Back to school
Yesterday was my first day of class for one of two UCLA extension writers’ program. This class was the short story one I wrote about last week. It was strange being on a campus walking to class again. The first thing I noticed – UCLA’s campus is HUGE. It’s not like walking around CMC or even from CMC to Pitzer or Pomona. That might cover one small section. I had to check a map before leaving, and then scour the map to first find my building and then to find the nearest parking structure. After parking I knew which direction to go and the general area, but I still managed to take two wrong turns and walked into class a few minutes late. Another ten people walked in after me, so I didn’t feel too bad as class got underway.
The class is set up like a workshop. That means no desks: we sit in chairs in a circle. I wasn’t sure exactly how it was going to go, so I brought my computer and also a fresh pad of paper and a pen. I had to go with the paper and pen. I’m pretty sure I’m losing the muscle memory of how to write, because my writing has always been pretty bad, but now it looks like a four-year-old’s. I haven’t written so much in such a short period of time in years, and all I did was take simple notes.
The instructor seemed very knowledgeable and gave the group a laid back feel. As we went around the room introducing ourselves, my first thought was, “finally”. “Finally” meaning, finally I was in a room full of other artists and finally I was being proactive about writing. It was an eclectic mix – from high school to late 50’s, writers, filmmakers, visual artists, teachers, and book lovers. It’s going to be an environment of constant reading and writing, and everyone going out on a limb and submitting their work to be dissected by the class. I’m so excited to read the work of others, and have my work scrutinized by peers. That’s one thing I haven’t done and it’s long overdue: meet with other writers, and put my work out there for others to read. It’s frightening, but after the first class, I realize it won’t be so bad, and extremely valuable.
The other thing I thought while we were going around the room was that I don’t read nearly enough. People were rattling off books the way I do indie films. I had no clue what any of them were, but I knew this was a problem. It’s part of the reason I took the class. In fact, I introduced myself as, “a writer who is a horribly irresponsible reader”. I’ve been improving, with scripts, at least, but haven’t read much fiction at all. That’s going to change dramatically this summer.
After the success of this first class, I hope that I feel the same way when my other class starts next week. I’m looking forward to the first real workshop class next week. Three people volunteered to have their stories handed out first, and after briefly glancing at them, I’m impressed. I’m looking forward to a summer full of books and writing.