First off, this post is a little disjointed, and I can't be held responsible for bad grammar and spelling. (I wrote it over the course of three days, shoved in between studying.)
Long before I ever thought of being a writer, I was an artist. Before I read books for pleasure I was teaching myself to draw and fumbling around with techniques (with horrible results). I eventually began to develop some skill to go with my talent, and over the years, I produced some pretty good stuff (in my humble opinion). For a very long time I thought visual art would be my calling. Once I got my first computer and copy of Photoshop, I began to teach myself computer animation and graphic design. Later, while performing vocals in my deathcore band, I taught myself to make t-shirt and other merch designs, including two CD covers.
All seemed to point to a computer graphics/animation career, and I hoped to go to college for a degree in it some day. After my band... well, disbanded, I fell out of practice, as show posters and merch designs had been my main source of work. Somewhere along the way in the ensuing years, I also fell out of love with it. This crazy idea of writing a story pushed it from its place at the adult's table then kicked it in the kidneys.
And I'm glad it did.
Right now I'm in college, working on my generals. One of my current classes is Art History 2720, and I hate it. I can't remember an exam I have feared so much as the one I just took. I'm no slob when it comes to retaining information and so on, but the amount of specific detail the professor demanded within an hour class is, quite frankly, insane. All I want to do is write, and anything that takes me away from that is a waste of time (or so I feel). Math I can handle (shockingly enough), as it only requires practice and knowledge of formulas and methods (you can't mess that up). Art History and my (shudder) Philosophy class require a different kind of brain power. And it's not just the frustration of connecting ideas and concepts, or simply memorizing dates, it's doing things the instructor's way, or the highway. It's all about their interpretation, even when it's blatantly wrong or out of context (looking at you Philosophy Professor).
I suppose it's mostly a matter of what I'm willing to place importance in, and while I know deep down that college is important, it just feels like a waste of time. Not just a waste; it is actively taking away from my ability to work on the dream of being a writer. I have no time to practice, no time to edit, and certainly no time to actually write the fiction. The only reason I continue with college is the fact that I can't simply rely on writing to support me. I'm not so egotistical as to imagine that I can "make it" or get published. It's only a dream so far, and dreams don't put food in your mouth. But if I use college as my back up plan, is it really worth it if it wholly prevents me from pursuing my dream?
Why can't I dream of being a doctor?