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.

What do ya think?

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