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STOP
I must end my blogging.
not much of great import has transpired on these pages much lately anyway, my mental apartment squeezed full of other things, many of them not thoughts, but to do lists and factual needs.
i know i asked before if i should stay in the game, and i received a lot of lovely feedback in the affirmative, but my budding/looming teaching career is already consuming me mentally, and soon it will complete the holy trinity, taking my body and soul.
this is for the best.
for both of us.
really.
it's not you... it's... me
There's a sad sort of clanging
From the clock in the hall
And the bells in the steeple too,
And up in the nurs'ry an absurd little bird
Is popping out to say "coocoo".
Regretfully they tell us,
But firmly they compel us
To say goodbye to you.
So long, farewell,
Auf wiedersehen, good night,
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.
So long, farewell,
Auf wiedersehen, adieu, Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.
So long, farewell,
Au'voir, auf wiedersehen,
I'd like to stay and taste my first champagne
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, goodbye,
I leave and heave a sigh and say goodbye,
Good bye
i went out today to meet hinto for a brief stroll along bloor street, grabbing a falafel and a coffee and sweating in the blisteringly heat.
i didn't bring my wallet.
i was trying to see how attached i am to the concept of my identity, as displayed on cards, ID, health, license, etc.
i am always aware of my wallet in my back pocket.
would i be 'freer', would there be no sense of the old skin that is my identity if i was without it?
would i be afraid, like the caged animal whose pen is suddenly removed?
sadly, i was neither.
very anticlimactic.
i have finished the novel, i am currently studying science in preparation for teaching.
i am ready to change.
after three years, the journey is complete.
the real journey, of course, begins in september, but for now I'm ecstatic.
a small school, grade 7 home room (English, Hist/Geo, Drama), and i teach science to all of the grade 7's and a grade 6. SCIENCE! i'm nervous but think it will be a fantastic learning experience for both of us.
three years ago, i had wanted to enroll in school to begin the adjustment of my degree away from film (i had already tweaked it away from Economics), to English. It was the summer. I was waiting to sign my deal to work on that dreaded children's show, and the showrunner kept pushing it back back back back. When that deal finally finished, i could have taken a summer course to get me a step ahead of the game, but alas, i was destined for other things.
i flew to vancouver, spent a month writing scripts, and was promptly fired, along with the entire crew. I flew home determined to get out of that business. I bought a car to drive to London every week, enrolled in 3 classes, one of which was the very humbling English 020 (first year). i was 30.
while at school, Telefilm awarded one of my screenplays $25,000. The timing, on you cheeky devil Fortuna, was perfect.
my life was changing rapidly, i was taking a risk that i may not have good enough marks, that i may not get into a school, that i may not like it, that i may not get hired. so much depended on so much, an interconnected web of dependencies, where if one strand failed, the entire project plunged.
when school finished in august of 2005, i started working on bay street, editing business documents. a strange strange world, but one full of incredibly bright people who were choosing to live an incredibly draining existence. these office environs are not conducive to human fulfillment.
then i got accepted at one teacher's college. i applied to an extra school, paying the extra $100 just to keep my options open. in hamilton. i got it. so barely got it. and now, after passing the first gatekeeper to get on the list of people who can be hired in the ultra-competitive toronto district school board, i'm actually hired. i am told i am one of a mere 100 or so. that teachers fresh out of school should take what they can get, wherever they can. well, i have, with glee.
now i work on finishing the novel before september begins. the book is done, i am doing my first big edit before i send it out to potential editors/friends.
my agent wants to send it out in September to all the publishers. my book of children's poetry is coming along, a joy to write.
so you see, dear reader, there have been a lot of lucky breaks for your humble narrator throughout this adventure.
it does seem that when you throw your life into fate's hands, Fortuna keeps an eye on your attempts, dropping crumbs or coins along the way (in my case, more crumbs than coins :)
I'm clear. Free. Another year of schooling behind me. It feels great. Accomplishing things that have marks attached is such a pleasant conditioned response. But a teacher, like a writer, is someone who DOES the thing. A writer is only a writer when he writes. A teacher when they teach. A painter when they paint. A bum when they bum. I'm currently a writer-by-default, writing every day until something that pays comes up. Toronto School Board jobs start showing up next week. Here's hoping. I was on a moped this weekend, bombing around the northern countryside outside Ottawa. A 1979 vespa piaggio, the smoothest most beautiful sounding machine I have had the pleasure of driving. The sun was out, high, the humidity was unbreathable, my shirt stuck to the sinews of my body like snakeskin. We needed to move.
With my lady's arms wrapped around my waist, we went exploring the old country roads, waving at and being waved to, all the friendly neighbors. no helmets were required. we explored an antique shop, the marshes, the horse farm. It was lovely.
A car followed us for a minute or so, refusing to pass, despite my slowing to 15km. When we crossed the road to force the issue, he drove past with a wildly happy face and "HII!!!"... An old Italian. We were making his day. He was reliving some past I couldn't see, but clearly a joyful one. Mopeds make people feel funny.
They make me feel free.
one week away from my teaching degree.
one week away from a return to the world of freelancing/scrambling.
my book of children's poetry is coming along brilliantly (that's 3 poems, to be exact), but i do love them.
my agent seems confident that i'll be writing on a kids show/animation this summer. i just want to make money and begin repaying my debts, so to be sure i can do that, i've begun playing the lottery :)
when i consider what it means to educate someone, i frequently remember my own learning processes as a child. the responsibility is on the educator to motivate the student and to present to the student ideas, things, facts, real-ia, to stimulate the mind. to present ascending ropes to students that they are expected/required to climb, and then try to find a myriad of ways to get students interested enough to eventually climb on their own, to love climbing.
worst case scenario is having to push the kid lightly up onto the rope and nudge him when needed, best case is having them find a zillion new ways to do it that you've never seen, so that next year you have even more ways to try to teach kids to climb. some kids hate climbing.
This makes me as interested in the person as i am in their academic pursuits and abilities. i think the person, their core, influences the mind into action.
a person who is interested in something, academic or not, will learn as much as they can about it. people who are open to new ideas and things are more apt to be willing to learn about new ideas and things. by presenting as much that is new as possible to people, we open their minds to education, understanding.
that is why toronto is a great city. we are exposed to so much. we are all familiar with the racial diversity, ethic, and class. we eat food from all cultures, learn new delicacies, watch new films, see more. cities are a model for how a fractured humanity can learn to live together. if toronto grew to 300,000,000, and then those people took those ideologies picked up here back to their home countries, are unity would spread like a disease, like laughter in a theatre, like 'ahhhs' at fireworks.
one more week.
my second degree is nearly conferred.
this has been an incredibly long road.
i am proud of my accomplishment and effort, and ashamed of my debt load, which is becoming severely unmanageable.
it all began with returning to school to finish my english degree. i had to buy a car. tuition. books. then this year, another year of school, another round of tuition, for which i still owe $800. i could seriously almost weep thinking about the conglomeration of owe-ance. i just punched myself in the head, actually, out of rage. which was stupid. ah, regret, how late you always come.
i have a new agent, actually, my first real agent, as my other agent didn't bring me into the fold fully, he had me "hip-pocketed", as they say. This means that I'm not truly in his stable, but he'd cut a deal for me if i found one, which he did.
this new agent means that she is attacking the market with my name in hand, with my scripts in hand. this is good news. i am about to die under my debt load. if something doesn't happen for me very soon, I fear the consequences.
it's so hard to focus when you're stressed.
that's it.
that's all.
