First day of class

So, with no institute (see my last post), now I only have one class on Tuesdays/Thursdays: Intermediate Fiction Writing.  I originally got this class because it fit best in my schedule (all the other sections of the class were evening classes), but upon further research I found that it also has a great professor.

So I went to class today, full of trepidation, and was thrilled at the format of the class.  No reading list, no required genres of writing, just an open, intense series of workshops on writing.  The goal: improve your writing wherever you are weak.

Why, I asked myself, does this fill me with trepidation, even fear?  Even now I’m all tense thinking about it.  I decided that a) it’s very important to me, b) part of me is still unsure if I can do it, and most importantly, c) If I DID do it, actually finish a decent piece of work, that would be the single greatest accomplishment of my entire life.  And seeing it like that makes b) all the more daunting.  There’s this little voice in the back of my head that constantly tells me, and has told me since I was very small, that “you can’t finish anything big or hard or important.”  So anything I perceive as big, hard, and/or important (which college wasn’t, in my perception) gets a big anxious flop response from me.  Ugh.  Overcoming that is going to be harder than simply writing, in my opinion.  baby steps babystepsbabystepsbabysteps.

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