School's Out For Summer

Isn't that an awesome song?

Yesterday was my last writing class down at Stanford. My ten weeks were fantastic, and I really valued my teacher's incisive comments, but it was time for the class to end.

First, it's a long drive from Sausalito to Palo Alto, about an hour fifteen. Not so bad if that's all I was doing, but then there's the work day to consider, plus I had to get in at 7:30 in order to leave in time for class. Tired and low on gas is a crappy way to end the week. Fortunately the writing high usually counterbalanced that.

Second, the students, on the whole, weren't very good writers. Some of them were, but most of them weren't. Life is too short to read mediocre fiction.

Also, I was disappointed by the turnout. The first week, seventeen people showed up. Last night we were maybe eight. Historically, it turns out, people stop going to extension classes after their piece has been workshopped (they've got what they want) or before they present (they chicken out). And, of course, some people just don't like the class. Regardless, these folks weren't buying into the writing community, not to mention wasting their $555 class fee. Working with half-assers is not very inspiring.

Next week: a new novel-centric class at Bezerkley extension. Reports to follow.