As my history professor wrote on my first college essay, “This is too much,” and on my second one, “This is probably too much.” Or, as a heavily bearded community theatre actor once said to the audience, “I’m a button maker’s daughter,” and then after an astonished silence, “I’m not a button maker’s daughter. I’ve forgotten my lines.” Caught terrified in the light, confronted with bored stares, I likely have forgotten my lines and am rambling in the wrong gender.
So much better this way.
I once caused someone I respect to write on one of my stories, “Not much for me to say but WOW,” and then, “Workshop be damned!” Workshop be damned, indeed.
During my MFA at NCSU, I found myself paralyzed by the square box of discussion board format so instead I posted 19th Century Victorian Novel “goofy quizzes” that everyone in the class took for fun (or out of bemusement). I dutifully scored the quizzes, posting the results back for all to see in violation of bizarro-universe FERPA.
In undergrad I was summa cum laude and Liberal Arts Chancellor’s Scholar (highest GPA of my graduating class). Please don’t try this yourself. All I got was several lifetimes’ worth of student loan debt, the right to write goofy quizzes, and a piece of paper that smiles when you turn it the wrong/right way.
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