Saturday, February 19, 2011
Would you like some cheese with that...
Warning: The following post is extremely whiny. If you are a "pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-and-stop-whining sort of person, this post will merely irritate and enrage you.
I haven't written a poem in three months. My Alvinia short story is stalled. My Marilyn Marlin book will probably never see the light of day. This blog is supposed to be about trying to get published, and the various wacky adventures I face along the way...but I haven't submitted anything for publication in like 4 months. I've got nothing.
Do you think creativity is a finite resource? I think it must be. I only have so much of it, and I spend way too much on things that don't really matter (cough...yearbook...cough) and by the end of a long day teaching kids, directing a play, and creating this frustrating yearbook...I don't have much to write about.
I feel like I'm betraying myself by not putting my time and creativity towards writing, and putting it, instead, into parts of a job that quite frankly don't matter. There are people who love yearbooks. My cousin, Jennifer Pfeffer adores yearbooks...and she is a yearbook goddess. She loves them. Good for her. She needs to come take over my class. She's welcome to it.
This is my cousin, the yearbook goddess's blog: http://jenniferpfeffer.blogspot.com She's having a baby...so her blog is probably a lot more fun to read than this one, so just go on over. Click on the link...don't even bother to finish this whine-fest. It's fine...I understand. Her yearbooks are way better than mine anyway. And she like most of my friends and relatives, gets to have a baby, unlike me, whose biological clock is going cucko and who will probably never get to have my own children at the current rate our plan is going.
So why am I spending hours moving tiny little pictures around on a freaking computer screen to create a book that is going to sit on somebody's shelf for the next few years and collect dust instead of working on my own writing or my own things that I care about?
You may be asking yourself, "Aren't the kids supposed to be working on the yearbook?" Yes, yes they are...in a perfect world, where I know what I'm doing and can teach them how to be independent. So, yes, if I were a good yearbook teacher, the kids would be doing all the work...but I'm not.
I don't how to do this stuff, much less teach them. And I don't want to learn. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of every child in the school and their parents wanting something from me and pitching a fit when they don't get it. I'm sick of having no power over this book. My principal made many decisions about how this book was supposed to be, and now she's gone, and I'm stuck with her choices, and I don't like them.
So why am I not using my precious resources on writing? Or how about this- why I am I not spending 3 hours a day planning lessons for my 9th grade English classes, who desperately need to learn how to read, instead of working on this insipid picture book?
So what do you think? Is Creativity finite or limitless? How do I keep enough for me by the end of the day?
This is the end of my rant. Thanks for bearing with me. We will soon return to our regularly scheduled, less-whiny blog posts as soon as I finish this bloody yearbook.
Image Credit: http://www.linthesoutheast.com/2009/11/distinctly-american-holiday-of.html