Rudderless Again

I never wanted to teach. Every time somebody reacted to my choice of English Literature as a majoring subject by saying I'd end up a teacher, I used to bristle with anger and stamp out any such ridiculous notion. On that front, the only thing I can say in my defense is that I am not teaching English Literature or even English for that matter. I took on teaching as an experiment, when I was quite completely rudderless and lost. That it proved to be the only anchor in my life for the longest time is perhaps one of the reasons why I am so stubbornly passionate about it. I should be fair, it has brought me immense pleasure and satisfaction. There is little else that makes me feel as happy as I do after a good class and the satisfaction of seeing a class pass from my class and go on to a higher level is difficult to beat. And of course there is the undeniable joy of students staying in touch...

Today for the first time in 4 years, I am forced to question my decision and wondering if it isn't time to change tracks and perhaps move on. The sense of fatigue, defeat and disillusionment is so great I almost don't feel like going back into class tomorrow. I hate this feeling and it makes me hate the people who are taking away the one joy I could count on, replacing it with doubts and uncertainty, almost as if I was rudderless and adrift. Again.

Cut To The Chase Babe...

Cut to the chase babe...

In three sentences if you can please?

Make this one short and sweet kiddo!

You need to evolve beyond this Victorian style of writing and learn how to leave out the unnecessary details. People have neither the time nor the patience for sentences that are a paragraph in themselves.

How many times have I heard that and fumed over the lack of appreciation of my personal style? I ramble. I provide details. I love to build a story, so yes, I love indulging in that long and winding preamble. I absolutely revel in long, winding sentences that unfold new nuances with each pause, sentences that dip and rise and linger on my tongue. And I hate being brief and concise. The only time I succeeded in actually sticking to the point and wrapping up in a minimum of words, sticking to the bare necessary bones and flesh required to cover the subject was in my exams at the B.A and M.A level. I could never write more than four pages for my assignment during my days as a Literature student.

Last week, correcting a pile of assignments written by my students of the intermediate level, i.e. level 2, I suddenly understood what my friends and critics have been grumbling about all these years! Faced with a convoluted sentence that started on the second line of the page and wound its way half way down the page, I frowned in compounded frustration as I struggled to comprehend just exactly what my student was trying to say (just like you are probably doing right now!)...and gritting my teeth, almost pulling my hair out in frustration, I brusquely wrote on the page, "Faut que tu sois bref!" (You should be brief!) ;-)