Upon Noticing a Pattern During My Literature Courses

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Well. It’s decided. I’ll never be a famous writer.

I couldn’t possibly fit the bill. One, I never had any traumatic childhood experiences or prolonged illnesses. My parents didn’t hate me and neither one ran off with a gypsy.

I never ran away from finishing school. I never even went. I completed my college degree and I’m pursuing even higher higher education.

I never ran around with the underground bohemian crowd. I’ve never been an alcoholic or a drug addict. I haven’t so much as puffed on a cigarette. My wildest incident of substance abuse was drinking caffeinated coffee at 10 pm and being awake until 4 the next morning. And boy, the hangover.

I’ve never been married and had an affair. And one traumatic relationship in my late teens is hardly tragic enough. I would at least had to have had three traumatic relationships at the same time to qualify.

I’ve never stowed away in a fishing boat off the coast of Alaska. I’ve never been whaling. I never belonged to a communist activist group. I’ve never secluded myself in a cabin by a pond for a year. I’ve never been committed to an asylum. I don’t have immediate plans of becoming an ex-patriot, because I rather like America.  

I just can’t be a writer. At least not one of the greats.

Oh, well. I’m probably a bit better off.

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3 responses »

  1. But you do have an excellent sense of style, like Marianne Moore. And you are very driven to write your best, like Nathaniel Hawthorne. (Just please don’t imitate Hawthorne by burning any of your old work). 🙂

Ramble back at me...

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