I have finished a year of graduate school. Holy crap! I did it! Yesterday I got all teary when my mom said how proud she was. She thinks I could have gone to graduate school when I was three years old. I think all mothers think that, but it's nice to hear.
I celebrated my night of completion by watching Rambo, First Blood. Just like I watched countless times with my father when I was a young girl. I got to thinking during the horribly written dialogue scenes that perhaps First Blood is the reason I am a writer. Perhaps my father made me watch this movie again and again to demonstrate horrible, crappy writing.
It is now my lot in life to entertain people through words so they can stop playing First Blood on AMC. I should really be thanking my dad for this wonderful drive, pushing me through my first scary year toward my MFA. Johnny Rambo, I salute you.