Bonjour!

One day I will look back on this summer and ask, What were you thinking? It's fun and exciting to try new things, but maybe I should have spread them out a little bit.

     First new thing this summer was, of course, The Class. It's been a fun experiment. I'm teaching again next year, for some reason I'm not quite clear of--a combination of money lust, determination to do better the second time around, and hating to say no, ever, to anything. I may regret it when February rolls around, but at least this time I'm already somewhat prepared and I'll have two separate weeks off in the middle of the course.

     Second, I attempted created writing. I was successful in my goal of writing something and letting someone else read it. I started the novel (which I haven't worked on this week, bad girl) and I really do intend to finish it this year. If it means I type until my fingers swell and stay sober on New Year's Eve, so be it.

    Third, there's this thing. Not exactly new; I once had a Myspace blog. But it's a new blog. So whatever.

    Now I've added a French class to the pot. An accelerated French I class. Twice a week for six weeks, this is not what I needed at the moment, but I was too tempted by the faculty audit perk to resist! (I didn't factor a $228 textbook into the "free" faculty audit thing, of course, but I am ignoring that bit.) French is hard. Really, really hard. I took Spanish for four years; Spanish makes sense. French is weird! How are you supposed to learn a language that you have to slur together into nasally nonsense, dropping most of the letters as you go, but saying the vowels juuuuust right? Non, ne parle pas francais...

     Yet. 

     But I really do have to learn in five weeks. Because we're going to the Frenchiest place in North America! That's right, we're going to le province de Quebec on vacation this year. I'm really excited. I want to plan a few days in Quebec City, a few days in Montreal, and then two days in a lakeside resort. We're flying Porter, an airline that I'd never heard of until I Googled "flights New York to Quebec City." Porter is apparently the JetBlue of the North, except instead of tiny pouches of blue chips, they give you free beer and/or wine! Oh boy! I hope Kirk wants to drive the rental car once we get there! 

     Did I mention I plan to read Pride and Prejudice this summer, too? And learn how to ride a bike (finally)? And drink much more delicious beer before the heat of summer fades?

     Time to put on the French Ecole podcast and head home to study. Au revoir, mon amis.

RE: your grammar and spelling.

Hi there, friend. I see that you sometimes make mistakes in your various Internet talky-feeds. Sometimes it's that damn autocorrect; sometimes you just couldn't care less.
     You know what? I'm OK with that.
     I don't correct people unless they ask. Sometimes people write (sp?) and I'll tell them how. Or a question will arise about word usage. I love that. I will expound on something from the depths of my massive knowledge, or I'll look it up on Merriam-Webster's website and pretend I knew it already. (For instance: I just looked up expound.)
     Am I noticing your errors? Sure, I can't help it. Am I judging you? Of course not! The ephemeral online world does not need to be endlessly edited. If every person stopped to rewrite or research, there would be far fewer thoughts shared with the Interwebs, and we'd all be less entertained. Now, of course I wish a few of the racist nutjobs who comment on news stories stopped to think for a second about what they were saying and maybe kept those thoughts to themselves (or better yet, stopped being racist nutjobs). But that's assuming they have functioning brains, which is not an assumption I can make.
          I do care about correct spelling and grammar in certain places: signs, menus, advertisements, and all types of journalism. If you are writing for profit, you have a responsibility to do it right. Pay a copyeditor if you can't properly form a sentence, ask a proofreader to check your order form before that restaurant name is set in neon tubes, stop and look and think about what your customer will see. Then look again.
    But you, friend on the Internet?
     Chill out. It's only words and stuff.

My back hurts, though my ego feels great.

I am grading papers.
     This is by far the worst part of teaching. I hate it. I don't like to judge people, but I like to do my job well. So as tempted as I am to write "Good job!" over and over, I always look for something to nitpick. Being nitpicked is the only way you can become a successful copyeditor. Every CE starts out the same way: You do what you think is a good job, then someone comes along and says, "No, you missed this and that, and you shouldn't have done that, and what does this even mean?" If you're a good copyeditor, you will turn eggplant with shame and apologize and commit those errors to memory, and then next time, you'll adopt the attitude of I'll show them! My work will be beyond reproach!
     My students are all pretty good. Thoughtful, careful, serious. I'm trying to help them go to the next level. I really hope they're successful.
    I have to decide by tomorrow whether to teach again next spring. It's a tough call.

PROS

Money

Resume building 

Free course audits

CONS 

Stress

Grading papers

Time drain

     It was very nice to be asked back before the semester's even over. I figured the students would need to do their evaluations at the end before NYU could make a decision about me. After the very first class, I called Kirk, put on a teary voice, and said, "They fired me!" Kirk actually fell for it, maybe because I believed in my gut that I am not cut out for this. (Or perhaps I should quit all this and become an actress!)

