It’s spring. Really almost summer, especially according to the weather. Everything is alive. Plants are blooming under the sun, but it’s not too hot yet. Even in the early morning, before 6 am, the light is bright, the sky a brilliant blue. Birds chatter and sing, maybe ten, maybe a million.

It makes me think of the future. Well, I’m always thinking of the future, planning, hoping, dreaming. But in spring the world seems wide open, the future is coming closer, faster and faster. It’s the end of the formal year. Here comes the short summer season and then a new year again.

And what will I do with this next year? And the year after? And all these years after that? What do I want? Where am I going?

I didn’t expect to find myself back at the desire to pursue my degree in creative writing. And I definitely didn’t expect to be uninterested in getting a MFA in creative writing. I always assumed that if I pursued creative writing, I’d go all the way.

But with an Evergreen education, I have options to make it almost better than a MFA. And I’m also just skeptical about MFA programs. I’ve heard so many stories of writers learning to write as their professors like them to, not how they actually write. I hear of people who rediscover that writing is actually fun. It’s like they had the fun beat out of them and it’s just become work.

I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to earn my right to write from some professors who maybe don’t look at writing the way I do. I want to take it. I don’t mean that in a forceful way. I mean that I want to exert my right to write without seeking permission or confirmation. I want to take my right to put pencil to paper, fingers to keyboard and write freely, how I want to.

If it feels like I’m saying “the right to write” a lot, it’s because I am. The Right to Write is a book by Julia Cameron, who also wrote The Artist’s Way. Her books try to give advice to writers (and artists) about how to further their craft. The Right to Write is full of personal stories and teaching concepts, and exercises to apply your learning.

I’ve actually never done any of these exercises for real. I have a hard time responding to prompts. I remember, as a child, my parents tried to tell me I was a good writer. But my teacher, specifically in fourth grade, sent home a weekly writing prompt. I didn’t enjoy them. At Thanksgiving, the prompt was so awful that I refused to do the assignment. My mom convinced me to write about why I hated it so much. And I decided that they had to be lying about being a good writer.

That didn’t mean I didn’t love writing. I have always lived in a world of stories. Every story grows from my mind, expanding until I’m uncomfortable with how huge it’s become. I suppose I should feel that way about my own story. It is, after all, the only story I’ve been telling continuously throughout my life. And it’s the only story that is utterly unpredictable.

But still I tell it. So what does the future look like? I see a summer of research and learning to be a more disciplined writer. In the fall I will sit down for hours every day and try to pound out huge quantities of words. I have every expectation for myself to write a complete book in those ten weeks. First, I have to be sure I go in with a solid plan, of course.

Mostly because I like solid plans. I’m not particularly good at them. I suppose that’s why my solid plans are these stories I tell myself. In reality, the last year is the most solid my life has ever been. Perhaps that’s because I’m in control of it, so it feels more solid than the 18 years I spent with my parents. But who knows how well my work will go? Who knows what the book will turn into? I have a dream of trying to find an agent in spring quarter. How the hell will that happen?

My imaginary story of publication before graduating might be a pipe dream. That’s okay. I’m going to keep working on it, regardless of how well it goes. I will write this book and I will edit it in winter and spring quarters. And during the whole thing I will try to keep moving my future possibilities forward.

Hopefully, in summer 2016, I will write another book. In 2016-2017 I’ll take another class and do one or two internships, maybe with a publisher I’d be interested in working with or with Hugo House. I will continue to grow my relationship. I want us to move somewhere healthier. I want to have a real kitchen and dining room, maybe an office. I want a little garden. I want a cat now… and maybe a baby in the future. That will continue to be the hardest decision about my future. Not just mine, ours.

Today, the groundwork is laid and the stories are just stories. I hope that tomorrow, next month, next spring, they are true.