My English degree is paying off and it’s happening in the strangest of ways.
Or maybe I’m just finally taking advantage of the numerous lines that flew through my head by the (in)famous writers that my professors believed to be beneficial to me as I learned to be an adult and accepted that my degree would probably get me nowhere.
See, it seems to me like I’ve had more and more people lately tell me that the way I use the English language is astounding or amazing or lovely or any other adjective that they can come up with. My favorite so far has been, “your grasp of the English language is incredibly sexy…”
*avoids eye contact*
Quite the compliment, me thinks. But why have they all shown up, out of the blue, and landed in my lap?
I guess I’ve just found a way to arrange 26 tiny letters into different patterns, letting them ebb and flow as they come from my mind to my fingertips and escape onto a white electronic page, always trailing after a little, blinking, black line.
Pretentious: A word that is often used when describing someone who is pursuing a degree in English. Perhaps the line above gives me my 15 seconds of pretentiousness. Or perhaps I’ll become it and create a new persona out of it.
Regardless of what or who I become, I’m enjoying the attention that is being paid to my use of words; I’ve debated over and over and over again with myself on whether or not I was allowed to call myself a writer because I wrote a blog every once in a great while. Or because I write letters to my dearest friends to make sure that they know that I’ll never stop appreciating them. And because my text messages get sent, not without a thorough look over to make sure that I mean exactly what those little letters have spelled out. Every word is chosen deliberately when I’m putting a pen to paper or when each button my computer is depressed and released again.
I’m a writer because of all these things and more. I am the creator of my own story, and I want it to be filled with grandiose and beautiful words. Perhaps one day, I will create my own “cellar door.”
So until tomorrow,