When I went off to college to learn how to be a music teacher I attended many classes. Most of the classes focused on making me a better musician within my own field (percussion), or focused on making me an appallingly poor player on instruments I have no business ever blowing into. I took classes that showed me classical ways to analyze and interpret music with both my eyes and my ears. I even learned a little bit of music history, although my prof would disagree. I want to be mad at him to this day but the reality is, I really didn’t apply myself. Nothing is so hard as pointing the finger at yourself and saying “This one’s on YOU dumbass.”
So I boldly go into the classroom and the kids eat me alive. I never saw it coming. Looking back I realized, I had attended exactly one class that dealt with classroom preparedness. Student teaching really didn’t help much. I only learned to teach by hanging in there and teaching.
Now I’m studying to be a writer. I’m also cheating, because I’m writing while I learn. Don’t worry, I know that’s not cheating. But yeah, it’s difficult to write crappy crap when you know it’s crappy crap, but you have to write it because, well, that’s what writers do. Until they start writing not-quite-as-crappy crap. Yep, Same with playing the guitar. Same with teaching. Same with everything.
My most recent skill that I now enjoy is re-reading my previous stuff, then crumpling it into a ball and throwing it toward the trash can. It has taken me six months to be able to do it. Should I have done that with this essay? Feel free to let me know. I can take it now. I’m a writer. ~TH~