What do you do with a B.A. in... Fiction Writing?

What the hell was I thinking?

Well, I know what I was thinking.  I love writing, and I didn't feel like I had any chance at any other schools, so I settled on the Fiction Writing program at Columbia.  No, not Columbia University.  Columbia College Chicago.

Yes, my own lack of self esteem and direction not only cost my parents God knows how much money, but it also left me with a degree that, when examined from all sides, is pretty much useless.  I ask you, what can you do with a B.A. in Fiction Writing?  Please, tell me, because I really would like to know.

I should have known I was in trouble when I very quickly grew to hate my department.  Well, hate is a strong word.  I didn't hate it.  There were several classes I rather enjoyed, actually.  No, what I hated was the complete snobbish, "literary" b.s. that came with getting my B.A..

In class I was always the odd man out. I was, what I guess you would call, a genre writer.  Oh dear Lordy if you could hear the way they said those words.  Genre writer.  Usually that translated to "useless crap that isn't worthy of these hallowed halls."  This coming from the same people who praised the constant tales of hipster artists falling in love, shooting heroin, falling out of love, throwing up in a back alley, passing out in their own vomit, doing more heroin and then losing the will to live and either dying in the gutter or becoming a prostitute.  The other stand by was the tales of the rural families, usually with required wind whistling through grass, a sick parent and/or sibling, and possibly a heavy case of incest (and yet all of it would be so overwritten to the point of being painfully dull.  It's like taking the family from The Hills Have Eyes and making them act out scenes from Little House on the Prairie). 

I, on the other hand, liked writing horror stories, or erotica, or mysteries.  I liked writing the stuff that interested me.  I didn't care if some hipster girl named Star shot heroin between her toes because her boyfriend liked the way her track marks brought out her eyes.  Now, if said heroin turned Star into a brain eating zombie who seduced men and fed on their drug riddled flesh to further her own addiction, I might care.

I didn't fit the mold of what the fiction writing department looked for in an author.  My style of writing was not only not appreciated, it was not welcome.  That fact was made very clear.  I was not literary enough, therefor I was not good enough.

So I stuck with it, got my useless degree, and left that school, and that program, with a severe hatred of writing.  Not just hatred, but an inability to write.  It took years to forget everything I had beaten into my head by the department heads (one of which was my teacher for at least two classes), and get back to doing what I have always loved, writing stories were people die horribly, and usually get naked before doing so.

So I have the damn degree.  I can't use it for anything, other then maybe a few self deprecating jokes, though.

I've written books, scripts, plays, comic books (just written sadly, can't really draw all that well).  Having that degree won't make it any easier to get anything I have done published or produced.  Wait.  That's not true.  It's very possible to get that stuff published or produced.  The degree won't get anyone to pay attention to it though!

When was the last time someone picked up a book with the blurb "from a guy with a B.A. in Fiction Writing!"