A Writing Life (Part 11)

Writing at the university level was different. After my first failed year of computer science studies, I switched majors and schools. This let me discover another world of ambitions and ideas. A friend confessed that what he loved most about being at university was the close company of people who shared the same interests. I understood this. The people I met were English majors who looked at the study of literature as something valid; something that was worth the time and money spent at school. This was where I began to do public speaking events with my own work and with poetry that I wrote or found in anthologies (I always chose work that was either not popular or well-known). I mentioned the other work I wrote or improvised and I still look back on this time in my life as an incredibly fruitful time. Not all of my work was of the best quality (and many of my fellow students were also writing and performing the most predictable material), but I finally felt that the life of a writer was not shameful. I was continuing a long tradition of pen, paper and imagination.
*
I should talk about other inspirations, namely the books that I read or were exposed to by other readers. It is impossible to remember the first ones who read to you, or their stories, but I know that it was my mother. There were stories from the Bible and picture books that I recall from sitting on her lap and listening. In school, I read many of the same stories and others that interested me. There was also Mrs. Miller, the elementary school librarian, a tall and thin woman with a short haircut who spoke in soft tones, even when she was chastising us. I will never forget those close gatherings in the library, sitting with my classmates as she shared another storybook with us.