I began to teach English at the local community college in the fall. In the midst of using my energy to teach my students how to write correctly and in an effort to inspire them to find their voice, I sort of lost mine. I have been so caught up in teaching others about the importance of knowing how to write well and encouraging them when they don't believe in their abilities and talents that I stopped paying attention to my writer self.
But, as expected, inspiration is tugging, pushing, pulling me back to that which, apparently, I can't hide from for too long.
These days, it takes a lot out of me to step away from my students' essays and my lesson plans. Last semester I taught my own class for the very first time. I have assisted professors in classrooms before, but I've never taught my own class. It took me a while to get the hang of the lesson planning and classwork, but now I feel confident and even inspired. I've stepped into a new chapter of my life. I always dreamed of teaching English at a community college - a place where students' education is usually taken lightly or overlooked. I'm doing my best to give my students as much of my accumulated knowledge about the writing process as possible. Of course, as a creative writer, I sneak in some creative assignments. I am also teaching Hemingway. One of my students last semester told me that he had to check to make sure he was in the right class. He wondered why we would be reading in a writing class. I couldn't help but chuckle. How can we write well if we do not read?
|What I'm currently reading...|
Today was the first day of FCC's spring semester. I'm teaching another 7am class.
|A snapshot of this morning's sunrise at FCC.|
As I watched the sun rise this morning, I thanked God for a new day, a new class to teach, and a fresh opportunity and attitude to begin writing again.
I'm in the midst of a bad flare up - one that seems neverending, like I'm falling deeper and deeper into a dark pit. But it's not lonely. My husband is ever so caring. I don't even need to tell him what hurts. My sore muscles are being massaged, the heating pad is placed on my back, and my meds are miraculously appearing without me having to utter a miserable request. What can I say? He is my best friend - the love of my life. But what brings me ultimate joy is my Lord and Savior. Even in my worst moments, when I think the pain will never go away, he brings me joy and comfort. What an awesome God I have, that holds my hand. Me - a sinner.
Interestingly, it's during these rough patches that I feel most in-tune with my thoughts. I become strangely focused and motivated. I feel a strong urge to create.
I'm here again, friends, to make a promise I hope to keep this time - to write every day. You may not want to join me on my journey this time. However, I am not one to give up - not for too long, at least. I'm coming back to it. My hope and prayer is that I can bring my God glory, even in something as trivial as writing a short story...or even a blog post.
Here's to starting fresh. Again. To write at least one new sentence a day, even if it's on this blog, to find my writing voice.
Wake up. The sun is rising. It's a new writing day.