"And you will teach writing, surprise, surprise, at NYU, and make a habit of calling the best writers, often the most sensitive and underconfident writers, into your office to tell them what they can become."
This is so good, so familiar: my story is about wanting to be an artist and a writer, moving to NYC from Columbus, Ohio in the 1970's with nothing, somehow getting a (partial) scholarship to the New York Studio School but too poor to buy enough paint and so draw draw draw, but can't hang out with the other students with no money problems, or go on the field trips to the Met to do studies because I have to work washing dishes at night---and I'm a nice seeming, middle class white guy who surely should not have these problems. Not to mention knowing no one, knowing nothing about galleries or publishers. Nada. Did everything work out? I'm not sure, but I did become an ESL teacher with refugees, and publish and exhibit my work. I write and draw and paint every day, so, yeah.
What an amazing story! What an amazing storyteller! Loved every word ❤️Never judge a prancercising NYU bobcat by her furry, fuzzy suit. Suck it, Kafka expounding kids!
Ms. Stapinski, I could not love this essay more! I related to it in so many ways. Your professor, who TOLD you, you were a writer...Yes!! Every fiber of my being shouts, "Yes!" For all the neigh sayers, nose in the air, my shit doesn't smell uppity meanies, your success yells so loudly and proudly.
Great story, I was a poor day student at University of Maryland, ‘71 studied fine art. I totally relate. No money for good oil paint so I concentrated on drawing. No trips to NYC to visit galleries, museums. But I’m still a working artist, unlike most of my fellow students, I was somewhat of a late bloomer.
No, but I was aware of that. I worked there for about a year. Most of that time we were in office space on Montgomery Street. When we moved over to the Park, I began to have serious second thoughts. The contamination and the organization.
Rock on. Everyone will tell you not to be a writer when you’re young. Even my creative writing teachers in college told me not to be a writer. If you need to do it--if it’s in your soul--you’ll do it anyway. Like many of us on Substack.
I just completed writing a short story today about a young woman who holds three or four jobs to work her way through college. Seems propitious to log in here to treat myself after my own writing day and read your lovely essay. Thank you.
I'm still waiting for that building to crack in half!
"And you will teach writing, surprise, surprise, at NYU, and make a habit of calling the best writers, often the most sensitive and underconfident writers, into your office to tell them what they can become."
Beautiful essay. Thank you.
This is so good, so familiar: my story is about wanting to be an artist and a writer, moving to NYC from Columbus, Ohio in the 1970's with nothing, somehow getting a (partial) scholarship to the New York Studio School but too poor to buy enough paint and so draw draw draw, but can't hang out with the other students with no money problems, or go on the field trips to the Met to do studies because I have to work washing dishes at night---and I'm a nice seeming, middle class white guy who surely should not have these problems. Not to mention knowing no one, knowing nothing about galleries or publishers. Nada. Did everything work out? I'm not sure, but I did become an ESL teacher with refugees, and publish and exhibit my work. I write and draw and paint every day, so, yeah.
What an amazing story! What an amazing storyteller! Loved every word ❤️Never judge a prancercising NYU bobcat by her furry, fuzzy suit. Suck it, Kafka expounding kids!
Helene, your students are lucky to have you as their professor.
It’s really early on Friday morning. I just read your story and already that made my day. Loved it! Thanks
I loved reading your essay this morning. The propelling anxiety, Duran Duran, the howling wolves, and yes to that 80s prom dress!
Ms. Stapinski, I could not love this essay more! I related to it in so many ways. Your professor, who TOLD you, you were a writer...Yes!! Every fiber of my being shouts, "Yes!" For all the neigh sayers, nose in the air, my shit doesn't smell uppity meanies, your success yells so loudly and proudly.
Great story, I was a poor day student at University of Maryland, ‘71 studied fine art. I totally relate. No money for good oil paint so I concentrated on drawing. No trips to NYC to visit galleries, museums. But I’m still a working artist, unlike most of my fellow students, I was somewhat of a late bloomer.
How wonderful!
Warmed my heart on this frosty Canadian morning
More, please! Great stuff
Thank you for sharing your life, your story!
I feel like I know you. Were we ever in contact around the opening of Liberty Science Center ca. 1992?
i'm sure we were. i wrote about the toxic waste underneath
The did add several feet of clean fill to the building site.
did you ever see the Roosevelt Drive In? Chromium leaches through everything
No, but I was aware of that. I worked there for about a year. Most of that time we were in office space on Montgomery Street. When we moved over to the Park, I began to have serious second thoughts. The contamination and the organization.
Rock on. Everyone will tell you not to be a writer when you’re young. Even my creative writing teachers in college told me not to be a writer. If you need to do it--if it’s in your soul--you’ll do it anyway. Like many of us on Substack.
Michael Mohr
‘Sincere American Writing’
https://michaelmohr.substack.com/
I just completed writing a short story today about a young woman who holds three or four jobs to work her way through college. Seems propitious to log in here to treat myself after my own writing day and read your lovely essay. Thank you.