More than a Little Rusty
Some of the classes I am taking this semester are upper level writing classes, and it is one of those classes that requires me to keep this blog. That same class (Advanced Creative Nonfiction), requires that I write and submit four essays to the class for workshop throughout the semester. My first workshop day was this past Thursday, and I chose to write a piece about the night I met the man who is somehow now my husband. You see, in my opinion it is a really great story and every time I tell it to someone vocally they agree, but I must be out of practice because the humor didn’t seem to come through much at all. Not to mention the entire time my essay was being discussed everyone kept telling me how much they disliked the character of my husband by the time the story ended. Not quite what I was going for, but that’s nothing compared to the other thing my entire class thought about the piece: they thought I was going to get raped. Now I don’t find rape funny at all, but the fact that my writing was so lacking in…I don’t know, positivity, that my whole class (including my instructor) thought I was going to be raped in a story that ends saying basically “ Now we’ve been married for two years, yay!” that, is kind of funny. In my defense this is my first serious creative writing course in like two years, but I won’t bore you with excuses. It was humbling that’s for damn sure. I was pretty proud of that piece, but it just goes to show that getting the perspective of an uninvolved third party is always a good idea. I sure never expected it to be taken that way. I’m tempted to post it—as is—but I think my hubby would kill me because it features some rather intimate information about him. But then again, it serves him right for marrying a creative writer, he should’ve known that from then on he’d be a leading character in damn near everything I write. What can I say, he inspires me. The night that started everything that led to my commitment to spend the rest of my life with this man, is not what you might expect, but in my opinion it is rather miraculous. To try to keep a long story short: He was drunk, I was an R.A., and he acted like an idiot all night. Inexplicably, I offered him a ride home, never intending to see him again, just trying to do the right thing and keep this asshole from trying to drive himself home and possibly hurt himself or others. I blame my being raised by a firefighter. What I’m trying to get at is the fact that EVERYTHING that could happen to totally turn me off for this guy did happen and then some, yet somehow we are married and still madly in love in the corniest way (sigh). Instead of that coming across to my readers they just hated him and kept asking why the hell I stuck around, but that’s the thing: I have no idea. The fact that I was sober doesn’t help my case either, but it’s not just poor judgment. It’s something that can’t be explained to those who haven’t experienced it, so I guess it was too massive a project for me to tackle for my grand reopening (or whatever), but I look forward to revising the piece and tackling that challenge. My new neighbors (who I share a wall with) have been parading up and down their stairs (that run along that shared wall, next to which I am currently sitting) for the last fifteen minutes so if this last half makes no sense…oh well, I’ll fix it eventually. Until next time.