     Here's another complication to the teaching thing: I am trying to be a writer, too, and that's a huge strain on my time as well. At first it was a lark, hey, this class fits my schedule and it's free, why not? But then my very kind professor wrote me an e-mail and said I should keep at it. She actually suggested I consider a graduate writing program. I am flattered and flabbergasted. Could I possibly be that good? Is she just trying to get me to give NYU a zillion dollars (estimated cost of a grad degree)?

     Speaking of my novel: stuck at 13 pages at the moment. I'd better get on that.

I am going to be in big trouble.

I meant to blog every day ... but then I didn't. 
     I'm supposed to write for 30 minutes a day ... it's been more like 30 minutes a week.
     I was supposed to do a lot of reading before tomorrow's class ... didn't do that either. Well, I finished To Kill a Mockingbird. That was enjoyable. 
     I hate disappointing people, and I really like my writing professor, so it'll be hard to make excuses tomorrow. "I had a total breakdown" doesn't really matter to her--she'd say I should have funneled the pain into the written word. 
     I really did break down a little. I've been stretched so far this summer, I eventually had to snap and sit there in a little pile of overstretched rubber, lazing around and such. (Metaphors are not my thing, really.)
     Next week, I start French class on Mondays and Wednesdays, with my copyediting class on Tuesdays. I'll need to grade papers this weekend. First, I'm seeing a play and having dinner with my totally neglected husband. I wish I were more devoted to writing right now, but I have other things to take care of. Like my real job, my relationships, and my mental health. Sometimes I just need to sit around and talk to my cat, you know? 

Kaboom! I love Jersey City.

We've lived in this apartment for two years, but we weren't home on the Fourth of July last year. I had hoped we could see the fireworks from our deck, but there are so many trees that I didn't have high expectations. Boy, was I in for a treat! We had a perfect view of the show without leaving our apartment, with the Empire State Building in the background. Yeah, I'm bragging.

    New Jersey is a nice place to live. It is. I used to take offense when people dumped on it--the Brooklynites are especially vicious--but I soon learned the best defense is to agree. "Oh, sure, it's awful." I'll let them believe it. I'll enjoy my beautiful view, my 3.5% sales tax zones, my short commute, my parks, my community, and my low rent. Stay away, people! New Jersey sucks!

     ***

I taught my class tonight. It wasn't too bad. I am totally aware of my nervous tics--saying "hopefully," making little circles with my hands when I talk, rambling aimlessly off track. I forgot to give out homework tonight! Fortunately, someone pointed that out before anyone had left the room. I should give her a few bonus points. 

     I have four weeks left and I'm counting down the weeks. I want to do well, but I am not knowledgeable enough, and I'm too honest to bullshit my way through. I don't know if they're learning enough. I know these are really nerdy worries, but I can't help it--if I were in this class, I'd think I was an idiot. 

     Now I am sleepy. If I've learned anything from this summer, it's that teaching is exhausting work. 

Procrastinating.

Today is a holiday. I am not at work. Yet I need to work--there are papers to grade for tomorrow night's class, and a lesson to prepare for it. I also have homework for writing class next Saturday: lots and lots of writing, plus reading, and more writing. I don't feel like doing any of that but the reading, so I've gotten through a few more chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird today (I will probably finish it before dinner). I've also:

• cleaned and painted my toenails
• noticing the tub was kind of gross while cleaning those toes, scrubbed out the tub a bit
• bothered my cats
• looked at Facebook, even though it's clear everybody is enjoying the holiday and not updating Facebook
• played Dr. Mario until I was cross-eyed
• stared into space

At least I'm writing this now. That's something. 
     I went out drinking last night, and I thought I'd been fairly well behaved; two vodka drinks, that's it. But I'm sluggish and unmotivated today. I blame those girly cocktails. 
     Listening to Pandora's Classic Indie (or whatever it's called) probably doesn't help my motivation. Lots of twee melodic stuff that makes you want to sit around and think about things. Or take a nap. Should I nap? Isn't that what holidays are for? I want to take a nap and eat hamburgers.

Cats and Dogs.

