I’ve come upon a resolution—I’m going to go back to school.
It came up and bit me like a snake on a trail; I’m sure it was behind me the whole time, waiting for me to turn around and notice it. But I want to walk you through this realization; I want to show you the snake. I want to pick it up, spin it around, look at it scales and its fangs and give it a name.
So the plan goes, I’m going to apply for a Masters of Fine Art in Creative Writing. These programs are competitive, I’m told, but that doesn’t dissuade me. It should be competitive. I want it to be. Writing is a serious business. And I want to see if I have it in me—this whole writing thing.
I want to be a writer, plain and simple. In the past year, during this last semester off, I’ve realized that. I go to sleep thinking about it, wake up thinking about it. But I’m not thinking about being a writer, I’m thinking about writing.
And I think that makes me a writer.
But because these programs are prestigious and competitive, it’s high time I settle down and focus on my writing. I’ve treated it like a hobby. It’s time to treat it like a career.
I’ve decided to move back home. I’m going to live with my grandma. I’m going to be around my family and fix things with them before I leave. I’m going to save up money, work a parttime job somewhere, and write write write write.
I believe that being around my family will be inspiration—because those are people who matter, people who will tell you what’s on your mind. And you should have seen their faces when I told them.
And if I don’t come up with anything good, if I get rejected, well hell, I guess that makes me even more of a writer, just not a professional one, and I can deal with that. So the backup plan is a Masters in Art History and I’ll just work with modern art and write on the side.
Either way, whatever happens, something is happening. I’m making something happen. This can’t keep happening. I’ve been avoiding home for a while because I wanted to make something out of myself. And I have. I’m happy with who I am, but I’ve ran the well dry, and now this place doesn’t have a lot left for me.
Backtracking can be progress too. I’m named the snake Freddy.