You take a seat in the front row of your college creative writing class; the first of many. Pen in hand and notebook opened neatly in front of you, this the first class that you've been truly excited about.

Everything starts calmly enough that you think you're the big shot in this class. Though you would never admit it out loud, you think your experience makes you one of the best in the class.

One of the first stories you read is "How to be a Writer." It tells the tale of an average writer who spirals into a world of day-jobs and rejections. You say that won't be you; you'll make sure of it.

You have eight weeks to write a ten-page short story. Seems simple. You do it all the time at three in the morning like it's nothing. You've got this.

Flash forward to two days before your deadline. Seven weeks of essays and homework and balancing a job, you're still waiting for that epiphany, that perfect moment to solidify the lukewarm idea that you wish you could replace. You spend your few free moments at the computer, forcing the words out of you.

You're tough on yourself. You never stop editing, never stop changing, never stop doubting. You're such a perfectionist that it keeps you up at night, wondering why this is the one character you can't connect with. Why won't your characters speak to you?

Nine times out of ten, workshop goes better than expected. Your professor smiles as he addresses you and tells you that you'll go far. Your cheeks are hot and you have a spring in your step. You're on top of the world.

But it's not good enough. As soon as you catch a glimpse of the words, "We regret to inform you," you bite the bullet. Your friends put their arms around you and say it should have been you. And you convince yourself that your day is coming. One day.

But your day is busy. Between papers, tests and projects, you're writing anything and everything; just not what you want to write. You write the one-dimensional ideas that come to mind on a Post-It note and promise not to forget about them, but you never get around to it. By the time the workshop schedule gets passed around, you're too drained from being a sleep-deprived, full-time college student to churn out your best work.

Your hands have crippled themselves into claws and your neck aches from sitting in front of a computer night after night. You blink and yawn at the four hours of sleep you'll get tonight.

You are told that you need to be better if you want to compete in the upper level classes. You know you're good, but so is everyone else around you. Everyone around you is competing for the one spot in fiction contest. Every single one of them wants the recognition. Every single one of them wants to be a writer.

They might laugh at you for not wanting a real job. They may tell you to stop and do something useful. But you know something they don't: your day is coming.