Writing Class

I wrote this for a blog post awhile ago and never posted it for some reason.
Since typing for any length of time is still difficult right now I thought I'd dig into the archives.
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A few years ago I attempted to take a class in writing.
Everyone thought I should if I was going to write a blog.
You can see if you've been reading me that I am a drop out.

The way she asked me to write a story was all so very flowery.
It was encouraged to write that way.
But it isn’t how I speak.
I found it so difficult.
So very much like F. Scott Fitzgerald much more than me.

She kept saying she wanted unique and descriptive.
The things that got encouragement from the instructor were things that were so difficult for me to write. So I decided in my class that it was apparent that I am most certainly not a writer.
Nor will I ever be because I just couldn't cut this class.

Yes, she said nice things to me about these assignment but it took me forever to write this way.
The small vignettes or sentences below I had to write were all about something in my life that had happened or was happening.
They were to be a vivid memory yet worded in a way that you may not even know it was me.
I found it all so exhausting. Hence why I’m not a writer I suppose.
I knew what I wanted to say but a paragraph could take me an hour to find a way to say it the way the instructor wanted it said. I kept thinking if I really was a writer and I went through this angst it would take me 100 years to write a book.
I’m giving you some examples below.

This first one was how I found out my mother had died.
It was so long ago but I can still smell the stale smoke at my Grandmothers house.
I can still feel it, see it and it feels so raw even to this day.
Yet articulating it was so difficult for me.
Oh not if I could just write it like I speak, that would be easy.
This was for my very first lesson in class.
I would write some and then walk away.
It was so damn difficult of an exercise.
Oh not because of my mom’s death but because this is not how I speak.
It just didn’t come easily for me.
The instructor asked me to write about this topic and I did as told.
Thankfully I got an A as well as encouragement not to quit. (But I quit anyway) 
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She instinctively knew the minute she bounced into the room. The familiar faces that surrounded the dining room table were in various modes of still. She politely turned her head away to the wall of windows on her left with the happy sunlight filling her view. She didn’t want to turn away from her safe view but she knew she had to face them. She glanced their way again hoping to see the playful sunshine on their faces this time. Instead she saw the aura of their whispers and she just knew it wasn’t going to be sunny again for a very long time.

This next two make me laugh because they too were real situations.
One of them being the damn assignments.
She wanted a sentence that “moved”
That term she kept using drove me absolutely bat shit crazy.
“Movement”, or it “moved” were said by her all too frequently.
I was very busy so I just wrote these flippantly and considered it a completed assignment.
I thought I’d hear about being lazy yet she loved it! I admit that made me laugh.
They never came that easily again for me. Trust me on that.


His manner was meek as were his clothes so she was startled when he leaned in closely and in an aggressive whisper told her to leave

In defeat of a realization that it was now work instead of blissful pleasure she let go of a disappointed sigh.

Gee is it obvious that last one is me writing about my class here?

So have you taken a writing class?
If so, did you do this because you want to be a writer or just for fun? 
I thought it would be fun but it wasn't fun to me, so I am curious.
Did you get from it what you thought you wanted or needed?

Love to hear your thoughts on this.