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Creative Writing for Educators

January 11, 2012

This semester I’m taking a class entitled “Creative Writing for Educators” to fulfill some last minute necessary credits for my Masters Degree. Last semester I enjoyed my class (Teaching Adolescent and Young Adult Literature) immensely, but let’s be honest- I did not have enough time, or could I make enough time to read as many YA novels as was necessary to truly benefit from said class. I got through it, but I could have done better. I hate that, but it’s true.

This semester should be easier. Ha! Should be. I don’t have the holidays knocking on my door and Griffin has started nursery school two days a week. Not to mention there aren’t 3-5 novels to read each unit plus a paper to write. Instead, it’s creative writing. And I haven’t taken a WRITING class since undergrad, and I’m actually kind of excited. (So, here’s hoping it doesn’t get canceled for lack of enrollment!).

Anyway – I’m telling you all of this because I’m going to start sharing what I’m writing in class here. Why? Well, because I can first of all;) And because I’d Love some feedback from non-educators, from writers, from friends . . . from whomever. Because that’s what writing is all about.

I haven’t written ‘creatively’ in quite some time. It takes effort. It takes time. Neither of which do I have in spades right now. But I want to take both (the effort and time) to put toward this. Because, honestly, what journal-maker and mother shouldn’t be writing? They’re like the two number one reasons in the WORLD to write. So yeah.

Here’s my first piece (still in rough form) – the assignment:

Describe a brief, amusing anecdote about ourselves (100-150 words).


Early Bird

I’m early for everything. It’s a curse really. I’ve been overcompensating for my parents’ lack of timeliness for a lifetime, or at least for the better part of my 32 years. I can remember lying to them throughout grade school about choral concerts and academic meets. “We have to be there at 6am,” I would say, face red and heart pounding, “I know the meet is just in Fairmount and doesn’t start until noon, but we have to be there early to practice.” And then, by around 9am we would drive into the school parking lot, my mom a mess from having to ‘rush’ and the buses all parked, waiting for me; an embarrassed lump of red blotchy cheeks and anxiety. Still not on time.  I gave the woman a three hour lead time!

Later, in college, I learned she needed more than three hours; she needed days of lies to get her anywhere on time. Move in days (often scheduled on Wednesdays thankfully) were always on Mondays according to my lies. And eventually, I was the first to move in. Eventually it sunk in. At least until I married a man who rivaled my mother and her lateness.

Now, in my adult life my fellow artists chide me for my promptness. They don’t know where I’ve come from, what I’ve had to live with! They do know they can count on me to be the first one at an art fair, already set up and ready and willing to help their late asses unload though. That they don’t chide.

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