Whoop!  I have finally started my Creative Writing program at the University of Toronto.  Originally, I signed up for the summer workshop, but the dates conflicted with my chemo treatments.  I deferred until the winter semester and changed the course location to on-line vs the downtown campus.

For homework, I have lots of reading and writing to do this week!

I have to read several articles and pick one book from the Recommended Reading list.

I have to write daily in my freshly purchased journal, as well as jot down notes when a thunderbolt of an idea strikes me.

There is a private message board for all of the students to introduce themselves, which we’ve done.  Our class has an eclectic variety of students from Vancouver to Ottawa …  Laywers, Government officials, Stay-At-Home Moms, Chefs, IT Specialist (me) and more.

The professor gives us a daily writing prompt to encourage freewriting.  I’ve decided to do my exercise homework on the blog since this is where I have become accustomed to dumping my words.

My official assignments get emailed to our professor, so I will keep those private until marking and commenting.

Wish me luck!

February 19 Daily Writing Prompt:  Write about an experience you had at a gas station or convenience store.

Why do I always pick the slowest lane?  Especially when I’m in a rush?  It must be a jinx that was placed on me at birth by a time fairy to punish my impatient mother and my “slow as molasses in winter” father.

I couldn’t recall if there were any gas stations on the north side of Hwy 2, but I was heading north-west and didn’t want to backtrack to my favourite gas station.  I didn’t have time.  My car was jam-packed full for a weekend of fun and I wanted to be on my way!

Finally spotting a Petro-Canada station, I pulled in to fill up on gas and buy a few other necessities.  Needing to grab windshield washer fluid and a lighter for birthday candles, I didn’t pay at the pump.  I realized that was a mistake as soon as I walked inside and joined a lineup of six people.  I muttered to myself about the efficiency of self-serve transactions.

The lone attendant was busy heating up those cheap-ass gas station nachos for a woman while the rest of us waited.  Everyone watched as he slowly shook the chips into a clear tray then disappeared under the counter to look for something.  He stood and poured a lake of plastic orange cheese sauce on top.  It took a full two minutes for the concoction to be warmed up in the microwave.  I counted every second.  I sighed, rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and looked around for sympathy.  The gentleman behind me smiled and acknowledged our traffic jam.

When I looked at the clock on my iPhone, I realized I had been standing in line for ten minutes and still had three people ahead of me.  Ten minutes!  How much longer would I have to wait?

Writing my dream!

The Fox

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