March 18th. The weather had significantly dropped from the week before, but I was okay with that. A heavy sweater or light jacket took care of the breeze, and beanies were the perfect accessory to complete any outfit.
The quad on campus was empty, students who liked to lounge in hammocks between the trees or study on the grass had moved indoors, possibly to the library or dining area. Walking on the path, the breeze picked up my hair, moving it around my face. I push it back over my shoulders and hold it there for a minute. A useless maneuver since it comes right back into my face, clouding my vision for a few moments. With a huff, I tuck it into the back of my sweater. I'm almost inside anyways.
A blast of heat greets me at the door and I shiver at the contrast of temperature, goosebumps temporarily rising on my skin before disappearing completely. I take off my beanie and fix my hair as I walk to the office I had visited not too long ago. Today was the day I would find out if I had any future in writing or if editing was my only career path. My hands were shaking. What if I made the wrong choice in my major? What if I missed a major mistake in my chapters? I should have read over all the chapters again to be on the safe side. Too late now, I guess. Maybe I can convince him to give me another try. I'll submit new content with the newly revised chapters.
Thoughts swirl in my mind as I approach his door. My heart starts to pound out of my chest. This is my make-it or break-it moment. I hope it's the former instead of the latter. I worked hard to get where I am, and I know that I will improve in my writing as my career progresses.
I knock on the door, hoping for good news. Hearing a deep "come in," I slowly push the door open and step inside. He smiles at me and I relax a bit. Maybe he's smiling because he has good news for me. He liked my work and can't wait to tell me the next step that I have to take.
Or he could be giving you a pitying smile so you don't feel so bad when he tells you that you cannot write, my subconscious rudely remarks.
I shake the thought out of my head and follow his lead, sitting down in a wooden chair with blue padding on the back and seat area.
"Good morning, Rose. I'm glad that you were able to meet with me today. I know it was short notice, but I want to be able to send off your prewrite as soon as possible in its current condition."
"Good morning, Professor. Thank you for calling me in, I have been feeling anxious since I handed you my current chapters. Any news or feedback will be a major relief at this point."
"Of course. Let's get right into it then. I thought your chapters were done well, but I do have some suggestions. Try word variations. You say 'walk,' 'he says,' 'I ask,' multiple times throughout one chapter which makes it very redundant. Also, try to add more content in your chapters that you can then use as a reference to your plot later on or as an undisclosed major plot point in the climax when the character connects all the dots.
"Lastly, work on your transitions when your characters are doing any physical movements. Instead of saying exactly what they do such as 'he picked up the bowl, cracked an egg, walked to the ove, opened the oven door, and put the dish in the oven' try adding mental thought or summarizing those actions. For example, 'putting all the cake ingredients into the round silver tin, she hopes it will taste good. It was her first time making a cake.' Other than those minor changes, your story is really good. It has a lot of potential. Do you want to make those changes and give it back or do you want me to hand it in now?"
There is no mental debate about my answer, "I would like to make those changes first, please. I can have it back to you by tomorrow. Thank you for taking the time to read it and give me feedback, I really appreciate it."
He nods, "have a good day, Rose."
"Thank you, you too," I reply, walking out of his office.
While a weight was lifted off of his chest at the possibly impending doom that he was about to tell me, a weight is put on my shoulders at the work I have to do tonight. It's going to be a very long night, similar to the one I had a few weeks ago. While, I'm not thrilled at the amount of work I have to do, I am excited to get started because the changes are relatively minor and I know that I am working towards having a book of my own out in the world somewhere someday."
Having one class left that day, I walk to the building and hope it goes by fast so I can begin my second round of revisions. I only have myself twenty-four hours and that has never been a long time. I need to spend every second wisely.
Another blast of warm air hits me and I rush to get to my class, I'm a minute behind schedule and I like to have my notebook all set up for class with the date at the top of the page as well as the lecture number and title. It's a small organizational hack I found was very useful early on when writing papers. The professor is right on my heels as I enter the room. Hearing the ruffling of papers, students look back and I duck my head the slightest bit. Of course they are looking at the professor who has our graded tests from last week, but I don't want their attention on me, especially when I am a little late.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Before we begin today, I want to hand back everyone's exam. If I wrote a note at the top, please see me after class today, no matter your grade."
The professor moves swiftly around the room, passing back the stapled papers. It's easy to tell how well a student did by their facial expressions. Those who stare at the paper with defeated looks on their faces are the ones who didn't look so well, and those who take a quick glance at the large red letter grade with smiles wide enough to split their face in half did very well. Then there are the students who keep an indifferent face. They are the hardest to tell, but when I look hard enough a clenched fist usually expresses their anger, but if their shoulders relax the slightest bit they did well. For the last category of students who look dumbfounded when they see their papers, it is usually out of surprise of how well they did.
Placing my own exam in front of me, I slowly take a peek. I always expect the worst, but there is a little part inside of me that is confident that I did well. Trying to stay neutral, I flip it over, making sure no one else can see. My ninety-four grade stares back at me, and like my peers, my shoulders drop in relief. This is a grade I am beyond happy to receive.
Continuing to look at my first page, there is a small note in the right hand corner: "great work!" The comment is simple enough and I feel good whenI read it, but I feel a little stressed when I realize that I have to stay after class. I just don't have that kind of time to spare today.
"Alright, everyone, we are going to begin now. Please remember to see me after class today if there is a note on your exam."
Putting the papers under my notebook, I move it to the center of my body at an angle, ready to tackle the notes she provides.
"To properly insert dialogue into text…" She starts, prompting my hand to start scribbling on the empty lined page.
When my hand is ready to give out and my words are barely legible, my "n" and "m" looking like deflated mountains, the clock strikes two o'clock.
"Have a good day! See you all next week!"
Everyone stands up, clearing their areas and shoving their materials in their bags. A few stay behind and I rush to be at the front of the line to talk to her. After she is done erasing the chalkboard, she looks behind her where I lead a trail of four students behind me.
"Rose! I know I wrote 'great work' on your exam, but I want to make sure you know how much you have improved in these last few weeks. I have had you in previous semesters, but it feels like you are finally embracing your creativity when it comes to writing a story. I would like to see more of your work soon!"
Shocked that she took time out of her day to tell me how much I have improved, I am lost for words, "th- thank you," stumbles out of my mouth.
"Have a great day, Rose. See you next week."
"See you next week, professor." Turning around I walk out of the classroom in a daze. It has been much easier to write lately and I think I have two boys to thank. With that thought, all the work I have to do rushes back and the weight is placed back on my shoulders. I rush through campus and into the parking lot where the brothers are waiting for me.