During my last semester of college I had a few hours that I got to fill with elective classes. I had heard good things about the professor who taught Creative Writing and so I signed up for the class without too much thought about the content of the class or what it would require of me. Little did I know when I signed up that the Creative Writing class would be one of the hardest of my entire college experience.
I entered the class on the first day of the semester and was surrounded by what appeared to be all English and Art double majors. I tried to shake the fact that I was surrounded by people who write excessive amounts of poetry and gripping short stories for fun, but I just couldn’t do it. In my mind all I could think about was the inevitable failures that were to come as I glanced at the syllabus of assignments for the months ahead. I even calculated my credits for graduation on the evening after that first class to see if there was any way that I could graduate without taking Creative Writing class.
Because I needed the credits, and quite honestly because I was intrigued by my classmates, I entered the classroom on the second day of class and on each...
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