Forgive me, but let me drawl out a drama building inside me for a veeeeery long time. Mind you, this is not even the first time, so that means this topic is getting me very depressed probably.
So it’s been five months since I started with my new work as a teacher. My classes in reading are better, but my work as a writing (creative writing) teacher is not actually going anywhere. To be fair, there was a time when I thought I was going somewhere, but then these days I feel like I’ve hit the insecurity wall again and I’m stuck trying to get out. Suddenly, I can’t find my way to organize my class, and I’m frustrated as ever with the word “creative” in my writing class. I am pressured that my students have to write awesome stories at the end of day. In addition, what a hard act to follow the previous teacher of this subject was!
Despite nobody outright comparing me to his skills, I can’t help but put a pressure on myself. I majored in literature and I like writing, so I should know how to teach writing. That’s not true of course, but as I said, I can’t help but make this as a standard for myself. Especially since I’m teaching the subject, I have to believe that I can do it or else I should just quit this altogether.
To be fair to mysef, I do believe I can do it. The problem is I get so disheartened, distracted, and lazy so easily that I can’t improve well. The progress is stagard, and like my other students, I tend to regress.
Sad stories of adults, I tell you.
Moreover, creativity, I feel, is something I’ve always lacked. I’d only feel creative after being able to write something without being inspired by other writers; when the flow of words came from a bathroom break, a one-liner that popped in my head, an image, or something given by nature and I’m able to pen it down, that is when I feel creative.
In the most unfortunate circumstances, I am experiencing a block, no, I’m stuck behind a wall and whining in front of that wall about why I can’t get myself to write again while I have a job of teaching writing.
(Something tells me I’m part of a tragedy and the chorus is singing these very words I’m forging. Oh the irony of this piece!)
I used to love writing. It was my salvation when I couldn’t get myself to express my anger in words to the world. Writing was my self-imposed therapy which fortunately evolved into loving the craft itself, so I was able to produce proper written works like my own scripts, short-stories, poem, essays, etc. Heck, I even joined the newspaper clubs of my primary and secondary schools. Although I’ve always felt that I lacked something in terms of talent, but I’ve been a devoted writer.
Well, I have been a devoted writer. How tragic the feeling of writing that in the past tense.
With this predicament, how do I survive my classes so far? I prepare activities and that’s it. The goal is to get a class over and done with without shaming myself of my doubts and confusion. In retrospect, I have a feeling that the reason some of my classes are unsuccessful is because the students can also sense my unsureness. I mean, I have very good classes, the ones which are well-prepared. On the other hand, I have classes which I’d want the ground to open up and swallow me whole because of the stress of my students trying to bully me and outright testing my mastery of the subject. I sort of remember kids being able to sense fear from adults well.
In conclusion, I think I have to go back to writing if I want to succeed in teaching writing. Of course this isn’t only for my classes’ sake, but I personally want to go back to writing again. I miss the feeling of the words and inspiration polluting my brain.
When do I want this to happen? Write now! (cue in drums!)