Your writing sucks. What makes you think you’re so freaking special? LOL.
I DON’T LIKE SEAN OF THE SOUTH
DEAR I DON’T LIKE:
It was evening. The ceremony was in the gymnasium. The room was filling up. My wife squeezed my hand. “Are you nervous?” she asked.
I wasn't. I was more ready than nervous.
My father killed himself when I was twelve. My mother wasn’t the same after it happened. She spent her days grieving in a bedroom. I did not attend high school.
My first construction job was as a teenager. I hung drywall. Drywall is the Devil's work.
I don’t know how it happened. But over time, I came to believe I was unintelligent. After all, smart folks drive nice cars, go to college, and tell Charles to saddle their horse.
Educational failures like me sanded drywall seams.
Embarrassment was my roommate. I did a lot of reading during those years. I read so much I developed headaches.
this because I missed out on things like prom, football, and other various benchmarks. Books helped me feel less stupid.
The librarians knew me by name. I read Westerns, adventure novels, “The Unabridged Encyclopaedia on Cheesemaking,” “Innocents Abroad,” and the autobiography of Andy Griffith.
I admire writers. Always have. Especially those who write.
Anyway, getting into a community college was no small feat for someone like me. The truth is, I barely made it.
I took classes when I could afford them. I attended night school after work. I ate suppers in my truck, going over homework under a dome-light.
I wish I could tell you I was a fantastic student. I wasn’t. It took me nearly a decade…