Week Three, Part 2 - What Might Have Been

Before leaving for class on Wednesday, I get a phone call from Jaimy Gordon. She’s a creative writing teacher at Western Michigan University and author of several books, most notably She Drove Without Stopping. Jamie asks why I have yet to show up for class this fall.

I apologize and give her the bare-bone facts, explaining that I withdrew from the MFA program by letter.

She’s supportive and gracious. "Congratulations. Notre Dame has a great law school." Jamie mentions two profs that she knows.

We talk a little about writing and the creative process. She emphasizes the need for discipline and the publish-or-perish nature of higher ed. “Your novel portion was promising,” she says. “I hope you’ll finish it.”

“Maybe this summer,” I say. “Right now I’m drowning in case law. I started late and have no context.”

“Your background fascinates me,” she says. “The Armenian name and your time overseas. You were the brainiest person to apply.”

I laugh. “The last two weeks, I’ve felt anything but.”

"We expected scores like yours from someone at Harvard, not a little, religious school.”

“As they like to say at Pillsbury, not so long ago Harvard too was little and religious.”

She laughs. “Pillsbury, yeah. What denomination was that?”

“Baptist.”

“Which kind?”

“Independent.”

“And that’s where you taught too?”

“Yes.”

"Did you really believe it or were you just working there?"

“I’m a believer.”

There’s a long pause. “Well, if you decide you don't like law, I'm sure this program would continue to be an option.”

“I appreciate that.”

We hang up and I sit at my desk for a moment. Around me are signs of the writing life. Research files. Manuscript copies. John Gardner’s On Moral Fiction.

I get four boxes from the crawl space, and then I pack without stopping. Everything about my life as an English teacher and would-be novelist gets boxed up and stacked in the closet. There, I’ve cleared the deck. The only book on the near shelf is Black’s Law Dictionary.

I drive up to Notre Dame, a little slower than usual, thinking about what might have been.

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