Farewells (dedication to my advanced creative writing class)

Go ahead, pull up the sheets and I’ll tell you a bedtime story. In this story, everyone dies. Actually, I’ll save that one for later. But, in this story there’s a classroom in an old building on the top floor of campus. It seems the sun doesn’t quite shine as bright through the dim glass windows, but the students in there supply most of the light. The chipped paint of the door frame, and the wobbly wooden sphered tables are only appreciated by the students in this class.

See this class is special. It’s not the conventional class that sits perfectly in their chairs, and raises their hand. The class that has the proper answer for every question, and is the pride of the school. No, this class is crazy. They turn children’s books into murder mermaid stories. They implant death and tragedy into the most beautiful of poems. They’re possible a gang of psychiatric ward patients that belong in the Arkham Asylum with the Joker. They have gang meetings every Tuesday and Thursday night; and when they meet, they come up with some of the most insanely unique, plot twisting stories you could fathom.

This class, this gang, will convert you to their ways, and leave you drawing hearts on every sheet of paper you see. They will imprint their personalities on the very fabric that is you, and turn you into a creative rearranger of words. Your inspiration level will rise, and the suggestions they provide will turn your one page short story into a chapter book. They will brainwash you into loving them, and you find your disdain of school will turn into a constant urge to be there. Their ring leader, Oh-Wise-Grey-One, will critique and sculpt you into a grammar-correcting, tense-fixing, subtle-sex joking anthropoid with his magical teaching skills. He will push you to reach new heights, and press out of the comfort bubbles that you inherit the minute you decide you want to be a writer. This Heart Gang will infuse their shaming of Twilight actors, love of bad puns and the abusive use of the F-word. Regardless of the dark aura seeping out the bottom of the door, you will happily fall into the creative pools in this corner classroom.

They are inspiration,

they are light.

Nobody dies in this story, no, but the saddest part is saying their farewells.

(Thank you all for such an amazing semester. You encourage my dramatic flair ten fold. Glad I finally met a classroom full of crazies that match my psycho. Dreams really do come true!!!! )