A line from Moran’s Interdisciplinarity that my mind keeps circling around like water around a drain is, ““unlike many other disciplines, English does not make a strong connection between education and training for future careers” (18). I sort of view the Creative Writing major as the pot-smoking younger brother of the literature major, which is the ugly stepchild of the science majors.
I had gone to an English Professor and confessed my fears about being a creative writing major, “I know it’s what I want to do, but I don’t know if it’s the smartest thing to do. Like, what if I graduate and the only place that hires me for the rest of my life is Starbucks?”
“Well,” she smiled, “A great number of our creative writing graduates do work at Starbucks. But it’s good for their writing!”
While internally, I felt like I was having a mild stroke at this affirmation, I thanked her and agreed, yes, I suppose it would be good for my writing, and yes, I should be open to these opportunities.
Now, when I sit in my Creative Writing classes, I harbor this resentment at how much I enjoy them. I don’t want to want to be a Creative Writing major. I whined to my older sister about this: “Should I just do Biology? At least I’d have a job.” She laughed, “I mean, I guess you could do creative writing. I’m sure mom’s couch will still be comfortable when you’re 40.”
So when I hear English Lit majors dreading their job opportunities (or lack thereof) in the future, I feel even worse, and silently accept my inevitable unemployed future, and start preparing my back for my mother’s old couch.