When I'm Slightly Sleep Deprived

Here's what I wrote a couple of weeks ago for an assignment in creative writing. I hated it at the time, but when I'm incredibly tired it seems incredibly funny:

If You Say So Darth Vader
or How I Might Be Seduced by the Dark Side

        
Often I ponder the mysteries of The Force and why the Jedi didn’t take full advantage of its power. Like, why didn’t they just stay home and drop huge objects on their enemies from afar. I mean, The Force is all around right? And Luke Skywalker always seemed like kind of a pansy to me. (Obi Wan should have trained Leia. She would have proved a much worthier student.) Even Yoda in his diminutive stance managed to battle Dooku and raise Luke’s spaceship from the muck of Degobah.

            Then I imagine what it would take for Darth Vader to convince me to embrace his devious ways. The conversation goes something like this:

            “Join me.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “Why? What’s in it for me?” I take a parade rest stance while maintaining “eye” contact.

            “The Dark Side of The Force allows you to use it to terrify those who don’t see the world as you wish them to see it.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “Dude, I’m a teacher. I can terrify students without The Force.”

            “Yes, but can you spin them upside down and pin them to the wall until they succumb to your every command?” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “Well no. That does sound like a useful tool.” At this point I would contemplate how I could enforce silence by clamping mouths shut without having to touch the students. Here is where Lord Vader would begin to see the foothold he has on me.

            “Yes. I can sense you are giving in to the ease with which you can manage your classroom. Think of what we could do together!” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “What do you mean ‘together?’”

            “I will help with the parents should they be upset by your usual methods.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “And I would…?”

            “You would be at the Emperor’s beck and call to proofread and edit all Galactic Imperial mandates. The last person who held that position performed unsatisfactorily.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing followed by a raised arm with the hand in the shape of a sideways “C” and the other hand gliding across his neck.

            “And I could turn any child upside down or shut him up?”

            “But of course.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “When I die would I be able to come back glowing blue?”

            “Uh…no.” Heavy breathing. Heavy breathing.

            “No dice.”

A Little Complaining Never Hurt Anyone

Yesterday I attended my grandpa's funeral service. A loving and rather funny individual, my grandpa always seemed to be in a good mood. Only when he was hooked up to machines or under the influence of multiple dosages of a myriad of drugs did he ever cross over into an unpleasant nature. All in all, I believe my grandpa loved life and lived it the best way he could.

Of course losing him caused me to evaluate my own life because death is the best way to remind a person of her mortality. I like what I found when I started to look at my life. I try hard to do the right thing, laugh often (usually at myself), and let go of the bad. Sometimes I get frustrated and complain a little, but I feel that is a necessary facet of my humanity. However, I am appalled at the current trend of Facebook statuses that end with "FML."

Ask any teenager what those three letters mean, and they will be able to tell you without hesitation. That truly scares me. I remember how life and death everything could seem when I was a teenager. I also recall how unjust the world felt. That's because, like all teenagers, I was selfish and stupid.

Usually I find that hideous "FML" tag following a status where the teen didn't get his way or is being asked to do something for someone else without a "reward." Basically, the teen is being asked to be a decent human being.

I am disturbed because these kids don't know what they are really wishing upon themselves by wanting to f*** their lives. I find it hard to believe that whatever injustice has been done is worth forfeiting life. I cannot imagine that a teenager would want to give up his life because he has to do homework. This means that this tagline is being used rather flippantly. I don't like that teens are okay with using this kind of language and sentiment to define their lives. Why can't they look at what they do have? They have, God willing, years of fun and happiness and success and love and memories to build!

My grandfather fought degenerative heart issues up until he passed away. I promise he never once would have wanted to f*** his life. I want to post the comment "Shame on you for insulting one of the greatest gifts God has given you" every time I see "FML."

Now imagine how seeing "FML" at the end of one of my adult friends' posts, who should know better, makes me feel.


Complaint number two (then I'm done being negative I swear) centers around a billboard I saw the other day.

