The Pen is Mightier…
I completed my creative writing course today, probably the last I'll have to take, and possibly the last I shall ever take at all.
It is no surprise that my work was regarded as exceptional, but I feel like I should pretend that I am surprised. Years of effort, and I still have not begun to master the easy grace and humility I regard so highly. Sometimes I am sure that I have got the wrong end of it, or that it is some innate quality that I can never hope to gain.
But I cannot help but feel, and comment on, a deep and bubbling glee when a phrase or sentence or poem that I have revised and fussed with many times then strikes like a white hot bolt upon the room and eyes turn with shock and amazement at the loveliness of my precious craft.
So why, then, do I hate these kinds of classes?
It is no surprise that my work was regarded as exceptional, but I feel like I should pretend that I am surprised. Years of effort, and I still have not begun to master the easy grace and humility I regard so highly. Sometimes I am sure that I have got the wrong end of it, or that it is some innate quality that I can never hope to gain.
But I cannot help but feel, and comment on, a deep and bubbling glee when a phrase or sentence or poem that I have revised and fussed with many times then strikes like a white hot bolt upon the room and eyes turn with shock and amazement at the loveliness of my precious craft.
So why, then, do I hate these kinds of classes?