creative writing

I love my young adult literature writing class.
As I have probably said before, I have to write a novel for that class. My final is 60 consecutive pages of Becky-written children's-literature.
I know the girls in that class so well. You really bear your soul when you write. For example, one girl is writing a story about an abusive father, another about a sister who dies, and another about a girl who has a mental breakdown. We help each other read and critique and everyday people say things like "When my father hit me the first time..." or "When my sister had a miscarriage," "when my parents got divorced," "When I found out my dad had died..."
Or when someone else writes a chapter in their mystery, and find out the criminals motives, people start talking about their own experiences with criminals. For real. Actual criminals.
Someone writes a kiss scene, and everyone has something to say. I think I know exactly how many people everyone in the class has kissed.
I know who's having boy troubles, who's dating a divorcee, who has a birthday coming up.
How many siblings people have, and what their personalities are like.
Who snorts when they laugh, and who can keep a straight face.
I know them better than a lot of the people I hang out with on a regular basis.

Today after class ended at 2:50, several of us left talking. We stopped in the foyer of the JKB to finish talking, until all the little groups of people standing there formed one big circle of at least nine people. At 3:35, I glanced at my phone and forced myself to pull away to go catch the bus.
How I love those girls.

How I love that in the last semester, we have formed such a circle of trust that someone can tell about how their spouse left unexpectedly, taking their two children, and the legal struggle they are in over custody and it isn't strange.
And that everyone in the circle could feel free to give their opinion, and advice, and talk about eternal families, the temple, and how hard it is to build a family on an unstable person or relationship.
We told first kiss stories, and how our parents met stories.
We all laughed until we cried.
We huged, and professed our love.
We promised to continue critque groups even after half of us are in Europe next year.

I reread this and thought "these young adult novels are filled with grown-up problems."

No wonder we all feel like we need to write.

except me. I didn't have any big problems as a child. or now. I'm happy.
That's probably why I need to write.
I need some drama in my life.