Danica was entering her Junior year at college and was hard pressed to explain to anybody who asked what she was going to do with her English degree when completed. Teaching was certainly an option and, as time went on, was looking more and more like the ultimate outcome. She was not thrilled at the thought.
She enjoyed writing in her diary and was looking for ways to expand on that when she happened to see that her favorite high school English teacher was instructing a class on creative writing at the local community center during the summer. John Carter was one of the few teachers who ever seemed to care about Danica as a person and not as just another student. If he were not twice her age, Danica believed they would have been good friends.
Danica registered for the class online and anxiously awaited the first evening session. She thought back to when Mr. Carter spent an entire week in the English class discussing song lyrics as poetry. That was her first introduction to Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, but also made her look at Mr. Carter from a totally different perspective. He was actually pretty cool; not something she often said about her high school teachers.
Thus, the opportunity to reunite with him and, at the same time, pursue another angle of writing intrigued her.
Danica arrived fifteen minutes early for the first class and spent the entire time catching up with her former—now new again—instructor. When the class started, John spent two hours discussing the syllabus and, finally, getting into the nitty-gritty of what went into the planning stages of one's writing. He made everyone feel comfortable by pronouncing that his lectures would apply to whatever length of work the students had in mind—from short stories to novels. The principles, he explained, were much the same.
At the end of the class, as the other students filed out, Danica lagged behind and approached him.
"I didn't realize when I signed up that I'd be in a class with a bunch of people that could be my grandparents," Danica said.
John smiled. "That is a typical class, a lot of retired people. They find out they have all this time on their hands and try to find something to do. Maybe a friend tells them, 'Hey, you should write a book.' So, they sign up."
"Do they write books?" Danica asked.
"One out of ten might actually finish a short one," John replied. "They recognize that the book sucks and never write another one. All the other people find it's too much work and never get to the end."
"So, why do you keep teaching these classes, Mr. Carter?"
"Danica, please call me John," he said. "I'm not technically your teacher anymore and we're both adults. As to why I teach this class...for that one student, I guess. The one who takes it seriously and will put the work into it. Someone willing to learn and apply the techniques that I think work."
"Have you written any books?"
"I'm working on my third one," John said. "I wrote a lot of short stories to begin, trying to get a handle on character development and plots and all the rest."
"I'd love to read them," Danica said with a grin.
"I'm not getting rich off them," John sighed. "I self-publish on Amazon. Maybe I just haven't hit on the right genre, yet. Which one did you have in mind? Or haven't you even thought about it?"
"I have. I was thinking about romance to begin with."
John nodded. "Good choice. But, you have lots of competition there. The stories better be good."
He added, "Plus, you'll need to consider whether to include sex or not."
Danica twisted her mouth into a frown and said, "Well, that's problematic. Not much experience there and the guys I have been with were jerks. That's why I was kind of leaning towards writing about relationships between younger women and older men."
"That works," John told her. "But, that means you will need to tell the reader how each of them feels about it. The guilt. Uncertainty. Anyway, when you begin, you should consider submitting your stories to literature websites so you get feedback from readers."
"You'll be my editor, won't you?" Danica asked.
"Of course, I will. But a writer needs thick skin if you want an editor," John told her. "We should meet separately from this class so I can expand on what I talked about tonight and get you started on the right foot."
"I'm free anytime. I am not working or anything. Tell me when and where to meet," Danica said.
After a short silence, he said, "My wife takes the kids to Florida every year once school is out to see her sister. They left yesterday. Do you feel comfortable coming to my house tomorrow afternoon around one?"
"That would be great," Danica answered, pulling out her phone. "Give me your address."
"Also," John added after providing the address and his cell phone number, "bring a brief outline of what your first story will look like. We will talk about it tomorrow."
"You always did give the easiest homework," Danica said with a smile.
***
Guilt and uncertainty, indeed, John thought to himself as he lay in bed that night, images of Danica refusing to vacate his head. In fifteen years of teaching, he had seen dozens and dozens of cute girls come and go in his classes. He soon forgot most of them when the next batch came along. But, now that Danica reappeared, three years more mature and free from the confines of high school, John could not stop thinking about his attraction to her. Her shoulder length hair, always looking a little windblown; her petite body; that face.
John thought about Danica's choice of topics. Relationships between younger women and older men. How could a twenty-year-old write about THAT? How could she possibly know what went through the mind of a man in that situation? Regardless, he was glad she was back and that she wanted to pursue her dream to write.
Danica, too, looked forward to her first 'private session' with John. Her opinion of him only grew more positive following their post-class conversation. She hoped he did not think she was trying to take advantage of him, being a former student. However, even her professors at college were not as willing to help as John was. She would eagerly take advantage of this opportunity to learn more.
The neighborhood Danica grew up in was built in the 1950's. The houses were small, the yards neat. But, it was clear the middle-class people who lived there did not have money. They kept cars until the engines needed replaced and home repairs were a luxury. The few kids that got to go to college, like Danica, did so on scholarships and massive student loans.
So, when Danica pulled into John's condo community, it was like entering another world. She drove past the clubhouse with its large pool and colorful lounge furniture, dreaming of a day that she might actually be able to afford living on such a street.
'I'll have to sell a hell of a lot of books,' she thought to herself.
A moment later, John grinned when he heard Danica at his front door. He welcomed her in and they exchanged small talk. Danica had not spent much time choosing her outfit for the visit, but John silently approved of her t-shirt and shorts while they walked into his family room.
Danica politely declined John's offer of refreshments. He then asked, "How's the outline coming along?"
She opened the manila folder on her lap and pulled out a sheet of paper.
"It's not much," she said timidly.
"Don't worry," John said, taking the sheet. "It's my job to show you how to make it better."
He quickly read through the dozen lines of text.
"That's a good start. But, where are the details?"
"Details?"
John smiled. "Yeah, the details that will make your writing so much easier. Put a little work into the outline now and save hours of re-writing later."
