I decided to take a writing class. An official one, by this woman who has published her personal essays in Newsweek and Oprah, among others. I love her essays, and the price seemed reasonable compared to other online classes I’ve considered. It’s a six week course. The “basic level” cost is $125. The “premium level” cost is $250 and includes “full email support.”
I signed up for the basic level thinking I’d still be turning in assignments and getting group feedback, I just wouldn’t get the “full email support” from the instructor. Apparently, not. I don’t turn in assignments. I’m supposed to just do them on my own, and give feedback to myself.
So I just figured out as I write this post that I’m paying (okay, on a credit card) $125 for her lessons, i.e. “thoughts”, which honestly, I could buy a whole a stack of writing books for $125 — or check them out from the library and spend the $125 on black riding boots, which I’ve decided I have to have – even though this means a possible consideration of skinny jeans (dear Lord). So these lessons had better be good. When I’m done, I’ll review here. That’s right, Teacher, I’m giving you “full blog support” – for free.
Anyway, Tuesday afternoon, I stepped up my usual jeans-and-a-t-shirt ensemble with a black cardigan, a lavender scarf and a smear of lipstick. It was the first day of my online class and I wanted to look good.
I headed to the Barnes and Noble cafe and treated myself to an order of the Cheesy Enchilada soup (two words: horrific, delicious). Gnawing on my plastic spoon, I opened my laptop and got busy with the first assignment: Write a profile of yourself as a writer, 750 – 1000 words. Three hours, two venti’s and one crooked spine later, I stopped at 685 words and thought – okie dokie, that was fun.
The next morning I took my coffee at home, in my jammies. I sat down at my desk and opened up my assignment to admire it again, maybe give it a few tweaks. I read it once. Wait – did I? I read it again. It sucked. I mean, sucked –suuuuucked. What the heck did I write? Of course, I never thought I wouldn’t need to edit (my own assignment that only I read), but this thing was a mess. As of Sunday, I have yet to delete it and start over (hmm, will I get in trouble for turning this in late to myself? – Not sure yet).
But it’s something. I like having homework that’s my own. I like having something to do besides check my blog stats*. I like putting on lipstick and feeling career-ish (oh, so sorry I can’t go to the PTA meeting, I have work to do for my ahem, Writing Class). And the there’s the Cheesy Enchilada soup. But I am still thinking about those riding boots…
* By the by, I noticed all the middle-aged folks (men) in the B&N cafe who are hunched over their laptops, looking important, are checking Facebook. Seriously, Facebook. They are not doing work, editing novels or completing their assignments for a Writing Class. They are checking Facebook. And I know this because I peek at their laptop screens whenever I walk by. I spy. Aren’t they pathetic?