This student walks up to me after a couple weeks of class and asks, "What did you study in university?"
I say government, but clarify that my thing is writing, not politics, although, when you're interested in people and how they interact, the two can become inseparable.
"When can I read your book?"
I give some amalgamation of standard responses I usually give. "Thousands of pages," "organizing essays and short stories of various lengths," "there's already a book on Amazon and probably at least one or more between my web log and my private writing. And then there are all the other ones I know what to write but just need time to write." These situations represent the few times that I am not happy with the words coming out of my mouth, because I've said them for so long with so many experiences in between them. I always seem to be extolling the virtues of jumping right into the water or tearing the band-aid off all at once or downing the quadruple shot of tequila without first inquiring just how much alcohol it contains (or who would even order such a thing in the first place), but I never seem to do so with respect to entering the professional realm of writing.
The next day a different student, whom I have known for a year now, had her final class. She very graciously gave me many compliments, saying I was good at teaching, and that I introduced her to many great sources of learning. I've known her since she was at a much more intermediate level, and I've witnessed her struggles with the language, and I've seen her improve, almost always with a smile on her face. If you ever teach and you care at all about what you're doing and the people for whom you're doing it, this will inevitably happen to you from time to time. It feels good, and I highly recommend everyone teach something at some point in their lives. I can't say that efficiency would be the ultimate goal of giving everyone some teaching experiences, because the profession certainly involves development of valuable skills with time and perhaps for some an inherent talent. That said, there would be an abundance of learning intrinsic to the festival of so many people sharing their knowledge and/or wisdom. Even though some tend to be more endowed in those departments than others, everyone has unique perspective when it comes to universe journeys. More importantly, I think everyone deserves to have someone come up to them and make them feel good about sharing what they know and what they do.
Of course, that feeling couldn't remain pure forever, because the student from the previous day couldn't help but overhear the compliments and added her own two cents. "I agree that you are a good teacher, but what I really want is to read your book tomorrow! Just do it!"
As I sit here writing, reading and digesting new ideas, exploring new music, getting through each day and thinking about how to improve upon present and future situations, I hear her again: "Where's the book? Where's the book? Where's the book? Just do it!" I wink back at her. The reader reminds me that she isn't really there, she's just in my memory. I wink at the reader. I am reminded the reader can't see me, unless said reader has another tab open in a web browser and I happen to be winking in a photograph, a situation whose likelihood I would be hard pressed to estimate this early in the morning. At this point, the reader informs me that the narrative is starting to get a little loopy. I thank the reader for reminding me of reality, something writers can sometimes have difficulty separating from fantasy, if such a separation exists.
I get up and go to the mirror. I wink at he, who, at present, is my sole editor. He winks back immediately, but with his other eye, always offering a new perspective.
Speaking of which, on Sunday I saw something new and beautiful in my neighborhood that I had never seen before, that I couldn't have seen without being in the exact right place at the exact right time. That experience gave me faith that I could embrace the present without past regret and move forward into my dream. I hope my editors will be there with me, winking
I say government, but clarify that my thing is writing, not politics, although, when you're interested in people and how they interact, the two can become inseparable.
"When can I read your book?"
I give some amalgamation of standard responses I usually give. "Thousands of pages," "organizing essays and short stories of various lengths," "there's already a book on Amazon and probably at least one or more between my web log and my private writing. And then there are all the other ones I know what to write but just need time to write." These situations represent the few times that I am not happy with the words coming out of my mouth, because I've said them for so long with so many experiences in between them. I always seem to be extolling the virtues of jumping right into the water or tearing the band-aid off all at once or downing the quadruple shot of tequila without first inquiring just how much alcohol it contains (or who would even order such a thing in the first place), but I never seem to do so with respect to entering the professional realm of writing.
The next day a different student, whom I have known for a year now, had her final class. She very graciously gave me many compliments, saying I was good at teaching, and that I introduced her to many great sources of learning. I've known her since she was at a much more intermediate level, and I've witnessed her struggles with the language, and I've seen her improve, almost always with a smile on her face. If you ever teach and you care at all about what you're doing and the people for whom you're doing it, this will inevitably happen to you from time to time. It feels good, and I highly recommend everyone teach something at some point in their lives. I can't say that efficiency would be the ultimate goal of giving everyone some teaching experiences, because the profession certainly involves development of valuable skills with time and perhaps for some an inherent talent. That said, there would be an abundance of learning intrinsic to the festival of so many people sharing their knowledge and/or wisdom. Even though some tend to be more endowed in those departments than others, everyone has unique perspective when it comes to universe journeys. More importantly, I think everyone deserves to have someone come up to them and make them feel good about sharing what they know and what they do.
Of course, that feeling couldn't remain pure forever, because the student from the previous day couldn't help but overhear the compliments and added her own two cents. "I agree that you are a good teacher, but what I really want is to read your book tomorrow! Just do it!"
As I sit here writing, reading and digesting new ideas, exploring new music, getting through each day and thinking about how to improve upon present and future situations, I hear her again: "Where's the book? Where's the book? Where's the book? Just do it!" I wink back at her. The reader reminds me that she isn't really there, she's just in my memory. I wink at the reader. I am reminded the reader can't see me, unless said reader has another tab open in a web browser and I happen to be winking in a photograph, a situation whose likelihood I would be hard pressed to estimate this early in the morning. At this point, the reader informs me that the narrative is starting to get a little loopy. I thank the reader for reminding me of reality, something writers can sometimes have difficulty separating from fantasy, if such a separation exists.
I get up and go to the mirror. I wink at he, who, at present, is my sole editor. He winks back immediately, but with his other eye, always offering a new perspective.
Speaking of which, on Sunday I saw something new and beautiful in my neighborhood that I had never seen before, that I couldn't have seen without being in the exact right place at the exact right time. That experience gave me faith that I could embrace the present without past regret and move forward into my dream. I hope my editors will be there with me, winking
