|Flickr Credit: JLS Photography - Alaska|
But it is that time of the semester again. Registration. As I write/edit/schedule this, I am waiting for the clock to strike twelve. It’s one of those things where instead of my coach turning back into a pumpkin, I gain the power to sign up for fall semester classes.
Like, yeah… I could do it tomorrow morning and still get the classes I want. But I am awake right now, and it is better to be safe than sorry.
As it is, my class-taking is all in pursuit of a mystical goal called a degree. I do not know who invented degrees or why they need such big frames when they are so small, but it is important to get one. For specialized skills. Jobs. Life. And to get one of these esoteric pieces of paper, you must declare a major.
Deciding on your major is a decision that falls upon your shoulders when you hit, I dunno, Kindergarten, and plagues you with its weight and importance until last week when they made you do it or else NO REGISTRATION FOR YOU.
More or less. In truth, I’ve thought about my major for a good while. The first step was simply acknowledging that I was going to be a writer about it—in my senior year of high school I stopped torturing myself with indecision and said, “From now on, you’re a writer. Act like it. And if you don’t like it, you can stop, but until then, don’t.”
I haven’t. I still write, and that simple claim to this identity was a huge step. But it was a step with questions, like, “What do writers major in?”
According to important people, writers get degrees in writing or English except not really because they don’t improve your writing skills and aren’t competitive on account of every writer gets those, so major in something else you’re good at and provides you material to write about without impeding on your writing time but makes enough money for you to live until you can be a full-time poor writer. Good luck.
So I decided to put my decision off until later.
I entered my first semester at college not knowing what I wanted to do. I figured I’d major in a subject I could write about, like science or history. Why learn to write if you don’t have something to write about? Well… because I want science to possess the humor and enthusiasm of Youtube and lack the intimacy of O Chem. That idea died pretty fast.
My professors, on the other hand, sort of just looked at me and were like “Yeahhh, English major.” Which I was dubious of at first. There was still the problem of being a writer without an area of expertise.
A problem that only lasted until I realized that writing about books and the stuff in them is a totally viable option.*
We do it all the time at school. I love my classes that focus on fiction—or even include fiction at all. I love reading about it, writing about it, talking about it, thinking about it, and all the other abouts of it. And though there’s more to English majors than just fiction, I declared that one anyway. For reading. For writing. For awesome. I have no regrets.
Admittedly it has only been like a week of no regrets… but I plan to have fun yet.
My only problem now is that I don’t know what I’m going to minor in. I have gotten suggestions but I don’t like them. Right now, my top choice is supervillainy—but get ready for your heart to break, because that one isn’t offered at my school. Alas.
Still! I’m excited about the English major stuff. I’m very close to registration. And I’m glad that this looks like a field where I can grow and be satisfied as a writer, too.
BOOM. I’m registered. That wasn’t so bad.
What advice have you heard about picking majors, for writers (or other fields)? (What classes do you think you would take in a supervillainy degree? Cuz really.)
*I know, I know, book bloggers had this figured out ages ago!