So, with the exception of my brief existential crisis, today I am ready to get moving on the road to my MFA. For a non-planner like myself this has required the aforementioned existential crisis, a day spent at the office where I successfully refrained from killing others, and the careful review of previously submitted writings to assure myself that I am not a complete writing failure. I’m not feeling a hundred percent confident that I don’t suck, but at least I can spell and have lived through some interesting things.
Why is it that the good stuff is toughest to write about and fictionalizing it makes that even harder? I don’t have any deaths to write about, no mystery illness, no history of oppression, and no incurable mental illness. Or do I?
The application due date for the Warren Wilson MFA is in September, I’m still in shock about the anticipated 25 hours of writing a week. This ‘what if’ girl is just going to have to create the answer to the question as I go along. Can’t take any more of that crooked, wannabe exclamation point.