The Education of a Sidetracked Writer: Part 3 — Back to School

The south face of Picacho Peak

I love school. I admit it. I would be a student my whole life if I could.

Of course, that is not economically feasible or family feasible. So, for me, writing is the next best thing. When I write, I learn. I’ve learned that cholesterol in eggs is not nearly as bad for me as I’ve been led to believe and that buying a real Christmas tree is more “green” than buying an artificial one. And do you know that the western-most battle of the Civil War was fought near Picacho Peak in Arizona?  How cool is that? I’ve lived an hour away from Picacho Peak for 19 years and only learned that little tidbit last March.

So, when I write, I learn and I am happy. But, sometimes a more formal education is necessary, especially when you have been away from it for a while. I was away from it for a long while, more than 20 years. Even though I had worked with words through most of those years and had recently taken some online classes (see my previous post), I knew my writing skills still needed major polishing.

In 2007, I decided to go back to college. I didn’t know what else to do.

I looked first for a Master’s degree program. At the time, I couldn’t find one that had anything to do with writing. (Arizona State University now has a Master of Liberal Arts program, which includes a writing track.) It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because — can you believe it? — Master’s degrees are expensive! I checked out one that would have cost more than $20,000. Obviously, that was not going to happen. Finally, I came across a Writing Certificate program at ASU. It required 18 credits or six classes. I could handle two classes a semester and still be done a year before I had to send my first child to college. Okay. That could work.

Because I already had a college degree, the school got to charge me graduate-degree prices for undergraduate-level courses. (See? Even before the economy crashed, universities were shamelessly trying to make a buck at their students’ expense.) My three semesters each cost $2,000 — still a boatload of money, but a bit more manageable. Thank goodness for home equity loans and a low interest rate. I could have done without the guilt (a post for another day), but my husband told me to consider it an investment, and that made me feel a little better.

I gathered my transcripts, proved my residency, and went to the doctor for a meningitis shot. At the end of August, I walked into my first college class since 1984 — “Persuasive Writing.” I had my backpack and my books. I had a bottle of water. I felt like I was 21, and I wanted to learn.

But before that, I had to get past two things. The first was technology: Every single chair at every single table had a computer in front of it. Holy smokes! Not that I wasn’t computer literate, but you know…in 1984…not too many computers at school. I was surprised.

And the second thing I had to wrap my brain around? These students — no, these kids — were not much older than my son. It had never occurred to me that I would be old enough, by far, to have given birth to every single one of my classmates. Ugh. Suddenly, I was 44.

It was definitely a face-palm moment.

Next up: School in the 40s

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