Stuck in the Middle

I feel like I did on a rainy day in February as I stared out the window at Stanford's Main quad as my professor went on and on about the beat writers. A skinny student in the seat next to me sat at the edge of his seat absorbing every word the professor said and furiously writing down every other word in his worn black leather journal.

My enlightened and eccentric professor paused for a minute like he was trying to consider the impact of what he was about to say. Nervous he might start calling on people and asking about the chapters of "On the Road" we were supposed to read, I opened my book and prayed he would ask about something on the page I quickly read.

"Jack Kerouac's first draft of On the Road was written as one long, single spaced paragraph. Some people believe he wrote it in one sitting. And high on drugs."

The skinny student and I both dropped the book in our hands and looked up in unison. He looked up in awe. I looked up in disappointment. It was yet another day when I realized that I was never going to be a real writer.

Some days I feel naturally inspired to write and some days I don't even feel capable of writing a shopping list. Its the highs and lows of writing. The extreme highs and lows Kerouac created through drug use.

The skinny student probably went to the pharmacy and purchased every last bottle of cold medicine. I went home and ordered a pizza. He has probably written three novels by now. I am writing a blog.

Fortunately I have no desire to go on the road with Kerouac. I will capture my moments when they come and rely on the highs and lows of parenting, of marriage, and of life to inspire me.

I may not be a writer in Kerouac's class. I will never reach his height or his depth. But maybe one day Stanford will teach a class on writers stuck in the middle.