Sometime this week I have to use the word Precis in my writing

I just got home about 15 minutes ago from my first writing class and the last thing I want to do right now is write. I've decided that's like the equivalent of a person signing up for Weight Watchers and then going home and celebrating by eating half of a death by chocolate cake.

Ever since I signed up for the class Michael and I have been making up stories about what this class would be like. We decided that the instructor would be a man with recent memories of a good head of hair. He would be wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and a black blazer and his last novel came out about seven years ago and can only be found in the discount bin. My classmates would be mostly desperate housewives who have romantic narratives about their gardeners and massage therapists running through their heads all day long and think that they would like to get out of the house one night a week and hey, put these thoughts down on paper. Oh, and they would all be super eager to please the literary and encouraging instructor. Truthfully I think I was going to this class more hoping that it would provide some kind of fantastic inspiration for a piece of writing than actually teach me something. Yeah, cuz that would totally be worth $247.

It felt weird walking onto campus again as a student. It's just one class a week but as soon as I got to the entrance of the main building I felt like a student again. Hardly anything has changed. The escalators are the same, the posters are all hanging in the same places calling students to come join the various social groups. I thought I'd walk in there and feel out of place but it was like I had walked right back into 2003.

I found the classroom and took a seat close to the front but along the window. There were four of us in the room--three women and one man. I was the youngest for certain.

I checked my phone and saw that my mom had called. I listened to her message. Something isn't right with Elmo. He's limping and can't seem to put weight on one of his front paws. I had a dream this morning about Elmo. It wasn't good. The ailment was not the same but it is weird to me just the same.

Just after six, our instructor, who is neither balding nor a man, poked her head into the room and announced that we are to gather in the classroom next door instead. I later realized that in the move I forgot to grab my jacket that I had hung on the back of the chair. I worry about it for the entire second half of the class. Distractions like that will not let me write.

The class turned out to be about nine people. I am not the youngest. Apparently some others were missing and it is hoped they will show up next week. There are four guys in the class. Two of them are young. One of them wore a full suit and is a lawyer. I think he looks like a Ken doll. I mean that in the kindest way. Do you remember when they brought out the Ken dolls with the real hair? That's what this guy made me think of. He came with all the fun accessories too like shiny black shoes, a plain, white to-go cup of coffee and a soft-sided briefcase.

During my introduction I actually said that I keep a blog. The instructor asked me if I will be sharing the address of that blog. I said maybe. At first I thought yes but then it occurred to me that I would not be able to write about the class if I shared the blog with the class.

The most interesting part of the class was being in a group of people who share the writing experience. We generally run into the same problems with writing, we generally write for the same reasons and all but one of us have full-time day jobs that mean we cannot spend eight hours a day, every day, writing.

One of the questions that came up in the class was, "what are you reading? What is on your nightstand right now?" I couldn't remember the title of the book I'm reading. I knew the word Elephant was in there somewhere. Now, sitting here on my bed I am looking at my nightstand and I see three books--Going to See the Elephant (the book I am reading now), Spring Collection (the book I intended to read over the summer) and The Shack (the last book I read which was kind of lame). Oh, and there's also a book of crossword puzzles. I usually work on a few before I go to sleep. There's also two boxes of Kleenex (one regular one plus Vick's), two lights, two buttons that need to be sewn onto a jacket, two CDs of mine, two borrowed CDs and two tags from pairs of jeans that I want to remember for next time I need to buy jeans. I just noticed all the pairs and suddenly found this space interesting.

So Wednesday nights for the next six weeks I will be out learning about writing, maybe talking to a Ken Doll and trying to figure out where my instructor's accent comes from. Here's hoping something that is career-launching or at least blogworthy comes out of it. Oh yes, and there will be word of the week challenges. Note the title of this post for this week's fun word. Challenge indeed.

I like lyrics. On the way home tonight I heard Van Halen singing these ones and they struck me as something an unfinished piece of writing would say to me.

Come on baby, finish what you started
I'm incomplete
That ain't no way to treat the broken hearted
Come on and finish me

Van Halen--Finish What Ya Started