I’ll begin this post by explaining that I have a Bachelor’s degree in English and History…and I will hopefully never have to use it. Growing up I always knew that I wanted to go to a University (though my actual goal was a Master’s degree, oh well), but I was never quite sure what I wanted to go to school for. In my early years I wanted to be a veterinarian, then it turned to marine biologist, then it turned to private investigator (don’t know where I got that one), then it turned to an environmental lawyer, then it turned back to biology, and somehow I ended up with English. I changed my major four times during school, and ended up graduating with around 200 credit hours.
It all seems silly looking back. My final degree change happened when I knew that I was going to try making a career out of writing…even though I didn’t need a degree to do so. Still, the symbol of a college degree has always meant something to me. It doesn’t mean, hey, give me a job. It doesn’t mean, hey, I took classes so I’m smart now. It might have made my writing better, but it doesn’t somehow qualify me to write books. I suppose what it really means is simply that I accomplished something. I know a Bachelor’s degree isn’t the most impressive thing in the world, but I’m ridiculously proud of that little piece of paper.
I started writing books for the same reason. I never hoped to make any money, and I doubted many people would read my books. Still, I needed to write them. When I put out Xoe, I was just as proud as I am of my degree. Publishing a book didn’t mean anything, and I didn’t think I’d gain anything in doing so, but seeing my book in paperback form was just as, if not more rewarding than receiving my degree. This is all my roundabout way of saying that I’m considering getting my Master’s degree, even if it means more loan debt and the stress of being back in school. I feel like I’ll regret it if I don’t get it. I want to die knowing that I wrote a bunch of books, and got a Master’s degree. I don’t wan’t the marriage, 2.5 kids, white picket fence thing, and I don’t want the mansion and fancy car thing.
My goals in life are pieces of paper. The end.