I was grading final research papers today—all day—with this view to my immediate left:
It was only a week ago that I happily reported my return to teaching and oh, how I love it. And I do…I really do. But I got to get away for a few days to our family’s cottage at Sebago Lake with a tote full of books and it was so hard to sit in front of my computer and read hastily slapped together “research” papers that rarely resembled the carefully crafted rubric I handed out.
And of course, I have my writing. (Every time I say “my writing” I remind myself of Jobeth Williams’ character Karen saying it to Tom Berenger’s Sam in The Big Chill trying to make it sound important.) I’m eight weeks in to my commitment to publish something new every week on Substack. I’ve given myself the deadline of Monday morning and rather than admit defeat, I’m ignoring the lake again in order to stay disciplined—whatever that means. Disciplined, not admitting defeat.
By the end of the afternoon, when my eyeballs threatened to leave me and jump in the lake, I convinced them to stay by finishing up with the work from my best students, whose work I saved for last. It was a good idea; once I got through typos and missing Works Cited pages and missing thesis statements, I read this phrase: “This project was exciting and agonizing . . .” It was actually from the self-assessment I give rather than the research paper and it described the student’s experience with the topic and the process.
First of all, I marveled at the notion that my student had just given me a title for my next essay. Then I thought about how true that phrase is, for many artists, but for writers—and me--specifically. With all my complaining and whining about time, opportunities, inspiration, I couldn’t give up writing if I was handed a million dollars. Which is my goal, of course, but I’m realistic enough to know that that’s not going to happen. But if I can keep at it, write these newsletters, work on my book(s?), get a speaking gig once in awhile and continue teaching these amazing students, I will be fine. In fact, I am speaking at an AARP program this week and I have an appointment with my publisher about my next book. Don’t get excited—I’m not signing any contracts, but I am moving forward. AND I’m at the lake.
Exciting and agonizing. Isn’t that the way all work should be?
You're on your way to the next phase!
Looks lovely and inspiring and only a wee bit distracting. You are doing it!