I started a Creative Writing class last night. Those things can go one of two ways, and I’m pleased to report that it looks like it’s going to be a great group.
It’s always interesting to watch new students file into a classroom and select their seats. I’d love to conduct a psych. study on why people sit where they sit in relation to the teacher–front, middle, back, left or right of center, back facing toward or away from the door, etc. Next week, I’m sure we’ll all go back to the chair we selected on the first night, creatures of habit that we are.
The demographics of the class are diverse–varying ages, genders, races, and reasons for writing. When we introduced ourselves, I was struck by many of the responses. One man said that he never understood fiction and he couldn’t connect to it, so he thought he’d take a class to learn to “make it” so he could gain a better understanding of it.
What a great thing to do.
I could never see myself heading off to economics class to generate an understanding of complex energy derivatives, but here was this mathematical, science-y guy doing just that.
Then there were others, like myself, looking to hone their craft, or meet imposed deadlines to facilitate productivity, or just stimulate the non-mommy side of the brain.
We analyzed some flashfiction for style and structure, and discussed–in broad strokes–the writing process. We went over the syllabus. We got some homework assignments. It was a very productive and well-spent evening, and I look forward to the rest of the semester.
I love school.