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.

Do I oppose rulers because I hate rulers — or because I hate rules?
Has it really been so long since I’ve been ‘real’ with someone?
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People with healthy self-esteem don’t fear what others might see
It’s official: U.S. government debt no longer gets top rating from S&P
After years of silence, it’s time to tell the truth about my father
Knowing right choice years later is useless without time machine
Few things scare humans like the prospect of living, dying alone
Time is the most unrelenting enemy that any of us will face