Last night Ron Rash drank moonshine and complimented me on the first chapter of my novel. Not in that order.
Last night I listened to two hours of readings and I was both energized and terrified by the talent.
Last night I started to work on my first poem in months.
It wasn’t hard getting started. With time to read, listen, and watch the mountains and how the people play up here, I could barely keep up with the muse. The crazy bitch wasn’t hiding from me that’s for sure.
And then this afternoon I’m talking with a retired college teacher and the push in academia to support students but really keep an eye on publishing. I told her how I do less required conferences and more shutting my door to write. I told her how I’ve published more this last year than in a long, long time.
An hour later I got an email from a student who had me back in 97 and 98. He appreciated the time I spent helping him as a writer. I shit you not. (Thanks, Colin for making my day).
This balance is the penultimate dilemna for us in education. We are the slugs travelling down a razor blade. I often wish it were easier and less painful, these choices we are forced to make.