In 2016, with graduation only a month or so away, my professor asked us to write a statement on what we want to build our careers on. No one show this essay to my senior thesis professor, because here I am five years after graduation, a book launch looming on the horizon, writing about the same thing I did back then. But in my first-ever college writing class, I was asked a question that changed my entire outlook on writing. I knew what I wanted to do, I’d practiced, and all I needed was the degree. When I got to college in 2012, I was fairly certain I was on the right path. I took writing classes in middle school, wrote like mad in high school, posted my work in online forums, exchanged rough drafts with friends in hopes of satiating my need for an audience. I wanted to make them really feel something. What person doesn’t, as a child, dream of creating something that changes lives? It didn’t matter how I changed lives I wanted to elicit the kinds of reactions I had to my favorite books and shows. Since I was in middle school, I’ve wanted to be a published author.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |