Forging Ahead as a Writer

I love the idea of sitting in another Creative Writing Class, because professors magically work us through reading and writing and a direction that gets at the soul of creating something bigger than me. Now I know the cost, $1700 is too expensive for my head to justify after Christmas. Childcare and coffee are hard to stomach these days, taking me back to my childhood roots of worry about how we would survive.

I would not take back this fall’s Lyric Essay class, however, as I start to uncover a bigger picture of language. I had the chance to be outside of my history or identity and to journey deeper into my story. In it, I received real input, that allowed me to undress and redress into something more fitting. It was also isolating as I tried to remember names and looked to see whose eyes were pinning me to a wall, besides my own.

So I want all that, weekly three hours of talking and hours of reading and writing and feeling the strength of my stride over three months. I want the few hours to release demons, to breathe and not become burdened with every possibility, to dream of brilliance, or just to scribble words. Is it a calling or a joke or an extravagance? Is there anything tangible that can be nailed down, beyond the encouraging interest of strangers when I tell them I write. I keep wishing I could earn $1700 to justify myself.

So I blindly plot a path for my week, Tuesdays, 2 hr, Wednesday 3 hours, Thursday’s 3 hours and Saturday’s 3 hours. That is my time, though if I can squeeze hours in the morning or at night, then I will feel the traction of a daily pursuit. The next challenge is direction. I want to steal the syllabus, the secret codes of the class I would take, Poetics of Prose out of the professor, by going to the first class and pretending I might take it. I want to take it, but know if I go, that I will be too hooked, forgetting about costs until I am finished and looking at more bills.

I need to commit. To say I need to be at class at 5, like I need to get on an airplane when the flight is scheduled to take off. I want the deadline of finishing the book or story, so that I print and turn it in on time. That is an artist task, beyond being a student or dabbler. My son is great at asking over and over or insisting on things, so I need his language to scream, “must write now,” like my husband heading off to the office.

I set out alone this round. Well, there are writing groups and book discussions and such, but my real work as a writer is in reading and writing and going at it despite the other demands. 

There is a guy doing something like me that I follow, because there is not so much out there on the do it yourself MFA, which I am mulling over with my friends and acquaintances. 

David Eric Tomlinson's Blog: http://daviderictomlinson.com/