Several days ago, I made the horrible realization that I am the oldest member of The Tea-Spitters (which may explain why I often feel slightly out of place). While most of our group lands below the magical age of 18, only one other member rises above it, and I pre-date even her. With that in mind, then, I am faced with a somewhat unique quandary: paying for college. Thus far, between my parents' assistance and my own funds, I have navigated a debt free existence. Looking next year's budget in the face, however, has been nothing short of daunting. It is very obvious that next year, I will not be able to make ends meet unless I get some outside help.
Cue going homeschooler on the problem. There are very few things that cannot be solved or accomplished when one is armed with a library card and the ability to read quickly. I happen to have both. After an hour or two of reading and transcribing, I had a newfound hate for the fact that I do not have any politically correct minority blood in me, as well as a list of 69 possible scholarships. While I am proud to be Irish, you do not get a lot of love from your fellow Irish when it comes to college. Incidentally, anyone of Slovak, Cherokee, Hmong, Navajo or Cuban decent that wants to adopt me is more than welcome to do so.
Now that I have a list of scholarships, it is time to methodically work through each scholarship. I am glad I had such a large starting list, because the list is rapidly getting cut as I research each one. Some get discarded because I am too old (bother being old), others because I am not of the proper minority...take your pick of reasons. My most recent discard, however, had an interesting reason for falling by the wayside: I tossed it because do not know any "established Bay Area literary artists and who possess extensive knowledge in the various genres that the Awards seek to recognize."
The wording struck my fancy. While I most definitely do not have such a person to sponsor me for the scholarship, I began musing over the impact that having a relationship with an established literary artist would have on both my life and my writing. It wasn't until last year that I realized my professors did not really challenge me to be perfect in my writing. I even had one tell me that the class would be a skate because I obviously already knew how to research and write, so she would not send things back to me for rewrites. At the time, I thought that was a great compliment. Now I wish she had. The end result was, unfortunately, that I got lazy. Instead of writing, reviewing, and rewriting my work, I would simply turn in my first draft--often without even proofreading. I started using excessive contractions in my work, a nasty habit that I now have to proofread for (even after proofreading this, I'd be willing to bet that I left some in...like that one). Further, and probably the most detrimental, was no one was truly interested in reviewing what I had written outside of class.
There was one exception, however. Doctor Rennicks. I am truly afraid that I wore him out at the end of the semester, as I not only did every assignment, but every extra credit opportunity and even sent in other things that had nothing to do with his class. He reviewed it all, and send it back. At an early age, I had sworn off writing poetry, claiming that rhyme and meter were too much for me. He taught me the value of free verse, and pushed me to write my first long poem--a rewriting of a Greek tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, from Eurydice's viewpoint. His class opened up new horizons for me, and I felt the motivation to think bigger and write better. I never feel afraid to show him my work, because I knew he was going to help me make it better, not try to change it. He respected my vision, and would only question it when he thought I could articulate it better.
I like to think that knowing a literary artist would be like taking a class from Bob. His classes were discussions, not lectures--enjoyable and friendly. Almost like the same discussion could have taken place .3 miles away at the local Peet's. I doubt I will find an established literary artist who possesses extensive knowledge of all genres in time to sponsor me for a scholarship, but maybe someday...someday, I'll meet one. And when I do, I can only hope that we become great friends. Then we can sit together and drink tea in a coffee shop and pour over manuscripts. Then I will never be afraid of showing someone my work, because they won't critique it just for fun; they will do it to make it better.
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