Tales From the Back Burner

Another terrific side result of teaching and taking classes all the time is that my personal writing has taken a back seat to everything else. I have a folder brimming with ninth graders' research papers that requires my grading prowess. Three book chapters need to be read. My teaching portfolio must be assembled. And my burning desire to see Avatar must be sated. I simply do not have time to indulge in the adventures of my stagnant and bemoaning protagonist and his erstwhile attempts to make something of himself. I'm too busy dealing with his real life counterpart: me.

Over the Christmas break, I made some minor attempts to toy with the structure of the book. All through last semester, I never touched the damn thing, but I would get ideas for it and jot them down in a handy dandy notebook that I kept in my bookbag. By the time the semester was over, I wanted to jettison everything I'd written up to that point and replace it with a completely new idea. Rough drafts rape your soul precisely because you have to throw away hours of work for your own good. For instance, my initial rough draft began with my main character in jail and having a cliche-ridden conversation with some dimwitted cops. I was thoroughly displeased with this introduction, so I altered the first two pages significantly to give the police officers a bit more personality and provide some necessary conflict for the main character. But now I'm not so sure that I even want my guy starting out in jail. The whole setup may have to go. It's maddening to think about, so oftentimes I prefer to focus on tangible and immediate challenges for graduate school and teaching. When I grade a paper, that's a finished effort that's not changing at all... unless the students can prove how drunk I am when I score them.

There are times when I wish I had a disposable trust fund to live on as I huddle in a seaside bungalow writing short stories and novels for the enjoyment of the masses. But then I realize that I'd only destroy myself with crippling self-criticism and off myself with a toaster oven, a bathtub, and an H. R. Pufinstuf DVD. I can waste time with the best of them, but I kinda like having obligations to keep my occupied. It keeps my twisted imagination from dwelling on my own inadequacies and failed dreams.

But that novel just gathers dust in my C: drive. I want to finish it... mostly to prove to myself that I can. Once I settle into the routine of student teaching, maybe I'll be able to make a schedule where I devote at least a solid two or three hours a week to working on it. Or maybe old Mr. P will do what my ninth grade history teacher did and have my students read the newspaper every Friday and then use the time to write in school. Those are educational principles, my friends.

For the time being, I think I'll just leave Eugene and the Amazing Time-Traveling Tomato to rest for now. I'll focus on my existing challenges for the moment, and I'll leave the writing of my superfluous verbal fluff for another day.

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9 out of 10 readers can't imagine how the book would be any good if this blog is the best JP can come up with so far.