Oh hey. You back?
You came to hear about how my creative writing teacher etched a thou wilt not prophecy onto the frontal lobes of my brain when I was but the tender age of 25?
Do you really want me to dig up that past just for your reading pleasure? Cause it's not an easy place to go. And anyway you might not like it either. It could seriously dash some of your dreams too.
Since it's a holiday, and holidays are supposed to be fun, I should just talk about K-Mart.
I definitely don't want to talk about my secret admirer anymore, (since I don't have a secret admirer anymore, thanks to Pat!) Pat totally disregarded my plea to please (I even asked nicely) don't come forward (you guys heard me say that, right!?)
Well, she just popped right out of the closet and asked me if I wanted to go to a Donny and Marie concert and to be her BBFF. I just don't know if I can make that transition from SA to BBFF that quickly (unless she can get me one of those sparkly purple socks, because I totally lied about that.) Now I feel stupid for eyeballing the first counselor in my bishopric all through sacrament meeting.
What? Stop getting sidetracked and tell you about my creative writing teacher already?
Okay! But you could have just asked politely!
So my creative writing teacher--we'll call him Dr. Crowe since his name was Dr. Crowe--etched a thou wilt not prophecy into the frontal lobes of my brain at the tender age of 25. You sure you want to hear this?
"There will never be a great Mormon writer," he said. "Good Mormons don't make good writers."
These words were like daggers in me. They cleft my heart in twain.
"Think about it," he said. So I did.
Shakespeare . . . not Mormon. Dickens . . . not Mormon. Hugo, Austen, Elliot . . . all not Mormon. Jack Weyland . . .
He was right!
And still he rubbed salt in my wounds. "Good Mormon's don't have time to be great writers. They can be great dad's and great mom's. Great husbands and great wives. Great Bishop's and great . . ."
"I get it!" I said, with my talk-to-the-hand hand. "But what about in between the dishes and the diapers and while the kids are napping and after they go to bed and once the laundry is folded and right before my Young Women's lessons or my Relief Society meetings, and . . . anyway my time and talents will be magnified after they are consecrated, right?"
He just smiled.
"Are you telling me that all the hundreds of thousands of hours I've spent not learning to cook or sew or play the piano or lead music or make family trees or get ready for an earthquake/hurricane just so I could be completely unprepared to contribute to the Mormon world in any substantial way are all for naught?"
He just smiled (and kept rubbing the salt).
"Plus, Mormons don't have the courage to be great writers," he sighed. I really loved him, but I really wanted to punch him. "Mormon's want to uplift and inspire. They want to write about life as it should be, and not as it is."
I confess I put those words into my creative writing teacher's mouth. Those words are mine, all mine, and it took me 15 years to come up with them. (But I could be wrong. Maybe Mormons just want to read about life as it should be and not as it is.)
I don't know, but I'm feeling a little verclempt.
Can you give me a minute?
Tualk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic.
No really, I'm okay. It's nothing a few deep breaths and some yoga poses and a couple of Mountain Dew's can't fix.
So I know I'm making my own bed with this blanket statement which I'm going to have to lie in later (pun intended), but can we talk about this tomorrow?
And please don't yell at me (or my creative writing teacher) in my comment box because then I'll never be able to lie honestly about anything but K-Mart again.