I taught an adult creative writing workshop this weekend in conjunction with an art exhibit that asked artists to take an abstract and express that word in a piece of art. Since I often speak to students about using concrete details instead of abstractions (envy, courage, regret, grief), I came up with an idea for a workshop on the subject, which the gallery accepted. It went well. The class was small, only four women, but the writing was mighty, and it felt good to be teaching again. My ex-brother-in-law once asked me why I continued to trust and appreciate men since my relationship history included some terrible things. This is an interesting question, except I remain hopeful and aware that the men who hurt me were a tiny section of the population. However, I have had the same question about teaching. I wonder why I love it so much when I've had horrible teachers.
Read MoreI have been teaching writing for over thirty years. Name a writing class and I have probably taught it. Fiction, nonfiction, AP Literature, many freshman composition classes, a plethora of variations on the theme of writing better, writing to get accepted, writing to heal, writing to critique or record one's life. I don't claim to be a brilliant short story writer or a poet, but I have taught both subjects.
Read MoreSometimes, we go somewhere for a reason that becomes an entirely different reason once the journey is complete. I recently spent six days in Manhattan, which was booked in, honestly, a snit, as I found my patience exhausted by my husband's adjustment to retirement in Northern Michigan. Also I longed for diversity of people, places, and, yes, noise. Here on the Leelanau Peninsula, there is paradise and a gilded cage that somehow makes the beauty, trees, lakes, rolling hills, squirrels, wild turkeys, and deer less appealing. You miss seeing people who don't look like you, speak a different language, or have a different accent; the sounds of a city with its crowds of people, sirens, and car horns bring peace rather than pain.
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