I learned Wednesday that I have been accepted into the college's creative writing department (CW for short) as a major. Those of you who know me are no doubt scratching your heads, thinking, "Um, well, duh...?"
The truth is, I was accepted as a freshman at the University of Maine - Farmington (UMF), but my declared major - CW - wasn't automatic. You have to apply, and be accepted, before you can be officially declared. This involves submitting up to two writing samples, an application, and an essay about yourself and why you want to major in creative writing.
I've been sweating it, too. I got the obligatory "thanks for submitting your application to our department..." email, that also included this little tidbit at the end: there were bunches of applicants to fill only a limited number of slots, so, you know, good luck.
Yes, I did the rationalizing. I said to myself, "Well, twelve years as a journalist, a published novel, 41 years old....They just GOTTA take me."
I don't know what the department's criteria is, either. Truthfully, I was worried I would get a Thanks but No Thanks letter.
Now, relief. I can continue with this semester's classes (A average, thank you very much....!) and then, next semester, jump into CW classes. THAT's gonna be cool.
On another note unrelated to college, but significantly more important. (And WAY more exciting) Corrine and I met our prospective new son, today, when we traveled an hour to visit him in his current foster home.
I cannot tell you his name, out of confidentiality, but I can tell you that he is red-headed, so Corrine has started calling him Carrot Top, or CT.
CT is 5, but has some developmental delays. He has been diagnosed with mild mental retardation, but you wouldn't know it. In fact, we both think it's a misdiagnosis. Frankly, he was born in a stunting environment by his biological mother, who left him with his older brother, locked in a room, many times.
He is delayed in his speech, and we think maybe that's where the MR diagnosis comes from.
Really, he more than likely has a form of ADHD (fucking hyper as hell, or FHH - that's the technical term, by the way) but what child isn't?
CT is incredibly bright, loving, inquisitive, and the aforementioned FHH.
When you ask him a question, his "yes" is "aye", which is so damn Scots-Irish cute.
He's not Scots-Irish. He's pure-blooded American. With red hair. And FHH and ADHD.
It was surreal meeting him for the first time, knowing that in a few short weeks, he will be living with us, and in about a year, will have the last name Turner.