It's Coming to an End: What Does This Mean?

Heading into a nonfiction writing class was highly stressful for me. I found the topic to be terrifying and challenging.

When my advisor in the spring told me the 300,000-level courses that would be available to me my senior year at school that would help me graduate and also pertain to my degree and interests, he urged to take the creative nonfiction course that was available because I maxed out the creative writing courses at the community college I attended before university--so my choices were take something new or repeat courses I've already taken and some of which repeated.

I wanted a challenge--I chose advanced nonfiction.

The idea of "advanced" was petrifying. I had never really attempted nonfiction other than academic papers. Creative nonfiction? I never, ever tried that. I've had ideas, I've had no confidence or desire to pursue the idea of which.

I had an idea to write about my life--I felt that was too vain and difficult to do.

I had an idea about writing about sex--which I don't feel confident I can talk about properly.

I had an idea to write about abuse--I feared my abuser discovering my writing and re-entering my life.

I refused to approach nonfiction. But I wanted to.

So when the opportunity presented itself, I asked my advisor if I could take the course so I could face a challenge.

In most ways, the class and writing nonfiction has been challenging. Three nonfiction posts a week and five nonfiction essays over the span of 3 months has been one of the hardest things I've done on top of two creative courses where I've dealt with intense writer's block since I was 17-years-old.

I don't know if I can write a book, yet. I may never get to that point in my nonfiction writing. But as of now, this has been an interesting course.