I took creative writing courses in university. Some people in that class were trying to write novels and a few went on to be real writers.
You had to submit work to get in and I was of the people picked. God knows why, as I could not write a good story story to save my life. I wrote mostly poems and microfiction.
I still have all those typed poems somewhere. I also have all my high school newspapers from the time I was the editor and some sappy-ass stuff I wrote in my twenties.
That stuffs no longer is (very) embarrassing to read. It is now just funny to think about how young I was. (I was also a much better speller and had better grammar then — a fact which I can’t explain.)
I never wanted to be a creative writer, I thought it would be better than an essay course or something with a lot of hard reading. (I did well in school but I budgeted my mental resources.)
So why I am thinking about this? Primarily because I got nothing exciting to talk about today and yet for some reason, I feel I must write about something.
I want to write. But I don’t want to write the kind of stuff I write during the day.
I don’t want to do any hard reading either and I’m not about to research and write an essay.
So, how about a poem for my next post?