It was raining cats and dogs out there this morning. Loud enough to wake us up, with thunder that made poor little Zoey turn worried eyes toward our skylight. She eventually left the bed and went to hide. 
     Our cats are kind of annoying in the nighttime, always changing their mind about the most comfortable place to lie, whether to sit on our pillows or on my arm or on the dresser or between our feet. I know they're nocturnal creatures and it's not natural for them to just curl up with us for eight hours and not shift. But man, sometimes they are jerks. I blame Zoey's restlessness during and after the storm for my late sleeping today.
     Pooka has been good, but it's probably because she's hurting. Poor thing got a cut on her toe, and she's been limping around, then sitting with her left paw dangling off the ground, when she isn't cuddling up to us with pathetic eyes. It doesn't look too bad right now, just a bit swollen, but we have to try to find some kind of kitty ointment today so that it won't get infected. We had a tube of ointment we'd bought from the vet for an obscene price a few years ago, but we recently cleared out our kitty corner and threw out the old stuff. Pooka hadn't gotten any abrasions in a long time and we didn't think we'd need it. Argh.
     Serendipity brought a Doctors Foster and Smith catalog to our mailbox yesterday. They have a cheap ointment for dogs and cats that we'll order if we don't find it anywhere nearby. But I'm annoyed by this catalog! FOUR pages of cat stuff and 143 pages of dog products. Come on! I love dogs, but this is ridiculous. 
     Liberty Humane Society just posted on their Facebook page that five puppies were dumped at the shelter today. They are unbearably cute. I squealed at the photo for several minutes and tried to figure out a way we could take a puppy in, even for just a few days. I don't think I want to clean up after a puppy all weekend, but I was just saying not 24 hours ago that I'd love to borrow a puppy for a few days. They're so funny and squirmy. Puppy whines are almost as cute as kitten mews. 
     But ... I have a lot of work to do today. Writing, paper grading, lesson prepping, rug vacuuming, litter scooping, dance movie watching. Maybe some exercising and beer drinking, too. No time for puppies. Boo.

My quest to become another failed novelist.

I think if you're going to be a junkie, "adrenaline junkie" is a good choice. That's been my choice in the past few years. It's a very easy drug to take. Here's how you get hooked on it:

1. Wait for your brain to say, "That is scary. No. No. No. We're not doing that. Are you insane?"
2. Say, out loud, "Okay. Let's do it."
3. Experience the wondrous discomfort of being scared out of your wits, realizing you probably aren't going to die, then enjoying the ride.

     I clearly haven't died yet. Though that would be cool, right? Ghost bloggers? I'd read a ghost's blog... Anyway, I haven't died yet, so I keep seeking adventures that will elevate my blood pressure a bit.
     At first, I was mainly choosing physically terrifying feats, like parasailing and climbing Mayan ruins with very limited safety features. But these are actually pretty easy. They require very little of your own contributions; you're trapped once you make the decision to do it, and then you just shrug and trust that you'll get through it. So I've moved on to a more personal (and in some ways more scary) challenge: 
     Expressing myself.
     First, I agreed to teach a copyediting class. Through the whole interview process I convinced myself that I wasn't really afraid of public speaking. I had done it in school and made it through without any major mishaps; this would be pretty much the same. Then the day came for my first class. 
I couldn't sleep the night before. I spent the day nearly barfing. (Literally swallowing repeatedly to keep my lunch down. I went out and bought Alka-Seltzer at lunchtime.) When I finally arrived at the classroom, not as early as I'd hoped because I went down the wrong hallway looking for it, sweating and actually grateful it was a hot day since I'd have been terror-sweating regardless, I felt more alarmed than I had in stingray-filled waters, more freaked than while swinging through trees on a zip line.
     It's scary to do things where your body is on the line. But when your brain is on the line? Your reputation? Your self-esteem? The entirety of your adult career? Holy shit.
     I got through that class with a mix of my strengths: Humor and self-deprecation. I've gotten through four more, each a little less horrible than the last, but honestly I'm depressed by my incompetence. 
     Hey, look, a paycheck! This isn't so bad, after all.
     One of the perks that sold me on accepting the instructor position was the chance to audit two courses per semester taught. My cheapskate brain said, Hey, take two classes and that's like another $1,000. You can't turn that down! So I pored over the course catalog. 
     My first choice: languages. The only available sections aren't starting until mid-July. Hmm...
     I looked for an acting class. Nothing that fit my schedule... Singing? Music? Nope... What about writing? I have never felt comfortable writing anything creative--I feel trite and derivative. So a course called "Can I Really Write?" really appealed to me. I sent the audit form, got accepted, and started spending Saturdays with a lovely group of women, learning to push past the self-doubt and just write. 
     I can't say that I've found my muse yet. But I have an idea for a novel, and one day, while meeting with my writing group from class, I decided to let the main character speak through me.
     It's not bad! I don't think I'm a great writer, but I think my voice is somewhat distinctive. So I've vowed that I'm not going to give up on this project. I'm going to dedicate some time to it, I'm going to aim for 30 pages a month, and maybe by New Year's Day I'll have a first draft. 
     So why am I wasting time blogging?
     Well, a large part of being a writer is simply WRITING. Getting out of your head and putting thoughts down. I figure having a blog again will help me do that. I'll document my struggles to get this thing finished, my thoughts on the process, and so on. 
     Also, if I declare to the world that I'm writing a novel, I will look like a loser if I don't.
     Why am I calling myself a "failed novelist" already? Because I've found my biggest obstacle is believing that perfection is the only way to go. If I sit here and try to write a novel that will not only get published but win every award in the universe, I'm not going to get anywhere.
     So I'm going to write a novel. Perhaps I'll be the only one to read it. Lucky me.