I sat in my Creative Writing class and stared at the paper. An A! Underneath the grade, the professor had written, "Good passion." That was a first. I had been struggling with this class all semester.
I wasn't sure I liked Professor Norbert's concept of Creative Writing. His suggested reading list had way too many dense books, with wordy sentences, thick layers of abstraction, and ambiguous conclusions. Hadn't I read enough of that in high school and college? These night-school classes were supposed to be light and easy-an opportunity to do something fun. So why did I have to read such tedious books?
But I put up with the class because I wanted to be a writer. And we've all heard the advice: if you want to be a good writer, you have to read. So that's exactly what I did. I spent much of my free time plowing through book after book, finishing another one every few days. But I was the one who picked those books, not Professor Norbert.
If I could have created my own reading list, I'd have chosen the sort of articles and books that I someday hoped to write: stories about rock and roll. That was my goal: to be a famous reporter who covered the music scene, followed bands, and interviewed musicians. I dreamed of being like Ivory Doe of No Moss magazine, one of the most famous music journalists out there.
Now some would think I was a hopeless dreamer, and they'd probably be right. But I knew that only one person could make my dream come true: me. So I kept reading, and I signed up for a literary masters program at the local college. A master's degree would be a nice ticket-punch that would establish my cred as a writer. And it would improve my writing, too. Along the way, I'd get to read even more books, which seemed like a good thing. Too bad Norbert's reading list was so tiresome.
A woman sitting next to me leaned over and noticed my grade. "Wow! How did you get an A out of Norbert? He's such a hard ass." She had a good point-the guy had been beating me up all semester.
I shrugged. "I just got tired of writing stories based on his reading list. Every time I did that, I got a C. So I figured, the hell with it. Since I can't get a good grade out of him, I'll write about something I really love. A song lyric." I pointed out the title on the first page of my paper. "Fiery Life," of course. My song.