Today was the Horn Book at Simmons, and in addition to being awesome and full of some crushworthy young creators, it reminded me of the time I went to college and hated it but still ended up with a BA in creative writing, which, I should remind myself, is an activity I liked long before college. So in theory, I should still like it and still do it. My undergraduate university might be a place that can only make Jeeps that drive on Mars and not foster a love for, pride in, or talent for good writing, but I should stop using my disappointment and anger with my college experience as a reason to avoid writing.
Especially since I’ve been doing the 826 Boston Write-a-thon and only being awesome at outlining novels in my head and blogging–and not doing my third goal, which is to write fiction again–this is something I should remember. I like writing. I’m actually good at it. I have anecdotal information like the words of really great people that I respect and love to support that and a (somewhat meaningless, but still) degree that says so.
Also, I now have two friends my age who went to camp with me and now have books out, so I feel insanely unproductive, lazy, and behind. Buy the way, my friends are awesome, so you should buy their books either because you already like evil mermaids and poetry or because I’m telling you they’re good, and everyone should take a chance on new types of literature.
I need help. Preferably in the tough love or deadline variety, not the well-meaning kind. Or advice. Or something. Just discussion. Does anyone else use reading as a crutch to avoid writing, and nonfiction to avoid fiction?