I read a lot of books.
When I was younger, I wanted to be an author.
Of what? Not sure, I just wanted to be a writer.
I went into college thinking I’d be an English major. What would I do with that degree? Unsure. I just wanted to be good at writing.
My first English professor was a snob. She was pretentious and, because she wrote for a small,
unknown local magazine, she thought she was God’s gift to writing. Teaching (more like failing) a bunch of entry-level college kids was her way of feeling good about herself. I guess. She tore me a new one. I went from high school, where I was every English teachers dream, to being the worst this lady had ever seen. Or at least that’s how I felt. At the end of that class I received a C. She deflated my goals.
Quickly after English 101, I decided I might need a new major. The following semester I decided to wait to take the other English pre-req and changed my major to business. Guess what? When I did take the additional pre-requisition English class, I received a A++. My professor loved me and my writing. Although, I never went back.
Who knows where I’d be if I stuck out my English major. An editor? A famous author? An English teacher?
Is my grammar perfect? Heck no. Do I break rules for spelling, possessions, commas, plurals, punctuation etc.? Probably. Could I benefit from additional education? Yep.
As I said before, I read a lot of books.
Suspense, trashy romance, historical, mysteries, dystopia, all of it. Fiction is my forte.
Some of the books are great. Really great. But some make me think I could totally write a book. Would it be a great book? Not sure…
Maybe one day I’ll find out.