What to do with a writing degree?

When I was twenty years old I had an epiphany. Drug induced to be honest. Projected on a blank white wall I saw these swilling images of the Stations of the Cross. I saw people, rapidly moving, scampering around, playing out all the emotions of what the Stations of the Cross are a metaphor for once you look at that fable objectively. While carrying a heavy cross a person fell, people helped pick it up, they left, some more helped, some oppressed, some stretching their arms out with questions. All the emotions of the cycle of life were present in rainbow technicolor. For once I saw all this pain and grief, love and loss, as if I was watching a movie. I was separate, yet knew I was in the middle of this drama until my death. It was so beautiful, even in its futility, that I carry that theory with me till this day. Humankind will always cycle around in this drama.

I had the pleasure of hanging out with a friend of my boyfriend's a few days ago. This man lives alone with nothing but tons of art books from thrift stores, a record player, and a highly active mind. He asked me where I was going with my writing.

Nothing was my answer. My plan is to live the most interesting life possible, observe unique people, hear their stories, and write it down. Record my life.

He had an idea: he said all this generation has is Martin Scorsese to draw inspiration from. He thought I should be the voice of punk rock (NO!) and write down these adventures that I have had and that I have known other people to have had. He even said I should embellish a little.

I'm getting a head of myself. The conversation started because he believes people want to be exposed to drama- to grief. That they are, "vampires" and need to feed off of the tragedies of others. I hope he is wrong.

I do not wish to honor people who lived on the fringes of society by doing violent acts. I wish to honor the life of those who inspire. My first (and only novel) I hope to write is about what children talked about at recess in Elementary School, then juxtapose their innocent questions with the mind of the adult reader. Child-like bliss. So people will not forget. Positive, yet a little perverse. The point is to remind adults of what we forget in our daily lives: innocence.

I will never write about what drives people to drink, or do drugs, or break hearts. I'm walking a thin line with my own and I don't want to dredge up stories that I try to forget. So I suppose I'm something of an escapist. But I can make that my reality.