Long sigh aka breathing exercise. No contract yet, no teaching materials. Stand-by to report for work on Monday – once one of two school principals decides I do not report to her school on Tuesday. The third principal says I show up on Thursday at his school, and adds one of the two others is in the wrong. No kidding. All I know: I’ll work four hours in each school, three days a week while pursuing the coaching sessions. Age range of the children: five to eleven. I’m familiar with the schools. My most devout wish: I’ll spend a modicum of time teaching them English vs negotiating peace treaties and/or imposing sanctions.
You sense my bubbling enthusiasm? Saying you like children is like saying you like dogs. Both statements call for refinements in terms of behavior – and sheer numbers, too.
Allez. Fiction-wise, one of the characters woke me in the night. He wanted to know who the hell was that lady he’d never met before. He asked as if I should know. I never met her before either, I told him. You’ll have to ask your friend, if you get so see him again. I write the stuff doesn’t mean I know why a character has unexpected friends.
It’s raining out there. I have a stuffy nose and a scratchy throat. Finished reading Moby Dick last night – they were a talkative bunch aboard the Pequod. My sympathies remain with the whale. Seriously: impressive feat of writing. I say this with one eye on the pile of attempts at storytelling done by a class of eleven year-olds. One third of the group longs to be a sports champion. One third wishes to save the world from assorted nasties either earth-bound or invaders from outer space. One third tells family-based or animal-related stories (orphaned children, lost dogs finding a home).
Revision is slow business. Especially when interrupted by paperwork and scheduling issues over which school children learn to write blue for bleu on Mondays and which on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I doubt We Shall Overcome. That’s one pressure less on the system, isn’t it? I think so.