Advice I wish I received (or what they don’t teach in school)

With my full-time return to school, I feel older and wiser than all my classmates (that’s probably because I am older and wiser). I bring about one third more life experience to the classroom–not to mention a BA in creative writing. I’m not afraid to speak my mind or do my homework because I know I can do so without thoroughly embarrassing myself (except when it comes to analyzing poetry). My wisdom really shines in Groupwork. I think because in Groupwork students are left entirely on their own with little teacher interaction. Since I am the oldest, I become the pseudo teacher of the group and often its leader.

When unaccustomed students are thrust together for the first time there’s a brief, “getting to know you” phase with an exchange of information. How old are you? What kind of music do you like? What’s your major? Since I refuse to answer the first question and name bands they never heard of (is 1995 really that far in the past?), my academic history proves to be the most topical. The majority of classmates are impressed when I tell them I already have a BA and I’m currently a graduate student. Usually it’s a sense of bewilderment (why in the world would you come back to this place after a successful escape?!?!?). On occasion it’s a sense of awe. Or maybe my classmates think nothing and I’m presuming they feel this way simply so I feel better about my life.

I was in a group last semester where a classmate asked me a bunch of questions about my creative writing degree. He had wild, spiked hair that was supposed to look messy but probably took ten minutes to set every morning. He wore intentionally raggy jeans and spoke like he knew everything about everything. For the most part he seemed like an okay kid–but he had an aura to him that said “The world is here for my taking.”

“Why did you decide to abandon your creative writing degree,” he asked.

“It got me nowhere,” I told him. “There’s no money in it. I could try peddling short stories to two-bit magazines for 50 bucks a pop, but it’s just not worth it.”

“Did you ever try to get into television?”

“I worked at a television station for four years and the only thing it got me was fat unemployment checks.” I thought it was kinda odd that a 20-year old stranger was so concerned with my employment status. That’s when it hit me. The strong sense of independence. The desire to be completely different from everyone else. The brimming confidence. “You’re a creative writing major, aren’t you,” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said with an optimistic smile.

That’s when I told him what I wish someone told me a decade ago: “Let me give you a piece of advice. Nobody around here will tell you this. When I was working on my degree I was encouraged to major in creative writing by counselors, teachers, and anyone else I asked because they knew it was what I wanted to do. But the reality is a degree in creative writing has less uses than a role of toilet paper.” He looked shocked by my frankness. “At least toilet paper serves a purpose. There’s nothing you can do with a creative writing degree…unless you need toilet paper. I was told that a creative writing degree could lead to jobs in journalism, advertising, movies–anywhere writing is used. Well it’s a load of crap. If you want to work in journalism get a journalism degree. If you want to work at an advertising agency–major in marketing. But no one–no one–is impressed with a creative writing degree.”

“What about trying to write for television,” he pleaded.

“If you want to work for television you don’t need a degree–you need the connections. Quit school and get a job anywhere you can in the television industry. There’s nothing you can learn in school that makes a creative writing degree impressive to a television station. You know how many people they come up to them with creative writing degrees? It’s about who you know and the talent you have. A degree has nothing to do with it.”

It looked like I broke his heart. I didn’t want to crush his dreams (much like my dreams eventually became crushed by reality and overdue rent), but he needed to hear the truth. Those in academia spew out rah-rah, feel-good lies. The truth is not all degrees are created equal and having a Bachelor’s degree doesn’t guarantee a job anywhere.

For the next minute or two, he kept to himself and processed what I said. Unfortunately, I don’t think it stuck. Eventually he returned to his old self and the next day he made an obvious point to sit nowhere near me. He probably wrote me off, rationalizing his decision on the fact he had the talent to succeed. I thought I had the talent to succeed. I’m sure my words meant nothing to him and he’s not going to change his major–but at least he heard the truth from someone instead the rose-colored propaganda spewed by educators.