Monday, April 17, 2006


Without working a "real job" (and I mean real as clocking into something other than teaching people how to write) I've found time to pick up other instruments of creativity. I've always enjoyed music, but I don't understand it yet. Like writing, I can feel a string of notes form words and sentences. What I have trouble with is forming paragraphs leading into a complete work. My guitar bangs out fragments, choppy wording, misplaced modifiers, spelling errors, and run-ons in the margins. My practice sessions are covered in red ink.

At times I become distressed by the mess and wonder if this is how my students feel when I hand back a batch of essays. Do they slink at all the red ink like a sour note bent too far? Do they disregard the claps of applause at the end of the essay because of all the interruptions in the prose?

Like practicing playing the guitar, are they patient enough to learn to let their fingers go? Will the digits find the right chord before the brain does?

Will I have the determination to keep playing with such a critic on my shoulder?


At 7:18 AM, Blogger Amber said...

Wow. I think your metaphor just made me understand some of my students. (Because I don't understand music either. At all. I've tried.)

At 7:20 PM, Blogger v said...

Compared to writing, I think music is much easier. A note can say so many things, but words are limiting.


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