So I started school again. I am taking another class toward my MFA in creative writing at the University of New Orleans. It's been a couple years and I'm only a third done. I'm on the 6 year plan.
Everything is asynchronous online. I've had a mostly fantastic experience. They're super flexible and I was grateful to work with Professor Richard Goodman who just recently retired. I also worked with a fabulous New Orleans playwright (Professor Justin Maxwell) who helped me hone my two act act play adaption of my memoir.
Last year was so difficult academically. I had one very hard semester that I had to withdraw from due to my surgeries and work. This year, I'm back in the saddle and taking a nonfiction workshop this semester to help me generate more work toward my next book project. This is just for me my friends. Hear this. You don't need a MFA to be a writer. I've proved that over the last decade and a half.
That said, I do believe that no education is wasted and this degree is especially for me. It may not be pragmatic at fifty to do this, but dreams are not always logical. So I'm here, looking at my Moodle at 3 am. My homework was turned in already and I'm eager to see other people's work and comments. I love school. Always have.
Growing up, I was always the kid who sat in the front row waving her hand to give the answer. Until I wasn't. But I am again, albeit virtually.
One of my musical idols, Siouxsie Sioux, is playing the Cruel World festival at 65, proving that what? It's never to effing late. Dream big. Good night.