Twelve weeks after beginning my Creative Writing class, I am finally done with my portfolio, a collection of the ‘Best of the Best’ and the ‘Best of the Rest’ of my work written over these long days and nights.
I was up late last night printing almost eighty pages of fiction, poetry, introspective ramblings (much like my blog posts), along with a few scattered odds and ends. Seeing all those words printed in 12-point Times New Roman filling up page after page was a surreal experience to say the least.
For many years, I had feared that the best of my efforts were long behind me, a distant memory of life and fertility, as I walked through the long, dry desert of writer’s block. I’ve since learned otherwise. While I wouldn’t claim to have written the ‘perfect’ body of work by any stretch of the imagination, I’ve found a sense of redemption of my love for writing, and a rising hope that perhaps the best of my work is still ahead of me.
The portfolio is due by Friday. I mailed it out this afternoon via overnight mail, and now I wait…
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