Dream of: 03 May 2002 "Power To Write"

I had been attending college for several weeks – going to some classes but missing many. I was living with one of my teachers in her spacious and elegant old home. She was probably in her late 50s, a bit portly, and seemed a composite of other teachers who had instructed me over the years. She taught a writing class in which I had enrolled. About half way through the term, I talked with her about the class; only now did I realize how negligent I had been: I hadn't been writing anything; I didn't even know what I was supposed to be writing. Nevertheless, the teacher obviously had faith in me and she seemed to feel that I had a natural talent for writing; she was however uncertain I would use the talent.

After talking with her I felt inspired: I would have to radically change my behavior and I would have to concentrate on writing. I didn't particularly relish attending classes and writing according to prescribed rules; but I was willing to give it a shot. I pulled out a little pamphlet which had been distributed in the class and which outlined certain criteria to be used in writing for this course. It looked as if the students were supposed to write stories and that the stories were supposed to be taken from copies of the Portsmouth Times (a daily newspaper from Portsmouth.) We were supposed to pick out a story from the newspaper, research the story and then write about it. This was obviously going to take a lot of work, and I had so little time. I had other classes in which I was supposed to also be writing; so I was burdened with the thought of writing several projects at once – a daunting task.

I had so much on my mind. Even the house where I was now staying was cluttered with my junk. I walked around and began picking up things; several pair of my shoes were lying about. Surely I should not be leaving my shoes and clothing strung all over the professor's house. As I was gathering up my belongings, I talked with another fellow who was also living in the house. He told me the professor had been inquiring about some cassette tapes which she had lent me to listen to. I recalled her having given me the tapes, but I hadn't yet listened to them; they were in a box of my things; I would need to unpack the tapes and listen to them

After picking up my things I again began thinking about the writing; I sat and concentrated; I was so much older than the other students in my class, and I had so much power; I could just feel the power to write surging within me. Concentrating on writing was extremely difficult; but I had the power to do it – and I would do it

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