of being single I decided that trying out things that I’ve always wanted to do was a good idea. Along those lines, I decided this year to take an introductory class in creative writing.

When I was in college I had very little time, or money (no surprise there, what student does?). As such, I didn’t end up taking very many electives, and everything I did take was related to one of my two degrees. There are several classes that I would have liked to experience but never got around to. Among those are included a studio class on painting and one on drawing and a creative writing class or two.

This spring I finally carved out the time and money to take an intro creative writing class in the hopes that I would find inspiration and learn some of the basics that I felt were lacking when I started writing a novel late last year. I am six or seven weeks into the class and sorely regretting my decision to take it.

Positive aspects of the class –

  • I like the book we’re using, (Imaginative Writing, The Elements of Craft by Janet Burroway)
  • I like that I didn’t have to pay all that much for the class.
  • I am having to devote at least some time to writing things that I find challenging.

Negative aspects of the class –

  • The teacher enjoys the word ‘like’ more than any functioning adult should. (Like, you know, she was like blond and like skinny, and like, I’m totally serious man.)
  • I am in a class of 18 – 20 year olds, most of whom would rather not be there.
  • For a writing class, we really don’t write all that much. Throughout the course of the entire semester, we have three papers due in total.

The first six weeks of the class was the creative fiction section – that’s the section I was looking forward to the most, and it was sorely disappointing. The next few weeks are creative non-fiction, which has potential (I’m supposed to be reading that chapter right now, but I’m procrastinating by writing about it) The last six weeks are poetry – which I am dreading. I can only hope that it ends up being better than I think it will. Oh, and did I mention that I’m pretty sure the teacher likes me about as much as I like her? I just hope the class itself doesn’t kill my desire to write entirely.

(Note: If you’re interested in writing, I really enjoyed Stephen King’s book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft)

 

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