An essay on my one and only writing class.
September 26, 2025
I want to go back to school.
“What the hell are you thinking! You’re an old man. Why would you want to go back to school?”
I want to take a writing class.
“Why? You’re already a writer.”
I’m an amateur. I want to be more than that. I need to take a writing class.
“Why can’t you just be satisfied with what you’ve accomplished? It’s way more than you ever thought you would.”
I don’t know. It’s a constant inner struggle/conflict that I have.
“Why?”
I already said, I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s a mental health issue.
“Yes, it is, and you know, you really should stop talking to yourself!”
When I first started writing, I had no choice. I had to write or die. Yeah, I know. That sounds a little over the top melodramatic. But I had all of this war stuff in my head that had been eating away at me for years. I call it “the war venom.” One way or another, the poison inside of me had to come out. So, I began writing about the war. I felt like I had to write.
On some days, I sat at my desk in the solitude of my basement for eight hours a day while my wife was at work, and secretly wrote my memoir. I wrote until I cried, took a break, and went right back to writing some more. I wrote while some of the harbored poison slowly washed out through my tears. It was extremely painful but cathartic at the same time.
I didn’t have funds to hire publishers, editors, inside layout, cover designers, etc. So, I really couldn’t do anything with the memoir manuscript that I secretly wrote. I didn’t dare tell my wife and kids about it. They already worried too much about my condition, which I thought I was hiding pretty well. The VA has a name for it, but I won’t bore you with that.
So, I shelved the story for ten years. After I retired from work, I spent a million hours researching and learning all about something called self-publishing. The general consensus was that a first-time self-published author was lucky to sell a few dozen books. Maybe even fifty or one hundred over his lifetime, if he had a whole lot of charitable good friends and relatives. I was scared to death to let anyone read it. But I felt like I had to take a chance and just put it out there. And so, I did. I secretly published the memoir without telling friends or family. Needless to say, I was more than thrilled when that first little book sold over one thousand copies the first year, in four different countries!
A few more books and a few more years later, I still feel like I have to write. It’s not an option. But fortunately, I love to write, so it’s not a chore either. Besides writing the books, I also write stories, articles, anecdotes, and essays. Many of which have been picked up by large national websites. One of them even made it into a major national Veterans’ print magazine. That was big! But I have a gnawing desire to write a bigger, more successful book. A novel. My later books have not sold nearly as well as the first one. I had to figure out why. What am I doing wrong? I had to find a way to do better. The obvious answer was: “My writing sucks! I have to go back to school.”
“You know you are not going to be able to sit in a classroom with other people. Right?”
Yes, I know. I rarely ever go out.
“They are going to be smarter than you.”
Yes, I know.
“So why are you thinking about doing this?”
I have to find a way to fix the last novel. I have to learn how to write better.
“How are you going to do that without going out and meeting people?”
I have to find a way.
“You know you’re talking to yourself again?”
Don’t remind me!
When the college brochure came in the mail, I was really excited to see an online writing course listed. I can do that. Even though I had my Community College degree already, I took ten more on-line credit classes from home just for fun, but that was 25 years ago. I loved taking those courses. However, none of them had to do with writing. That was long before I began writing. The only interaction between online classmates or professors back then was by email. I didn’t have to leave my basement and interact with people.
Now, contemplating taking another course, I emailed the professor and inquired about the new online non-credit writing course. Okay, so the class turns out to be more than just email communication. It’s a Zoom course. I did a Zoom doctor appointment once. That was easy. I didn’t have to go out.
First day of class:
I sat in my basement and looked around at all of the students on my computer screen. They all looked friendly and nice. The professor arrived on the screen and gave an introductory talk. She has a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) degree! That sounds good. So far, so good. Then came the part when she said, “Now we’re going to watch a short video from an acclaimed author discussing her recent book. And then we as a class can discuss her writing ideas, topics, and methods.” No problem, right? I can quietly sit and watch a video.
I was pretty shocked and caught off guard to find that some of the topics of discussion during and after the video included: Racism, Anti-racism, Black women going to church, Pastors having sexual affairs, Religion and even religion bashing, Sexism and sexuality, Feminism, and… Pronouns?… which I had no idea what that was about. I couldn’t believe it. I cringed as I was waiting for politics to come up next. What does any of this have to do with writing?
We went around the Zoom room and everyone was asked to take a turn commenting on the video. I didn’t want to take a turn. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was at a complete and total loss when my turn to comment came around, I just mumbled something.
After that, I began thinking to myself that I probably wouldn’t go back to the class. I even thought to myself that I should give up writing altogether. I don’t get any of this. It’s all a pipe dream anyhow!
“Now you’re talking crazy again. I told you not to take that class. Are you going back?”
I don’t know. Probably not.
“You know, it’s not their fault that you are crazy.”
I know. The professor was very nice, and I still need to fix that novel.
“It doesn’t need “fixed.” It just needs help with being discovered and promoted.”
I got a notice this morning from the senior writer and arts editor of the Veteran’s magazine. He informed me that another one of my articles that I submitted two months ago is going to be published next week. That should help generate some new discovery. Right?
“Yes. Free promotion! But don’t you think it’s odd that you are writing a story about your writing class failure?”
Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll check into taking a different writing class next semester.
“You gotta stop talking to yourself! Just keep writing! AND, maybe consider going back over to the VA for a visit!“
I’m not talking to myself. These are just things that run rampant through my mind when I am writing. I’ll be just fine if you stop talking to me!
Well, I did go back to the next class and I actually finished the course. What I did learn was that being the hermit type of recluse that I am, for me writing has to be done unsupervised in solitude. So, as it turned out, I failed big time at going back to school. At least for this time. And maybe I’ll also fail as a writer, but I have to do it in my own uniquely right or wrong way. We’ll see what the future brings. All I know for sure is that fail or not, I’m not going to quit writing, because, that’s not an option… I still have to write!
“Do you ever argue with yourself?“
No, I only argue with you.
“You know I am your mind, right?“
Yes, and I think we can work all of this out together!
“Good, I’m very glad to hear that.“
Now let’s try to get some sleep.
“Okay, I’ll take the first guard watch and then wake you in two hours.“
Goodnight.
By the way, the article I referred to in this true story was “A Veteran’s Walk in the Park,” and it did get published!
Thank you for reading my writing.
