You know sometimes you just need like, a muse? So I had this favorite english teacher. I only had him for half a year because he was subbing for the real english teacher who had a heart attack or a stroke or a baby or something. The funny thing is, I have this vague feeling that this guy believed in me, but I don’t really remember him thinking I was incredibly brilliant or anything. In fact it’s almost the exact opposite. I remember not very much of that class (except for his love for Flannery O’Connor) because in that class was the boy that I was madly in love with, and he knew it, and I knew he knew it, and we ended up becoming good friends, and I’m not in love with him anymore, and I can safely say that we've both used each other unfairly at times, which of course is the basis of all good friendships and---what was I saying?
Oh yeah.
So I was really lazy in high school. (Just in high school? HA.) All I wanted was to be noticed and recognized for how brilliant and insightful and poetic I was and of course this never happened because being brilliant and insightful and poetic involves 1) a combination of genetics and luck and 2) hard work. And there is nothing I love more to avoid than hard work.
I've had this idea for a long story in my head for a long time. (I call it a long story because calling it a novel makes it sound so fucking pretentious is makes me want to stab myself and I’m having enough problems without that) Predictably, I’m having a hard time sitting down and writing. Because if my first talent is laziness, my second great talent is making excuses. Grad school! Kid! I need to read Anna Karenina! Write a blog post!
Y’all.
I figured out how to get over this. And it turns out, it’s writing for someone. And I found someone to write for. It's this english teacher! I imagine telling him what I’m writing about, how many words I've written. I imagine handing him a draft and a six pack of beer and thanking him for his amazingly constructive criticism and praise of my brilliant first attempt at a novel (HA!).
But, lo and behold, this gets me to write a scene. And then some dialogue. Then background on a character that I didn't like and am now starting to like.
Because 16-year-old me wants to please this 30-something-year-old substitute english teacher. That sounds weird. It's totally not. I mean it is, but it's not.
The other funny thing is I’m not really sure he even remembers me except that recently he accepted my friend request on facebook, and 16-year-old me was like, “My life has been validated!” and 25-year-old me was like, enough of these shenanigans back to work.
Anyway all of this is just to say---You gotta love something that gets you writing, even if it’s something as horrible as bad sex, or great as a good book, or nonsensical as the thought of a substitute-high-school-english-teacher-who-probably-doesn't-even-remember-you-except-maybe-he-does-because-he-friended-you-on-facebook.
