I graduated from high school with the author of this book. We didn’t hang out with the same crowd or anything. After all, I was a band girl. She went to the Fine Arts Center and studied creative writing while I decided to participate in the colorguard instead of giving up the second half of my day to make the journey downtown to the Fine Arts Center.
I don’t totally regret that decision. After all, I was on the literary magazine staff, and I loved being in the band. But knowing then just how much I had to learn when it came to creative writing would have been valuable. I feel like it’s taken me a long time to grasp a lot of aspects about writing.
The creative writing classes I took in college gave me some inkling of what I needed to do, but I had a professor who liked my writing, and he gave almost all praise and not enough constructive criticism. I go back and read the stuff I wrote then, and I just can’t stand to look at it. My shoulders hunch up, my head turns, and my face scrunches up as if I just took a big swallow of sour milk.
I realize that everyone has his or her own schedule of getting things accomplished. How many of us have seen articles about these teenage authors who’ve penned bestsellers and wanted to wring their pubescent necks? However, I feel behind the times, and seeing this book by my high school classmate didn’t really help things.
I’m happy for her; please don’t get me wrong. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having the book. It sounds like something I’d like. The problem is, the whole situation just sounds that alarm in my head that yells, “Yet another person is accomplishing the goals you’ve set for yourself.”