That is a pretty accurate description of how I feel after my creative writing class every day. Found it here.
"The first time I heard Heartbreak World by Matt Nathanson, I was watching a train go by, wondering if I should climb aboard or throw myself under it. I'm pretty sure God decided to talk to me that day."
It needs work, obviously. But I didn't think it was quite as wretched as Sir Eliot did.
I so do not want to suck up to this guy, but turns out he was the fiction editor for some fancy shmancy literary magazine and he's got contact info and clout... for the right student of course. All this time I thought he was just some washed up poet and I never hid my eye rolls and heavy sighs. And now he literally detests me and anything I write. Today he was seriously offended that I suggested we name the chihuahua (for a writing exercise) Michael Angelo (yes I know it's spelled wrong. It's part of the silliness). I mean, come on, that's funny. Right?
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I think Sir Suck-It is creeping his way back onto my kneecapping hit list. Seriously, what's his problem? I really like what you came up with - why did that person want to throw themselves under the train, what had happened into the lead up? Interesting. He's an idiot.
Then the whole editor thing. Bum. I'd be torn between doing whatever I wanted, to hell with his opinion and doing something that he would take more favourably. Don't know.
Hmm.... and this is what I have to look forward to next year, what I'm desperate to get into university for??? Madness.
PS. Michael Angelo? Awesome.
Ok, despite my ranting and ravings about class, I am SO excited you're going back to university for writing (it is for writing, right?) Now we can both bitch and moan over the pompous professors and arrogant fellow students. Huzzah!
haha!
Yep, I did my applications last month to do either Creative Writing or Creative & Professional Writing at a few universities around here. I won't find out if I get in until December or January though so I'm trying not to think too much about it.
I think the thing I'm looking forward to the least is all the kids fresh out of high school - all the 18-year olds and there'll be me, 30. Boo. Those little upstarts had better not show me up too much.
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