the thoughts in my mind are like fish in water

Today I was asked about whatever happened to the Clark street stories that I was working on. I still have all of it rattling about in my mind, but I've only recently begun working on it again, nearly a year after my initial burst of enthusiasm. I guess the hard part for me is the class load I've taken on this school year (five classes a semester) makes it seem difficult to sit down at the end of the day (or beginning) and write. I know that's the only way it's going to get done, but I also have a million excuses not to do any writing.

The bad thing about getting a degree in fiction writing and taking classes where you have to turn in at least five pages a week of something, is that you begin to equate something you love to do with something you may not want to do: homework. That sounds very immature of me to say, but I really think there is some truth to that.

Also, there's this ever present sense of despair, like why bother with fiction, the oversaturated market, the crappy "chick-lit" and other genres that I'm not interested in writing just to make money, and even if I did there's no guarantee that I would, and it just seems kind of pointless. Again, immature thinking, but pervasive thinking nonetheless.

I suppose it doesn't really matter anyway. I still have to have something to toss into the pool, and right now I have the equivilant of an unsightly toy boat made out of paper.

Maybe I should have stayed on another year to get the double major in creative non-fiction....at least then I would have both feet firmly planted on either side of the writing camps.

I guess the answer to that is there's always grad school.