The joy of teaching writing

Once in a while I teach writing, you all know that. My classes are informal.  I hate it when people ask me to send them my curriculum but I tell myself to be patient, they haven’t studied under me yet. So I will tell you my curriculum. Lesson 1: The Method.  Lesson 2.  The Shift.  Lesson 3.  Recurrences, followed by Images, then Metaphors, then Creative Tension, finally Graduation. That’s it.

You don’t see the lectures I give or the seatwork and homework you have to write and read out loud because hearing your writing is important.  You feel the rhythm of it. It’s like a humming inside you.

Usually I accept only eight students because that’s what my dining table sits.  But this time, my first class in 2014, I decided to accept everyone who applied and ended up with 11 students. Why? Because this is the only class I’m sure of in 2014.  A few days after this class ends I will pack my things and move house.  Then I will spend a lot of time unpacking and fixing my new flat so I feel comfortable in it.  Then I don’t know what I will do. Will concentrate on making jewelry, teach again, do both?  Maybe I will lose my mind.  Maybe I will travel.  I don’t know what I will feel like doing.

That’s the way I live my life now. I do what I feel like doing and that’s the only way I will live.  I am growing old and I am entitled. 

Last Saturday marked the third class of this batch. Let me say that I am impressed by the people in my class.  They seem to be taking to the method I teach like ducks to water. Of course there are those who are ahead, those who are on middle ground and those who still can’t feel the shift, jargon in my class.  But that’s not to worry about, at least not for me, because I know everyone progresses at her own pace.

When it was time to read their homework last Saturday, my student Ceny Ungson, read her piece on the word wither.  This is what she wrote:

Wither By Ceny Ungson

Most of the time in the past, the thought of wither has made me a bit sad.  Seeing my birthday flowers gradually dry up and finally wilt away always made me feel bad.  This time I toy with the idea of looking at wither through the eyes of my heart.  For a change, I decide to take a stroll along the garden of my life, canopied at present by a generally sunny sky with occasional gray clouds here and there, my garden reveals a variety of flowering plants and fruit-bearing trees. Many, happily, evoke a pleasant feeling.

Low flowering plants blooming with little victories over self, humble accomplishments, generous blessings and simple joys and contentment form a carpet on both sides of a brick pathway. Several trees laden with fruits of beautiful memories, happy thoughts, gratitude for a loving family and true friendships as well as memorable surprises dot one side.

I sit on a wooden bench and from there I see other plants and trees of varying heights on the other side. These ones seem to prick fiercely with their invisible thorns, giving a feeling of discomfort that makes the pleasant feeling go away.  I look closer and see patches of ivory “pain-settias” beckoning for continuous attention and lavender “sore-chids” thirsting for more water.  There are also “angeraniums” that seem to want to keep their roots in place forever.

At the far end are a few “fear trees” bursting with dark fruits of insecurity, worries, doubts and anxieties. At the end of the brick pathway, the white buds of peace of mind hanging from a pink trellis are being threatened by creeping vines of regrets, disappointment and guilt. 

I study the landscape carefully and feel a strong desire to make my garden more beautiful.  Life is short and I know I must take steps now if I must enjoy my garden more meaningfully in my twilight years.  So I decide to weed out the undesirables.  I know I should not water them any longer so they will finally dry up and fade away.  In their place, I think I will plant forgiveness clovers, fun flowers and “adventur-iums.”

I know it will not be that easy, human as I am, but it always pays to try to make one’s self a bit happier even in little ways. So in my garden there is one thing I know – wither may not always be bad or sad. In fact, it can even be my friend.

I was so impressed by her writing that my immediate reaction was — why did you enroll in my class? You don’t need it.

Now that you’ve read her piece, don’t you agree with me?

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