This morning I started another college class en route to becoming a teacher again, and I cannot begin to tell you how jazzed I am. There was something about sitting in a room with a bunch of literature-minded, whip-smart people, talking about Emily Dickinson, Ernest Hemingway and other writers. It's not that newspaper writing isn't stimulating enough. But this is a whole different set of muscles, another kind of thinking. I kept scribbling down names of books I hadn't read or didn't know, wanting to feed the appetite the class had whetted.