"Err...Ahhh, I'm a writer," I said.

"No kidding," the other one said, "what are ya writin', a book about house paintin'?"

"No," I said, "I'm uhh...writing uhh...magazine articles."

"No shit? "For what magazine? Playboy? Sports Illustrated?"

"Well, I haven't gotten anything published yet," I said.

"Oh, I see," one said to the other, "I'm an astronaut. I haven't actually learned to fly yet, but I've gotten pretty high."

"Yeah," the other one said, "I cracked a couple of skulls at the Do Drop last week. I guess that makes me a brain surgeon."

They walked away laughing and left me wondering if I'd completely thought this thing out. When I was thirteen, I listened intently to a friend who was two years my senior, tell of all his sexual conquests. He looked at me and asked, "Are you still a virgin?"

"Hell no," I replied, hoping my new discovery of masturbation counted.

"Oh really," he snickered, "Who have you had sex with?" Without the proper time to invent a good lie, I made the mistake of telling the truth. "Every woman in the JC Penney catalog underwear section," I boasted. "Page two-twenty-six, twice."

He walked away with the exact same laugh as my two carpenter friends.

It was my wife Lora who'd gotten me into this mess. She'd been encouraging me to "take up" writing for several years. I didn't pay her much mind at first--I didn't know a lot about writing, but I knew you didn't "take it up" like one might take up fly fishing or bocci ball. Besides, she'd led me down the garden path before. This is the same woman who suggested I buy a Betamax and swore to me that vasectomies didn't hurt.

One day she brought home an Adult Education Schedule and one class caught my eye: "Write From the Start." Cork Millner--Instructor. Clever title, I thought, but I don't know how much I can learn from a guy named Cork. I already know how to drink.

I showed up on Thursday night, carrying a full load of excitement and trepidation. The registrar came by and took my twenty dollars. Then Mr. Millner handed out the syllabus.

"You'll notice that this class normally takes ten weeks," Cork explained. "But the spring semester is shorter by three weeks, and I can't be here for another week, so we're going to condense it into six weeks. Don't worry, it won't be a problem."

No problem at all, I thought, as I looked around for the registrar. I may not know how to write, but I know how to add and she owes me eight bucks!

When the first class was over, Coach Millner had done his job. Properly motivated, I couldn't wait to start my assignment--a 250 to 500 word humorous essay describing something in your life. After shoveling down dinner I turned on our new computer and stared at the keyboard. Rats! Writers block already?

Approximately four-thirty in the morning, I leapt out of bed with an idea and pecked at the keys like a stuttering rooster. Ten minutes before I had to be at work, I turned off the computer, and ran out the door.

After work I raced home to review my masterpiece but found zip...nothing. Following an hour of panicked exasperation, I surmised that I forgot to "save" and swore I'd never write again.

One hour later, I was rewriting my previous tour de force from memory. When I finally finished, I checked the word count--556 words. I had to cut our fifty-six words, so I went back in. One hour later, I checked the count again--678 words. "Shipbiscuit! I'm going the wrong way!"

I tossed my assignment on Mr. Millner's desk Thursday night and watched student after student place theirs on top of mine, burying my work of genius.

Thirsty for writing knowledge, I listened intently to Coach Millner for the first hour. Then he stretched and said, "Okay, it's time for a little break. Afterward we'll read some of your assignments."

"What did he say?" I croaked. Sweat poured out of my body like a soaker hose. Searching for the best escape route, I tried to calm myself down between gulps of coffee. Maybe he is going to read the assignments, I speculated. I could live with that.

Cork returned to the head of the classroom. "O.K., Susie, would you like to come up here and read your piece?"

Holy Crap, he is going to make us read them out loud! My brain was so cluttered with panicked thoughts I couldn't hear Susie, but when her lips stopped moving I mumbled, "Very good."

Coach Millner snatched up another assignment and called out a name, but I was in my own private Idaho. I saw mouths moving but all I could hear above my pounding heat was my inner voice yelling, "Run! Run!"

I noticed that he was taking assignments off the top of the stack, so I might be safe. Slowly, my hearing returned. I calmed down enough to try and work out a plan in case he called me. Maybe I could start signing like a deaf person. No that wouldn't work, I'd already opened my big mouth once or twice in class. Maybe if he calls me, I could stand and say, "Instead of reading my piece, I'd like to offer one of my testicles to science."

I watched the clock like a Dead Man Walking. I noticed it took about three minutes to read the assignment and about two minutes for the class to evaluate it. Fifteen more minutes were left in the class. I'm home free, I thought. There's at least ten pieces ahead of mine. Hell, I might even savagely critique the next person's work with the rest of the class.

Just as the sweat started to evaporate from my brow, Cork shuffled through the assignments. What the hell is he doing? Cork Millner must be a Scottish name meaning, Wicked, wicked man.

"Okay, let's hear from a man now." Cork said, "Here we go, Jim?"

I started to faint, but he handed the piece to someone else.

You mean that there are two Jims in this class? Wicked man, hell, Mr. Millner is Beelzebub incarnate!

Eight minutes left. Jim number one will probably be the last and even if he isn't, in the name of fair play and everything Holy, even a Millner wouldn't call two Jims in a row.

"Okay, very good Jim," Cork said. "Here's another Jim."

As he handed me my paper my eyeballs started to sweat and my tongue turned to sand. I began to read, but I wasn't sure if anything came out of my mouth. The pages were shaking so badly I had to lay them down on the table. In the background I heard a chuckle. Shortly after, I heard some giggling, followed by laughter. I stopped about a minute into the piece, realizing that I hadn't taken a breath since I started. Glancing up I saw some of my more intelligent looking classmates smiling. I started to read again. More laughter, then more.

They like me, they really, really like me! The worm had turned and I was a writer.