I would normally be ecstatic about this fact… ok, anyone who knows me knows I’m rarely ecstatic about the weekends (for multiple reasons). But this Friday has an especially demure aspect to it.
Week one of classes is coming to a close… and I can’t help but feel like I’ve missed something important.
I take all online classes and they all have a “check-in” kind of thing to make sure you are actually in the class. Most of the time it’s some sort of introduction where you write a brief bio about yourself (most of mine are so filled with snark (shocker, right?)) and anything else that the professor has asked.
I did all those. I think. I’ve double checked and even triple checked…
I hate this feeling.
I’ve been absent. Probably not noticeably so. I’d like to think my voice has been missed by those who follow me, but I’m not so high on my own horse to believe that.
It’s been at least a month since I have posted anything, and quite a while since I have been doing any kind of regular… anything. Even over on my other site.
But, as a way of excuse, the summer semester just drained me. A literature class and a creative writing prereq class, crammed into 6-weeks each, are enough to cause any gray matter to liquefy fairly quickly. In that time frame, I read so many stories and different critique styles. I read Stephen King’s On Writing (a book I highly recommend if nothing more than for reading a memoir (of sorts)), and also was introduced to Joyce Carol Oates (of who’s book, Sourland, I read (or portions of it).
I also went away for vacation to Tennessee. A family vacation.
Oh, and I got A’s.
Which, come on, is really all that matters. Right?
I’m thinking I should probably write some of this stuff into its own posts. Maybe a book review or two, a vacation post with photos, and other stuff.
Oh, and my brain finally started to solidify, finally.
Just in time to start Fall semester and the four classes I am currently taking.
Mental masochism, for the win!
They say the pen is mightier than the sword…
Until you try to stab someone with a pen.
Because that’s a lot harder than you might think.
When failure is not an option but is the only outcome… what do you do?
Sometimes, you meet someone and it really makes you think to yourself,
“Why does breathing have to be a involuntary action?”