992967638

Learn how to turn a manuscript into a book, a report, or other document. Editing, design, production, sales, marketing, printing - master all the skills involved in this complicated process through the Certificate in Publishing.

I am going back to school.

In my erratic path of self-discovery and in the hopes of crossing that pesky "Get a New Job" pixie off my list, I have enrolled in the Publishing program at my old university.

To the dear friend of mine who stated at this news, "What the hell, you're not educated enough?!", I have to admit that there are some provisos. Since I do have a life to make happen, I am going back part-time. I already have two degrees and at present, no desire for a third, even if it is a certificate. Unless I go completely bonkers and start foaming at the mouth for the love of publishing, I have no intention of finishing this certificate.

Why do it, then? Because I have to start getting serious. Even though I have good skills and great ideas, nothing I'm doing right now has any guarantee of a career. And because once enrolled in your first class of this eight course program, you're given access to the internships and jobs database available to students.

That sounds pretty juicy to me. I majored in Honours English for my first degree, which completed Journalism, my second degree. Words, man, all words. Publishing fits nicely in there.

I registered yesterday, at the main building I haven't set foot in for five years. The last time I was there was with my family and friends, wearing a blue cap and gown, all smiles, holding a degree bedecked with a big gold seal. I was very happy, and very finished.

I never thought I'd be back, not this way.

It was nice at the same time, though. I went in through the emergency exit I always used before to avoid student traffic, and it still stuck. You'd think it would have been fixed by now. The halls were still dark brown and tacky 70's orange, and the one escalator in the entire school was still rigged 10 speeds too fast. Lord forbid you were ever late and had to run up or down that thing; at the end it would cough you up like a breadcrumb and send you flying a extra few metres.

The official at the registration desk, a few years younger than me, asked about my history with the school since I'd checked off the, "Have you ever attended classes here before?" box on the form, right before assigning me a student number. Instead of giving me a new one, she tracked down my old number in .03 seconds flat: 992967638

I had to laugh. The last time someone gave me this number, I was convinced this would be the end of my educational road. I was a single girl about to meet her boyfriend, and a fat girl on her way to being thin. The last time I had this number, in this place, I knew I was on the path to something wonderful.

Here's to Version 2.0. Cheers.