Where it Began

312 words | 2 min read

One ridiculous day, I thought: I love books. I should write one. Everyone’s doing it, how hard can it be? *cue the laugh track*

Weeks were spent scouring the tinfoil heart of the internet, hoping to pan gold and discover the secret to become a Real Writer. The amount of information I found was overwhelming, contrary, and bewildering. Seemingly anyone could publish a book on how to write. Even your dog. Have you asked him lately? He’s got this one cool trick that doctors hate. Just ask him how he made $10,000 in one day; he’ll expose an unthinkable, shocking secret! Publishers and casinos hate him.

I decided to start anywhere. I wrote a book, and another. I learned how to sit in a chair and write, but it wasn’t enough. My ego and my word count inflated, and I’d shifted from unconscious incompetent to conscious incompetent, but my writing was still a far cry from the sweeping, gorgeous prose of my idols. What giveth, oh fair poetry? Why hast thou forsaken me?

So I researched my favorite authors’ cool tricks, and realized that aside from living on planet Earth within the same century, they also shared a commonality of higher education. Much as I wanted it, returning to school wasn’t possible in that season of my life. What to do?

I fell upon Andrew Wille’s DIY MA in Creative Writing. It was a gift, a golden hammer of inspiration; a path! Here was a method I could fit into my life, somehow both rigorous and gentle. I studied the syllabus, and ordered the books.

The provisions are packed, the pony is ready, and now, we’re here. I’m all in for the two-year journey. Only occasionally champing at the bridle, but overall, excited to discover what lies down the new road, beyond the secret gate.

Wish me luck. I’ll need it.

☼