How I Learned... #6: About Jealousy

Jealousy

OR

The Worst Monsters Have Green Eyes

In reconnecting with a friend from summer writing camp, back in the day, I come to find out that she's been... how shall I put this? Marginally more successful than I've been. She's also working on her MFA, and she's just finished her first novel for an agent.

It's depressing. I feel nothing but good vibes for this person, and I'm thrilled that she's doing better at what she loves than I am... but still.

I was a prolific writer of original fiction when I was in high school. I even had a few pieces published in semi-professional 'zines here and there. I was all geared up for college and excited about learning how to improve my writing and how to maneuver through the ins and outs of the changing publishing industry.

Then I went to SUNY New Paltz.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my college... the lit department, anyway. The creative writing department... not so much. In fact, the concentration nearly killed my desire to write anything but fan fiction, strictly because I knew it couldn't be published and because it gave me pleasure. It took me a good few years to work through all the bullshit I was taught in New Paltz's CW program, and I've only recently returned to serious original work.

In that time, I've become a far better writer than I was in college, and no thanks to the college, either. But that's eight years of business experience wasted, because I didn't get any. I was too busy trying to keep my sanity in the face of out-dated nonsense and infantile discussions of technique. I mean really, did the sophomore, junior and senior-level creative writing courses need to start with the exact same discussion of Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" that the freshman course started with? And then I was trying to finish college and earn a living and then there was the whole fiancé/husband angle and now he's trying to work and go to school and be chronically ill and, as he's been raging, there just isn't enough time.

Excuse me, I need to go beat a punching bag into a pulp.

Okay, I'm back now.

I'm very content with where I am right now, as a writer. And I'm thrilled that Libby is living the life we all wanted when we were seventeen. I just wish I could be experiencing it as well. I feel like I have a disgusting amount of catch-up work to do.