So my Advanced Fiction class ended with a whimper which is suitable considering it will not go down in history as one of my favorite Lost classes ever. In fact it might go down in history as one of my unfavorite Loft classes ever. Which sucks, because Dale is a kickass teacher and he deserves to always have good classes.
But the thing with Loft writing classes, or any workshop I would guess, is that they’re only as good as the students in the class. If your class is filled with a bunch of students who aren’t going to put forth the effort or, you know, talk, then your class is gonna suck. My class sucked. It doesn’t help that the class was eeny, teeny, tiny (10 students, when the norm is usually 16-18) so it was vital that every single member show up and participate. That didn’t happen.
I was stuck in a class with about three or four heavy talkers and a bunch of statues, oh and a bunch of people who showed up when they felt like it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much in my entire life than I did in this class. And we all know the one thing the world does not need more of, is me talking.
And while I am totally disappointed in the class, I should not complain too much. I did get some great, great help on my stories. Dale and Peabo each made comments on my story Imaginary Boyfriend that were so awesome that it was worth the price of the class alone. Which, I guess, is what taking a class is all about.
Now, thanks to the kindness and largess of my Canuckian friends, I get to take another class. If it weren’t for that gift certificate I wouldn’t take a class in the spring term because that’s just an extravagance poor folks like me can’t afford. I am banking on this class being the one thing that keeps me from becoming a total shut-in.