I'm starting to suspect not all of my peers take this so seriously. There's one girl, though, who's been so kind as to send me her entire hundred-thousand word story. There's another who's got a sweet screenplay along the lines of Tarantino. The only guy in class has a story with a very strong asshole character. There are at least seven more people in class, though. Oh well. A close friend keeps telling me that it's not my grade on the line, and not to worry so much about them. I can't help but feel my written comments on their transcripts are unwelcome. I am sometimes riddled with insecurity.
And then, days like today. I know that I hogged all the time, and that I shouldn't have... I'll probably not submit anything else for class workshop, to give other people a chance and what not. But I really needed to talk out some of the things, especially those things about which I wasn't so sure.
Then, Dr. Beggs gave me my sixteen poems back, with minimal commentary, but on the very last page he wrote:
I know this drives you crazy, but I have nothing to tear apart here. This is an engaging and enjoyable collection. At some point, however, if you wish to grow as a poet, you should master a variety of forms.