As I was driving down the highway, I saw a billboard sponsored by Texas Teachers that read "Want to teach? When can you start?" Gee, thanks for slapping me in the face. As one of my friends put it, "Any retard can teach." Even though I hate using the word "retard" in such a way, that is exactly how the billboard made me feel.

Why do I pour my heart and soul into my classroom and my students? Because it is what God has planned for me to do. Never once have I doubted this. My gift is to educate students and to make sure they are ready to conquer the world if they need to. It infuriates me when I find teachers who don't feel this way. I want them to stop wasting their time and ruining the students' lives.

That's probably the biggest reason I hate that billboard. Just because a person is educated doesn't mean he can be handed a teaching certification and shoved in a classroom. There are teachers who have been certified and in the profession for years and don't belong there.

In true Lydia fashion, I completely stuck my foot in my mouth when a friend of mine told me that Texas Teachers is the alternative certification program he is using to become certified (note--he's the same friend that so eloquently summed up my feelings about the billboard). After some quick back peddling, I tried to convince him that he definitely belongs in a classroom (though, since that conversation he has contemplated teaching in a private or boarding school setting--this would of course rob many worthy public school children of a strong English education--and yes, if he's reading this I hope he is feeling very, very guilty).

To sum it all up: Thank you Texas Teachers for making my job seem so easy a monkey could do it.


Okay, no more negative posts for a while:).

Why I'll Never Be J.K. Rowling

The obvious comparison is that I'm not British; I'm Texan. That means her accent is way cooler than mine. Then there's the fact that I lead a happy, healthy, tragedy-free life. So really I am incapable of being a great writer. When you think about writers who work their way in to literary canons, they usually have survived some near death or hopeless struggle. Or they are around others who are near death or hopeless, and these things become the fuel behind their creative fires.

I don't struggle. I'm not near death (although I do teach high school English so it might equate on some level). Growing up was a good experience for me: no split parents, no tragic events, no abuse, etc. Is this such a terrible thing? I am loved. I like that:).

None of the above changes the fact that I'd like to write a least one novel. I would like to write something someone can relate to or be moved by. When my graduate program offered a class on writing the short story, I jumped right on it. It could be my chance to find something to substitute for the lack of "dark times" in my life.

Here's what I've learned so far:

1. Audiences are not only vital but so contradictorily subjective. See, we have to critique short stories from everyone in class. Not that I think everyone should love my writing like I do, but all the comments I received did not help much. There were a few that made sense like, "You could probably delete this because you make your point well elsewhere" or "It might help to clarify this idea for people not familiar with this concept." But overall it was just frustrating. One person would like my "dark" humor and another was appalled that one of her son's teachers might be thinking such things (my story concerned a comedic encounter between an English teacher and Cliffs Notes that ends in arson). What am I supposed to do with that? To whom do I listen? I figure that the latter type of people would not be the ones inclined to read my novel (should one ever be written), and I'm okay with that until I realize...
2. I'm slightly smarter than the average American, and that's apparently a problem. There are about four or five people in my class who I think are in the same boat. Actually, I'm sure of it because they are the same four or five who gave me useful information with regards to editing my piece. Plus, they tended to understand more of the subtleties in my writing. However, if I ever intended to reach mass market status, I fear I will have to cater to those less adept with higher order thinking skills. Am I willing to do that? Probably not.
3. In the end, no one can truly teach about writing. I know books have been written and workshops are given, but none of it matters. I will either write something worth reading or I won't. An editor will tell me how to fix it, not an eclectic collection of night school college students. 

I'm not trying to sound hateful or ungrateful because I have met some fascinating people in this class. And some of them have far superior writing skills. I just realize that my life is good and as a result I will not be able to label myself a "suffering artist" exploding my masterpiece onto the page (my entertainingly inane thoughts on this blog will have to do for now).

My husband might be a little disappointed at this revelation because he is really counting on the movie deal for my first novel. But he'll get over it.