Things are about to get interesting.
One full-time job.
Add one novel draft in progress, writer of.
Add ten-week online fiction-writing course, student of.
Add one fifteen-week in-person fiction-writing course, teacher of.
This is me, starting next week.
Keep in mind that I have a long and true love affair with my couch. Why am I doing this to myself? Because it’s what I’ve always wanted, and I’m finally able to say yes when I got asked to teach a course.
A creative writing course. You know, the thing I went to school for three years to be qualified to do. And I’m getting to do it. I don’t have to pass go OR English comp to get there. Short. Cut. Actually, that’s a total self-hating lie. I’m getting the chance to teach this course because of three years of hard work: three years of showing how much time and effort I’m willing to put into something I love, two years of proving that I’m interested in students, in learning communities, in making my MFA program and its university a better place. And now I get to try it from the other side of the desk.
I wonder if there will be a desk.
So as nervous as I am about keeping everything in the air—frankly, I don’t have much choice—I’m really happy to be at this intersection of all the pieces of the life I said I wanted and set out to get.