I finished up my first ever creative writing course, and got my final grade report. Honours. Cool.

This is the first Saturday in the last eight weeks that I haven’t been editing, re-reading, re-hashing a new five page scene for submission to my instructor for feedback. Once I hit “send” I could then get on with my weekend. Before picking things up on Monday, reviewing a classmate’s piece for workshopping and reading assignments due on Tuesday. Seven scenes written about my life for critical commentary. Rather exhausting, and harrowing going back to some not wonderful moments in my life. It seemed the deeper and sadder I got, the better my writing. At least that’s how it appeared to me with the feedback! So it’s a bit liberating not to have that pressure today.

On the other hand, wow, did I ever have a blast. I was engaged in a creative way. I was learning about what constitutes a great scene, I was told I was good with sensory detail, that my writing is crisp and easy flowing. I also received some wonderful constructive criticism. And a feeling that if I ever wanted to publish, there is a market for it.

I’ve got a thirst for good, great writing. Not just from some of my classmates (I was blown away)… but also from the reading assignments. We’d read an excerpt “The Bird Tribunal” by Agnes Ravatn a few weeks ago. Not a memoir but written in the first person, and we were all captivated. A Scandinavian novel, with great description of nature and an overarching mood of foreboding. When I woke up at a stupid early time this morning (6 AM on a Saturday for no good reason)… I found it as an ebook at the library, and finished it in one setting.

This course has changed the way I read. I don’t want to be a reading snob, but I have a more critical eye. I appreciate things that are done well, and lose patience for long meandering descriptions and plot lines. I may have more “DNF”s in my Goodreads selections going forward.

I think I will continue writing my scenes, just not at that crazy speed. Writing requires a lot of commitment with little reward. Perhaps the reward is just finding the creative side of myself again.

One of the pieces we read was written by an author who published her first book at 65! So there is hope.