Back to School (Again)

I've decided to take another class this quarter. It's another English class. Not writing this time, just reading. It's taught by the same instructor who taught my Creative Writing class, which is a big part of why I decided to take this class. I think he's a great instructor, very interesting and unique, and he somehow manages to inspire some great papers out of me.

It makes me wonder what would have happened if he had been my English instructor when I was going through my college years. If he had been the teacher during those classes, I wonder if I would have actually finished my English major instead of jumping ship to begin my career in the numbers field instead. I wonder if I wouldn't have feared writing for as long as I have, keeping my talent hidden from the world (and myself) for years and years.

But he wasn't my teacher, and I did switch my major and left my love of literature behind me and my talent for writing hidden in the dark. And now, several years later, I am deciding to try my hand at it again.

This class is Intro to Fiction. Like I said, it's a reading class, this time.

The class is comprised of mostly fresh-out-of-high-school minds. It's. . . . interesting. I feel terribly old compared to them. I don't think like they do at all. In fact, last week's class ended with me a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to put up with them. I was so frustrated with their comments on what we were reading. Especially when it came to one story in particular. With my past experiences and the things I've learned from them, I found a different sympathy for the characters than many of my classmates did. Even a little different from my teacher himself. I was frustrated and offended when they showed less compassion for the situation than I did. I actually took it WAY too personally.

My instructor laughed at me after class when I brought up this concern I was having (yeah, he's the same instructor who laughed at my fear of being thrown out of class for lack of talent. Why do I put up with his mocking. . . ?) He said it was perfectly okay for me to have a different perspective on the stories and that it actually was good to share those ideas. I just shouldn't let it get to me so much. Actually, his advice to me was "toughen up" (of course in a very kind and teasing tone). He said I am too critical of myself (just cuz I want to succeed in the classes. . . !)

I mentioned his comment to Mike and his response: "yeah, I agree with him". Gee, thanks, Mike. Glad to see I can get sympathy for my make-believe woes when I need them.

Actually, I think I was just overly tired that night. For the most part I'm really enjoying the class. The stories are interesting and amazingly, I have opinions on them, which wasn't always the case in my old classes. I'm even excited about sitting down to write my first paper for the class (I have mentioned that my distaste for writing literary papers was my downfall as an English major, right?) I despise using the MLA format that he requires us to use (standard proper English paper crap), but since I'm not required to do the research nonsense that I hated so much, I suppose I can make myself use it for a few more weeks.

My only other concern about the class involves the end of the quarter. See, our second paper is due right around Thanksgiving. As I've mentioned previously, I am expecting to be somewhat distracted around that time (long awaited visitor finally coming into town. . . .), so I have to figure out how to get the second paper out of me early, which is tough since most of the time my inspiration for writing happens in that last minute panic that comes from waiting until the night before to put something together. (Don't tell my teacher; no need for him to know the truth behind my brilliance!) I have to somehow convince myself that the paper must be written two weeks early because I suspect not much (academically speaking) will be happening during the week of Thanksgiving. Yeah, good luck with that one!