Tonight was my last class, and I am sad that it is over. Back around Christmas, I noticed that the local university was offering a five week (ten sessions), non-credit class in 'Creative Non-Fiction Writing', so I signed up.
I know, you're wondering, what in the world are you doing in a non-fiction class, Phil? You write erotic fiction, for god's sake. That's about as far from poetry, travel guides, and magazine articles as you can get.
The idea of attending an on-campus class (albeit, in the evenings) was part of the attraction. I can tell you that it was both exciting and just a little scary. At least until I walked into the classroom the first time. There sat those same student desks I hated in high school, several decades ago. Low and ill-fitting for my larger sized frame, it was even worse because I've added a considerable number of pounds since my high school days, and my joints are not as limber.
There wasn't a lot of new information, but each session seemed to produce a gem or two. I wish there had been more discussion on how to develop a story, POV, pacing, or scene construction, though.
The most delightful surprise, was that I found my own creativity stimulated as I listened to my classmates' works. There were so many good story ideas. Like the young woman who won the Pillsbury Bake-Off a few years ago, then found out she had cancer. Or the guy who wrote a long and entertaining, rhyming poem about a family vacation to Myrtle Beach. I learned things about gardening, bird-watching, and even thimbles.
Over all, I have to chalk it up as a successful adventure, and would encourage anyone thinking about trying their hand at writing to find a class in their area.
Hopefully, you'll get to benefit from the results of my class as I endeavor to make my stories better for you.
As always, thanks for reading,