Indecisive Peach

I whipped out my phone as R reached for a book. “I’m totally telling him that we got kicked out of class,” I said. I hesitated and chuckled, “Is that okay?”

R and I had a great plan to take a creative writing class. Hell, since I didn’t have to pay for classes as a University employee anymore – let the real learning begin. Part of the plan, knowing the clique-y atmosphere of the MFA program at our school, was to be the two snarky kids in the back, doing good work and maybe learning, but not getting trapped by the quagmire of MFA hoighty toighty pontification.

I was excited about this class: I’d have a friend in class, I’d be taking a class for no grade, and I was enthused about the instructor. I went to a reading for his book with J a year or two back. In the middle when J woke up and listened, he leaned over and said, “This guy…he writes like you.” Yea! 

I was, however, a tad crestfallen when I inquired to the MFA director about creative writing classes and was told that my writing skills needed to be, in effect, judged by a Form and Technique class instead of just letting every Joe Blow into a workshop class. [I just graduated with an MA? In English? No? No.] Whatever, shmatever.

This story needs a background so let me back up. There is a fun dichotomy between R and myself. R is a crazy good student who gets amazing grades. I am a meh student who gets really good grades. 30 percent effort gets me a B, 50-70 percent effort gets me an A. I’ve hovered around the 45 percent point of motivation the last couple of years and have let the chips fall as they may. But while grad school increased my Meh tendencies, it’s followed me my entire academic career. Somewhere in second grade I read that B meant Above Average and… I made peace with that. So when I read a story, I close the book and think, ‘That was a good story.’ Maybe I think about why it affected me so I can steal it for my writing. When I borrowed R’s copy of I Am Legend, I noticed the scribblings on the sides of page that were roughly like this: “Interactions speak to misogynistic tendencies – does this occur with all females? Are females the Beast?”

Whoa, uh, yeah. She’s a Good Student who doesn’t just read but READS.

And we’re off. One class per week on Tuesdays, Form and Technique: Fiction Writing. Class starts at five. My department is very relaxed about time and I waited for R whose department is not so relaxed and lets her out at five. We trundle into class to a fanfare of comments which continue into the break. “Am I going to have to start class fifteen minutes late for you two?” he asks with a swagger. Har dee har – Not. Feathers ruffled, but slightly proud I do a very dorky grab of R’s arm, “We’re Working Professionals.”

Week two. I had ordered my books online in anticipation for class, but the entire week, from Wednesday morning to Monday night, I was out of town. Did I bring my books to San Francisco? I think not. I was waiting for a comment in class, itching for it. Did I read? NO! Why? I was in San Francisco beyeotch!

It was going to go just like that. Maybe with a bit more mumbling, but JUST like that. I was happy to take notes and listen to the discussion and punch out my, “I pass. But thanks for thinking of me!” if needed.

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I hear, and I forget. I see, and I remember. I do, and I understand.

- Chinese Proverb