Monday, March 25, 2013

experiment

It's a Monday in late March, and outside it snows or sleets lightly. A light snow, light sleet, dark street. Too much unfolded laundry piles up. No place in this little house to store the linens. My nose has been running for two weeks (well, why don't you run after it? get yourself in shape?).

This is not a Scintilla post.

School
buries
me.

I really do love my MFA program. I've been lucky with professors who, even when they don't quite love my style, encourage me and show me ways to get my poems where I want them to be (or where the poems want to be, sneaky, sentient buggers). I've learned a lot. I'm a better writer and reader.

I also like my schoolmates.

But sometimes, the dynamic is strained, and because I am constantly tired, I get a bit overwhelmed. I'm mostly an introvert, though it's easier for me to pretend to be outgoing and charming when I write.

ah well. It's all right. We're nearly done with the posting part of the semester. For us "thesis students," we only have a couple of weeks to go before we can quit posting and focus on revising our manuscripts, writing our introductions, making our list of 50 books that have "informed our poems." We're discussing our final common text. I, unfortunately, am the bad discussion leader. I'm better at answering questions than asking them. I'd never make it on Jeopardy. Two of my classmates are professors or former professors. The third is an outgoing and delightful media expert who has her finger in poetry journals as an editor and often offers prompts, etc., online.

I am none of the these things. I'm an ex-journalist, editor, mother, not-quite-ex-wife, band booster, novelist wannabe. And, yes, I've taught creative writing workshops, but that doesn't make me a teacher. Maybe I'll say, "I've led creative writing workshops." And when it's high school and younger participants, it's utterly different.

Adults ... I don't know. I find them a tougher audience, always have.

When I was a teenager living in an American Army housing area in Germany, I had a reputation among the Army brat teens for "playing with little kids" instead of hanging out with my peers. Truth was, I was an unpaid babysitter and loved it. I was not comfortable with my peers.

It's still true in some ways, though I have many wonderful adult friends, some writers, some other things. Now I find that I love teenagers and don't mind spending gobs of time with them.

I've drifted, but that's what this post is, a drifting, thinking through, relaxing, letting go.

Too many professors in one classroom spoil the class. A discussion leader is not "Professor for a day." She's just a student who is supposed to keep the discussion going.

And I am and will continue tomorrow.

But no more tonight. I'm done being a student.

I'm going to turn back into mother, not-quite-ex-wife (permanently separated but dear friends), poet who writes poems because she loves to write poems, cat slave, reader, slacker, novelist wannabe.

My cat wants his late-night snack, and I have sheets to fold.

good night.

No comments:

Post a Comment