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.
After years of nomadic temporary employment, advanced degrees, and chocolate ice cream, a rugger with a love of knitting and a cyclist with no domestic skills signed a Ketubah and bought a house in Pittsburgh.
2 comments:
i don't think your father intended you to be a writer when he subjected you to Rambo:+) i could be wrong but i just don't think so!!!!! one year of grad school. well your other mother is also very proud of you. and i beleive your destiny is to write for the enjoyment of others. and i look forward to reading it all.
Teachers across the country now have a new method to teach creativity and writing. If only I had known for all these years that all I had to do was show them a particular movie once a week...
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