"Ha", she smirked. "That's cute".

I have two years of college under my belt, and I've never really been questioned about my major. It's a funny thing, really. Many of my peers who are going for Creative Writing have been interrogated, eye-balled, and smirked at when asked by their family members or friends what they plan on doing with a "Writing" degree. And their eyes flutter, and their foreheads bead with sweat, and they begin to consider their futures. Well? I'm going to be a Writer, they think, level-headed, and open-minded. And the family member or stranger or whomever decides to question their future walks away with a smile playing upon his or her lips.

I've never really been questioned like that. Sure, I've been asked and given a sturdy nod of the head by family members who either don't understand or don't care to know. I've always been supported by those close to me, those who believe in my dreams as much as I do.

The other day, however, I was given the smirk by a parent as I was waiting to pick up my sister and brother from school. The conversation didn't last but five minutes, as I calmly explained that no, I am not a mom and yes, I go to college and oh, I'm studying creative writing. This stout woman did not know me, and didn't pretend as if she did, but I suddenly got the feeling that she didn't approve. She had the audacity to ask what my mom thought of me studying to become a writer, as if I was taking up wicca and holding seances in my dorm room. She said the word writer in the most skeptical, scoff-like way possible, and I almost cringed.

For a brief moment, I thought I was studying something bad. Then I retrieved my words back, and looked her in the eye. "She's very excited for me, and knows that I will succeed in whatever I do with my life."

I probably didn't state my ideas as clearly as that, and it might have come out of my mouth in more of a mumble, but I think I got my point across. The woman pressed her lips together in a short, tight smile and found her kids, whom I inevitably felt sorry for, and prompty walked away.

Writing is not something that I choose to do. There is no guarantee in the working field, and a B.F.A in Creative Writing is not something that tends to make people think I'm incredibly intelligent, like a scientist or doctor. But I fell into writing as a way to relieve the tensions and stressors of everyday life. It's what allows me to dream and travel and get down on paper what is stored up in my heart.

It may not be a reputable career choice, it may have me working odd jobs for the rest of my life, trying to send my work out on the side, and it may have me struggling for money. But to me, those are the perks. Those are the things that make life worth living. And if I do get to live out my dream and see my name on the bindings of hardbacks in Barnes and Noble, then I will smile thoughtfully to myself, and humbly wonder why anyone would have ever doubted me.

There are plenty of times that I will sit and seriously consider what I want for my life; where I want to live, how I will find a job there, when I will actually write something worth sending to publishers and magazines. There are times when I doubt my writing ability, as most writers do, and times when I think I have absolutely no idea what I plan on doing with my degree.

But...that brings me to this summer. I've been contemplating the classes I will be enrolled in on the ship; two non-fiction writing workshops that will prepare me and aid in the writing of memoirs, essays, and the art of reporting. I've always been big into fiction--what could be more fun then making up stories and characters and places and personalities?--and have never really considered anything else. Now that I am signed up to take some nonfiction courses, my interest has been piqued. I believe in Cairo, one of my assignments is to interview a camel "driver". How insane is that? I can picture myself riding into the Sahara on a camel with this man in sandals and a thick accent, who is sweating profusely, trying his best to answer my weird, touristy questions. I certainly wouldn't consider myself a journalist, but this sounds like fun...

So, aside from the smirks, and weird glances, and questions that make me wonder what in the world I am doing with my life, I enjoy writing. That's the bottom line. I enjoy making things up, proofreading, and talking about literature and authors whose names I can't pronouce. I can only hope this summer will enlighten me and push me out of my fiction comfort zone. Bring on the camel drivers, and shopkeepers who don't speak english, and shady people with pasts I can't begin to fathom.

I'll have my notebook and camera ready.