One day, I went to college. I had always wanted to get an English degree, although according to, an English major is #4 of the 10 most worthless college majors. Meh. I did it anyway. I loved every class I took in my major. Maybe someday I'll get an MBA to balance it out.

I tackled an old novel at the beginning of college, a Y.A. about a redhead named Brynda Brandt. It is based on a story I used to tell my sisters at bed time when I was in Junior High. I think I dragged it out for a couple of years because I used to Tom Sawyer them into doing my chores in exchange for story time. I'd always loved the main character, so I compiled my pubescent ramblings into a novel. When I thought it was done, I took it to a couple of writing conference and got some positive feedback regarding my antagonist, but I felt like something was still missing, so I put it aside.

I started writing poems and essays--a lot of essays. And some of them turned out to be quite good--both the poems and the essays. I wrote a response to Walden that I was pretty happy with. I still  pull it out and read it sometimes.

I presented a collection of poetry at the National Undergraduate Literature Conference called "The Cosmological Collection." The next year, one of my lighter poems, called "The Novel's Lament" was chosen for that year's Metaphor:

The following year, I was editor-in-chief of the publication, so I didn't submit any work, but wrote a precious acknowledgment and laid the book out. My friend Matt Glass, designed the awesome cover. I also presented a collection of poetry at the National Undergraduate Literature Conference called "Love in the Key of B Minor," and won the English Department poetry contest that year with a group of poems that included this one--one of my favorite:

A Sonnet for my Only

In time, with time we’ll find forgotten peace
and rest with arms around its given grace.
Two souls step soft through darkened wait-worn streets,
with you and me remembered on its face

And go, let’s go into the wandering there
imprinted in our now and in our then,
with moments tangled in our longer hair
returning like a lost re-gotten friend

I find, we find for now it aches to wait
the nightmare months that you and I divide,
and to this place it seems we came too late
to have the now that others toss aside

Devotion rests in every waking kiss.
Till time forgives us I remember this.

I also wrote a thrice-weekly humorous column called The Battle of the Sexists, in which I wrote against different guys--we'd pick a point of view and present our gender's point of voice. It was always a good time.

At the end of college, I started working on a science fiction novel called "A Scribble in the Margins." Two years later, I finished it, edited by a handful of people, including a physics professor for accuracy. Fortunately for me, this professor is also well-read and was able to help me out with some character and plot suggestions as well. I know this ending is abrupt, but I suddenly got tired.

Blog off.

Next time: Post-college writing. Now it gets crazy!