::accretions::

In the college fiction writing class I pretended writing was not that important to me. It was the only creative writing class I took in undergrad. I wanted to separate myself from the people in class who seemed desperate in their desire to write. I may or may not have been taking an acting class one night a week at a community college nearby during the same semester. There was a different kind of desperation in that classroom as we threw a large invisible ball to other members of the circle.

When it came time to choose an author to do a presentation on in the fiction writing class, I wanted to pick someone who no one in the class would respect: someone commercial, someone still alive, someone they ignored. I already felt liked by my classmates, so it was easy. I educated the class about the woman with all the vampire books, because, why not.

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