I wasn’t even supposed to be in the class. I was a sophomore at the University of Alabama and I was taking a creative writing class that was supposed to be reserved for seniors and grad students.
The instructor was a stern older man with a long history as a published literary author. I had been required to get his permission to sign up for the class — and he was dubious about whether I was ready for the work. It turned out he was right and I was wrong.
There are basically two kinds of writers, to oversimplify quite a bit. There’s the literary kind, the type who write fiction and creative writing that leaves you feeling as though you’ve had an experience with art. And there’s the kind who are really good at communicating information in a straightforward way. That includes journalists and most essayists and even technical writers.
The instructor was the literary type. I was the informational type.
My newspaper training had made me really good at writing clear and concise accounts of events. I could even write opinions well. But I was terrified when given the chance to take a chance on literary writing. After a few sessions of the class, I got scared and dropped the course.
I’ve realized recently that I am at the point in life at which I have to make the transition — from glorified copy boy to making actual art — that I was afraid to make back then. It still scares me.

As I quietly watch my world burn, I’m painfully aware this isn’t fine
I need to communicate meaning, but my words vanish into a void
AUDIO: We lose the love we need by letting imperfections scare us
Genetics, culture work together to drive us to pursue what we want
FRIDAY FUNNIES
Fear of potential loss is a terrible reason to stay in the wrong place
‘Please do not adjust your set’
She says she’ll always love me, but she didn’t say who she was
World is a surreal alien landscape where nothing makes sense to me