When I first went to college I went to the University of North Dakota as an electrical engineering student. I went to UND because they were the only college to come speak to my class. I became an engineering major because I wanted to be the first person to invent a vehicle that would break the speed of light. I became an electrical engineering student because I thought it would be a good first step to becoming an aerospace engineer and theoretical physicist.
Obviously, my love for suspending all disbelief started early in life. of course I wouldn’t do any of these things. Yes, I’m man enough to admit that I’m not smart enough (except I will say that my theory for breaking the speed of light was actually tried with success a few years later!), but also because I didn’t really like any of that stuff.
Honestly. It’s a very boring field.
I went back home, after being booted off campus for academic insignificance–no small feat for a cow town party college–and I went to a local community college, with a decree from my dad that I had a year to figure out what I wanted in life (or else!). It should come as a complete shock to the educated, and no surprise at all to the intelligent, that I got a much better education in that one year of community college than I had at university.
It was by accident, really, that I became interested in writing. Due to a very disorderly fall schedule I, and a dozen other students, signed up for a standard English class, which turned out to be an Advanced English class. I groaned and moaned, and assumed I’d leave, but the professor told me that I, and a few others, had enough of an academic record to stay if we so chose. For some reason, probably having to do with the cute girl sitting next to me, I did. And Mr. Winkleman, through praise that I had not heard from a teacher since grade school, convinced me that writing is something that I didn’t completely suck at.
A Hemmingway is born.